Fourth Sunday of Easter, cycle A

John 10:1-10

When I was a teenager I worked in a grocery store in my home town in Montana.  I was a “box boy”, which meant that I packed groceries and carried them out to the customer’s car.  We didn’t have plastic bags or reusable bags, just boxes that had once held canned goods and paper bags.  My average weekly salary was 12:50.  

There were shepherds in the hills around my hometown.  Many of them had emigrated from Basque country in Spain.  They  lived in wooden covered wagons that could be pulled from meadow to meadow.  They were hired hands, and I doubt that there were any shepherds who owned the sheep they took care of.  And I have to say, they smelled like their sheep.  They would come down to the grocery store about once a month to stock up on flour and sugar and canned goods, and I suspect they stopped at a liquor store before returning to their jobs.  And they lived very solitary lives.

The whole tenth chapter of John compares Jesus to a shepherd, or as you see in this gospel, a sheep gate.  Shepherds in Palestine would gather their sheep together and herd them into a box canyon or other enclosure for the night.  The shepherds would take turns guarding the sheep; the one doing the guarding was the gate for the sheep.  Now if Jesus is the shepherd, we are the sheep.  There are three things that we and sheep have in common.

First, we and sheep like to gather together.  We are herd animals, so are they.  There are obvious advantages to living in groups and our whole civilization could not exist if we didn’t have an instinct for seeking out the company of each other.  And that’s why Jesus founded his church.  He started out with the apostles, gathered together many more disciples, and after his death and resurrection, we can read in the Acts of the apostles how those first Christians lived.  It says they held everything in common, and those who owned property would sell what they owned and lay the proceeds at the feet of the apostles.  And very soon the apostles began to divide up the labor needed to take care of their flock -- they appointed deacons. It seemed as though in those first days of the church converts were being admitted in overwhelming numbers.  The church is where we can gather together, where we can enjoy the company of each other, where we can look around and see fellow Christians.  At every weekend liturgy we should feel at least a little solidarity with our fellow Catholics.

The second thing sheep and us have in common is that we can distinguish our master’s voice.  When sheep were kept together overnight, in the morning the shepherds would call their flocks, who would recognize their voices and sort themselves out.  Now this is a concept that has fallen by the wayside, but in the early days of the Church, and even into the middle ages it was recognized that there was something they called “sensuum fidei”  , the sense of the faithful.  If you are a baptized Christian free of mortal sin, you have the ability to recognize authentic teachings and reject those that aren’t authentic.  Of course to be faithful means to be educated in our faith, then we are able to recognize when something doesn't fit.  I think of the time when there was a claimant to the papal throne in Avignon, one in Rome, and a third who had been selected as a compromise. The people weren’t having any of it, and prompted by Catherine of Sienna and others, decided which pope they would follow.  And of course every time there is a martyr it’s because that person had a sense of what was true and what was false.  We can tell when our master is speaking.

The third thing is that sheep and humans like to  follow a leader.  Cattle need to be driven, with dogs and whips and loud noises.  If you do this to sheep, they scatter, and it’s hard getting them back together.  Sheep follow their shepherd because they have experienced his leadership in the past -- as it says in the psalm, “in green pastures he makes me lie down, by restful waters he leads me.”  the shepherd earns the trust of the sheep.  We humans will follow a leader who has earned our trust.  

ON Good Shepherd Sunday it's worth reflecting on this shepherd that we are following; we are saved, not by ourselves, but in our community.  We need to gather together so that Christ will be present-- he said that’s how to do it.  We can’t be “spiritual but not religious”.  Our very nature makes us gather.  Our shepherd teaches us.  The Church, His bride, has two thousand years of experience in applying his message to the current times, the current situations.  We have bishops who were ordained by other bishops, all the way back to the apostles, who are our teachers.  And we have our shepherd who has proven himself trustworthy -- after all he has conquered death for us and intercedes for us with the Father.

Some people think sheep are stupid.  But stupid sheep wander off and get in trouble.  Smart ones stay near the shepherd.  It’s true of us as well.  

Second Sunday of Easter, cycle A

John 20:19-31

Every year on the second Sunday of the Easter Season, the Sunday we now call Mercy Sunday, we hear the story of Saint Thomas the Apostle, who will be known for all ages as “doubting Thomas”.  And the implication is that it’s wrong to doubt, or at least a sign of weakness.  Great Saints don’t doubt, do they?  When we read about their lives they always seem to have such certainty.  Those martyrs knew that after a brief moment in time they would be forever in heaven with Jesus.  They went to their deaths singing hymns.  

There was one martyr -- I'm sure more than one, but this one I read about many years ago. All we know about this Chinese layman was that during the persecutions of Christians during the 19th century, he and many of his fellow Christians were taken before a magistrate and given the choice -- either renounce Christianity or be strangled.  A few of them did; the rest held fast.  And as they were strangled one by one, one of those who had renounced the faith stepped forward and said that he could not renounce his faith, not really.  And he went on to be strangled to death.  

We know that this man, declared a saint by John Paul II, doubted.  And unless there was some sort of miracle, his doubt before and after his decision was probably not changed.  But what happened was that in spite of his doubt he acted on his faith.  

I think that’s the most beautiful kind of faith, the faith that springs from the edges of doubt. The faith that is the result of conscious decision in which I say, honestly, I cannot say whether I truly believe in this or that truth, but I am going to live as though it is true, and not look back, even if it costs me my life.  The theologian Paul Tillich said that doubt is not the opposite of true faith; it is a component.  Because if you do not recognize the doubt at the edges of your faith, it isn’t really faith that you have, it’s certainty, and certainly requires no struggle, no commitment.  If I know that something is inevitable I can’t do anything about it.  If I learn that the Russians are about to bomb Longmeadow, I can run but I can’t hide.  If I know (I am going to heaven, like some of our protestant brothers and sisters know, what effort do I need to make?  My salvation is assured.  And that’s even an attraction of atheism; if I am certain that there is no god, no afterlife, then what do I really need to do?  Do I need to work for a better future, for peace in the world, for the end to the slaughter of unborn babies?  For an atheist, nothing really matters because there is no ultimate concern.  

So real faith has to have doubt around the edges, because real faith leads us more deeply into the mystery of our ultimate concern, the mystery of our relationship with God.  Real faith means that we are pushing forward, committing ourselves, and we do this despite doubt.  

Thomas’ real fault was not that he doubted, but that he demanded certainty.  “I will not believe,” he said, unless I put my fingers in the wounds of his hands and my hand in his side.”  I must have certainty, as certain about the resurrection as I am that two and two are four, then I will believe.``  

But there is another important lesson we can learn from this gospel passage.  It is that faith is meant to be spread by the witness of those who have faith.  Thomas was supposed to believe because his brother apostles claimed to have witnessed something.  It’s true that Jesus forgave Thomas just as he had forgiven Peter and the others for their betrayal and desertion, just as he forgives us for our failures.  But notice that Jesus does not commend Thomas for his doubt.  He tells him, “You believe because you have seen. Blessed are those who have not seen, but have believed.”  Thomas does not receive the blessing that Jesus offers you and I, who have not seen but believe.

If you read the stories of the patriarchs, of Moses, of King David, you meet people who are friends of God, to the point of being able to speak with him.  And they have faith of course, but they have doubts about God keeping his promises.  And God never rejects them.  He continues to do what he says he will do.  So don’t deny your doubts.  Recognize them.  And then you can grow.  And remember that faith is spread by those who have faith.  This means that we have to practice the act of belonging - to our faith community, to our professional association, to our service organization.  Because how else can our associates know about Christ?  We also must practice humility and respect.  We have to constantly remind ourselves that the people we interact with are the very people Jesus died for, that God made in his image.  And we have to practice conversation and polite disagreement.  Conversation only with those who agree doesn’t help much.  And conversation that does not respect the honest differences of opinion will not bring anyone closer to Christ.

So today let’s recommit ourselves to being missionaries, and let us look at our doubts as  opportunities to deepen our faith, to point us to the commitment God calls us to make.  

Third Sunday of Easter, cycle A

Luke 24:13-35

The gospel story you have just heard is one that resonates with most of us.  You have two disciples -- I like to think they are a married couple.  In Matthew there is a reference to a Mary, the wife of Clopas, which is close enough to Cleopas mentioned in this story.  It says they are disciples.  They’ve been part of the Jesus movement, they’ve witnessed his miracles, they’ve heard him teach, they have been captured by his charisma, enough so that they do whatever they can to be near him, to follow in his footsteps.  And then this miracle worker, this man who seems to be the Messiah every one is expecting, is suddenly condemned and put to death, by the Romans, but with the full compliance of the Jewish authorities.  

I think most of us on our faith journey go through periods where we wonder if it's all a myth, whether I’m wasting my time.  The death of the Messiah is sort of like the priests who are found to have abused children, the seeming crimes church leaders have committed against indigenous people -- and every time they take a poll they find fewer and fewer people believe or even want to believe.  Some countries which were bastions of Christianity now have maybe ten percent of their populations who are active Christians, and in some of these countries, the number of active Muslims will soon overwhelm the Christians.  They have put our Messiah to death. 

But it’s not the first time.  When you read about saints, one characteristic you see over and over again is that they are reformers.  You have popes who reformed, you have saints who have reformed popes.  You have heresies that nearly wiped out orthodox Christianity.  The whole history of Christianity is one of seeming failure followed by reform and rebuilding.  And we shouldn’t be surprised; it’s the story of the Old Testament as well.  

Notice that our disciples are going over the things that are happening, that have happened, the reasons for their loss of hope.  And into this steps Jesus, who tells them that all this was predicted, it was there in the word of God.  And Jesus to them is a stranger at this point.  But they will recall later that their hearts were “burning within them” when he opened the scriptures.  Did your heart ever “burn” within you?  I think we’ve all had the experience of suddenly understanding something that used to be mysterious.  It happens a lot on college campuses and when people learn a trade.  And it happens when you sit down seriously with scripture, listening for God to speak to you.  As the Emmaus disciples were to learn, when our hearts burn within us, the Lord is close. 

Finally Jesus reveals himself in the breaking of the bread.  Notice the structure.  Doesn’t this remind you of the Mass?  You hear the scriptures, you have them explained, and you participate in the breaking of the bread, and Jesus becomes present.  We reenact Emmaus every time we attend our liturgy.  And of course when Jesus is no longer present, the disciples find themselves on mission.  They are no longer afraid, they realize that if  someone is going to announce to the world this remarkable fact, this resurrection from the dead of the Messiah, it will be them.  So they get up and rush back to the apostles to tell them what they experienced.  Kind of like we are supposed to do once we’ve encountered the risen Christ in the breaking of the bread during our Mass.  

Is the church failing in its mission?  By almost any measurement, it is -- in some parts of the world, while in others the Church is doing quite well.  But where it is failing, that’s our fault, we are the Church, we have a treasure to share with the world, we have the assurance of Jesus himself that if we speak up he will speak for us before the Father; but if we deny him, he will deny us.  And we deny him when we keep silent.  I”m old enough to remember a time -- after Vatican II, when our country was inflamed with religious fervor, among Catholics as well as Protestants and Jews. We had all caught fire; there was the Charismatic movement; there was the founding of small colleges and other educational institutions under the Christian banner.  There were evangelists on television on Sunday morning, people who had a wide following as they talked about the Gospel.  And it wasn’t the first time.  When I was growing up there was Bishop Sheen, who commanded a huge television audience of people of all denominations.  I met a rabbi once who said he attributed his vocation to watching Bishop Sheen, not because he agreed with him, but the enthusiasm of the Bishop for his faith rubbed off on him.  And there were other times when faith would flare up.  It’s time it happened again.  And like the disciples on the road to Emmaus, Jesus is there to help us if we leave this supper and tell the world of our own experience. 

Easter Sunday, 2023

Matthew 28:1-10

We will be going on a little trip later this week.  Joan and I will be heading for Front Royal, VA, where we will see our oldest daughter and her family and our son and daughter in law.  We will take off early Wednesday and make the long trip, taking turns driving, stopping to get a bite to eat, usually at a McDonalds; trying to read or converse as we travel along, and we’ll do that for about eight hours or more depending on traffic.  It’s not that much fun to make a long car trip, especially when you are as tall as I am and your legs get restless.  What keeps us going, though, is that we know that at the end of the trip we’ll be visiting with our kids and grandkids, enjoying their hospitality, and being thankful for the blessings of family.  We make the car trip because we believe in what will meet us when we get there.  

Now if we don’t make the car trip, we still believe that some of our kids and grandkids are in Front Royal.  But in this case it isn’t important whether we believe it or not.  

Easter is the Feast Day on which we celebrate the Resurrection of Jesus from the dead.  As Catholics, we believe this is not just wishful thinking and it doesn’t mean that He is still alive in our hearts, or he lives on in the good works we do.  I’ve talked to a few protestant ministers who don’t believe in a literal resurrection.  We do.  Not just of the soul, but of the body as well.  Saint Paul famously said, “If Christ did not rise from the dead, then we are the most pitiful of men.”  Pitiful, because we believe in a falsehood.  

But Paul is not talking about belief in the sense that I believe my family members are in Front Royal.  It could be that I’m wrong about that, but if it doesn’t make a difference in my life, then it isn’t important.  Paul is talking about the first kind of belief -- the belief that has consequences.  If I believe that my family members are in Front Royal and as a result I set out to spend eight or more hours driving there, then whether they are there or not becomes very important.  

One thing that has always fascinated me is that the accounts of the Resurrection in the four gospels are all so different.  And other references to the resurrection in the Acts of the Apostles are different from those.  And maybe Our Lord engineered it that way.  Because if all the testimony about the Resurrection was the same those of us who believed it would be doing so as a simple fact, like Paris is the capital of France.  If I’ve never been there and have no intention of going, it doesn’t matter whether I believe it or not.  But if I believe that Jesus rose from the dead and that makes a difference in how I live and how I orient myself towards my death, that’s the kind of believe Paul was talking about, belief that would put your life on the line, believe that would change your behavior, your values, your relationships with other people and with the world itself.  And if what I believe isn’t true, I’ve wasted my life, and martyrs have gone to their deaths for nothing, and missionaries have given up their lives to bring people into the Church Jesus founded -- for nothing.  

The Resurrection is not just an historical fact.  People motivated by the Resurrection changed the world, and the changes continue, despite increasing opposition from the forces of evil.  The resurrection means that there is a God, a god of Love, and as Saint John says, a God who is love itself.  And Love wants to bring everything together, and not lose anything out of all that there is.  

The Resurrection means that death has been defeated.  Defeated not just for Jesus, but for you and me.  Because Jesus, who is Love in the flesh, made it very clear that he wants us to be with him, and has the power to do so.  He told a criminal on the cross next to him, “Today you will be with me in paradise.”  He said it, he did it.  He told his apostles, “I go to prepare a place for you.  I will return for you and will take you to myself (or as another version says, “take you into myself”) so that where I am, there you will be also.  If Love defeats death, and we are taken into love by our faith, by our baptism, by becoming what we eat in the Holy Eucharist, death for me and for you is already defeated.  

But the resurrection does not just change the world, does not just defeat death. It also means that Love has experienced all the evil that the world, the flesh and the devil are capable of, and overcame it all, which means that Love understands and not just sympathizes with us but participates in our pain and suffering in this world, making it possible for good to come from the worst tragedy, Resurrection to spring from crucifixion.  Jesus is never so close as when we suffer.  

So this Easter let’s think about our belief in the Resurrection.  I’m going to set out on a long and not particularly pleasant car trip based on the belief that I will be sitting down in an easy chair with my children, enjoying a drink, waiting for a nice meal, and having a pleasant conversation.  And I’ll have to come back, making another long and not particularly pleasant car trip.  Am I living as though the Resurrection is not just a fact, but a goal, an end, a reason for why I do what I do?  I hope so, because I want to hear those words, “Today you will be with me in Paradise ''.    

Palm Sunday 2023

 Palm Sunday Sermon

When I was growing up we read the Passion account from Matthew on the fifth Sunday of Lent, and the account of Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem on the sixth sunday.  We called that sixth Sunday “Palm Sunday'' although officially it was known as the Second Sunday of the Passion.  With the publication of the Novus Ordo in 1969, the two Sundays were merged into one in the Catholic lectionary, and Catholics and other Christian denominations did the same thing with the 

Revised Common Lectionary a few years later.  That’s why you get to hear two gospels today.  

And that’s probably worth thinking about.  We start out with Jesus entering Jerusalem in a manner that reflects a prophecy, which Saint Matthew quotes for us.  And it’s obvious that Jesus engineered the whole thing.  And the crowd went along, throwing branches and clothing on the road and cheering.  This was in contrast of course, to another parade going on, the one Pilate held every Passover, when he would march into Jerusalem with his troops as a show of force reminding the crowds that if there was any hint of rebellion or unrest, bad things would happen to you.  Jesus in his parade mocks Pilate.  

Then we get to the gospel, which in this reading is also from Matthew.  Next year it will be Mark, in 2025 it will be Luke.  and we  find a very different crowd, crying out “Crucify him!”  Why did things change so quickly?  

Shusako Endo, a Japanese Christian writer famous for the novel “Silence”, wrote a book called “A life of Jesus”.  As he retells the story with which we are all so familiar, he attempts to show why Jesus’ last days on earth involved such turmoil.  As we know, when Jesus began his public ministry he attracted huge crowds.  It was a time when the Jewish people were in something of a religious revival.  You had Sadducees wanting to become integrated into the mighty Roman empire; you had Pharisees who wanted to revive and live the old Jewish traditions; you had armed rebels in the countryside who were trying to break away from Roman rule, the so-called Zealots; and everybody was wondering if this was the time when the Messiah would come, the one predicted by the prophets, the one who, if you looked at the prophecy of Daniel in the right way, should be coming along any minute now.  And whether the Messiah was a prophet, a priest or a king, everyone knew that he would turn the world upside down, and everyone hoped that he would bring about a strong independent Jewish nation where people could devote themselves to the pure worship of God.

Could Jesus be the one?  

We see this expectation as we read the gospels.  And we see Jesus slipping away from the crowds, going into hiding.  We see Jesus avoiding cities and towns as his fame became widespread.  And if you were a Jew with the hope that Jesus was the Messiah, why was he hiding, why was he crossing the lake to get away from the crowds, why just when he had them all listening to his every word, did he continue to disappoint?  Even his cousin John wondered, and from prison asked Jesus, the one he baptized, the one of whom he witnessed a voice coming out of heaven, “Are you the one who is to come or shall we look for another?”  

So imagine you are one of these people, and you’ve been alternatively thrilled and disappointed in Jesus, and now it looks like Jesus is finally  ready to act.  He comes into Jerusalem just like the prophets predicted.  Rome will be overthrown!  Israel will be restored!  And nothing happens.  In fact he’s starting to say crazy things, “Unless you eat my flesh and drink my blood you will not have life within you”.  

Then Jesus surfaces again, this time arrested by the authorities, tried and condemned to death by crucifixion.  And you are in that crowd, you want nothing more to do with this charlatan, you join the mob yelling “Crucify him!”  

On Palm Sunday, which crowd shall we join?  Or shall we be like the apostles who said, “Where shall we go, Lord, you have the words of everlasting life?”

Fifth Sunday in Lent, cycle A

John 11:1-45

Today we heard the story of the most spectacular miracle Jesus worked.  John makes sure his readers know how incredible this was.  Jesus does not arrive until four days after Lazarus had died.  It was believed that the soul stayed in the area of the body for three days, but after that, went to “Sheol” where, at least among the Jews, it was thought that the soul awaited the resurrection of the dead.  Once you were in Sheol, there was no return.  The second point, if we didn't get the first, is that Martha makes her comment, “Lord, it has been four days now, surely there will be a stench!” Resurrecting a decaying corpse when the soul is imprisoned in Sheol is beyond the capacity of any great magician or prophet or holy man.  No one but God could do what was done this day. 

But, spectacular as this miracle is, we are unfortunate in that we don't see the larger picture from hearing just this segment of the gospel.  Here are some things to consider.

First, Jesus had been living and teaching in Galilee.  It was about as far from Jerusalem as Worcester is from Springfield.  Which is a substantial distance if you have to walk.  He was relatively safe there; he was beyond the reach of the people in Jerusalem who hated him.  Jesus and his apostles all appreciated how dangerous it would be to go down to Jerusalem.  That is why we hear Thomas saying “Let us go down and die with him.”  The little town of Bethany where the miracle takes place was only two miles from the city of Jerusalem.  In order to raise Lazarus from the dead, Jesus put his own life in danger; in fact, given that he was God as well as man, he knew what would happen if he traveled to Jerusalem.  

Second, if we were to read further, we would see that not only did Jesus put his own life in danger by coming so close to Jerusalem, but by raising Lazarus in this big public event, he greatly angered the authorities. They were all very clear on the idea that Jesus had to die, or they might very well lose their power over the people.  Of course they were concerned about what Rome might do, and to be fair, many thought that Jesus was leading the people into heresy. To be on the safe side, in fact, we hear that the enemies of Jesus plotted to kill Lazarus as well, since he was living proof of Jesus' power. 

And then, after these events, Jesus enters the city of Jerusalem in style, riding on a donkey, being joyously greeted by the people, and then going on to stand judgment, be crucified, and die.

The point, of course, is not so much that Jesus proved that he was God by the miracle he performed, but rather, that he was willing to give up his own life so that Lazarus could live.  And the implication is that Jesus' love is such that he willingly trades his own life for yours, for mine, for any who are his friends, who stand condemned to die as we all do.  

Lazarus was like you and I, he was probably an ordinary person, took care of his sisters, probably worked with his hands as most did in those days.  But like you and I he was not always faithful, he never got through a day without doing something or failing to do something which if he thought about it, he would regret.  As the years went buy he continued to fail in living a life that was completely pleasing to God.  Little things, little sins, but sins against an infinitely good God.  And Lazarus was like you and I, trying to stay out of trouble, getting up each morning and resolving to do better, and going to bed at night forgiving himself for his failure to do so.  And Lazarus, like you and I, had no claim on eternal life, or even temporal life; nothing we have, nothing we could have, is our own, it is all a gift that we don't deserve.

And Jesus trades his life for Lazarus; he trades his life for yours and mine.  

When people see me in my coffin, which will be sometime between now and about 10 years from now, I don't care if they say that I was successful, or that I was kind and generous, or as my wife would probably say, that I was a grouch and cheap as well.  I do hope people will say that I was a friend of Jesus.  Because when I am helpless, when I have lost the breath of life, when I can no longer move or see or hear or touch, I pray that I will hear a voice saying, “Donald, come out of there!” And I will get to my feet and go to meet my best friend, who has already traded his life for mine.  

And perhaps that is what we should think about this fifth week in lent.  If we are friends of Jesus, the grave is not a problem.  If we are friends of Jesus, we can be confident that we will hear his command to “come out of there”.  In the story of the raising of Lazarus, we are assured that Jesus keeps the promise that God made to Ezekiel so long ago:  “i will put my spirit into you that you may live...I Have promised, and I will do it”.

Fourth Sunday in Lent, cycle A

John 9:1-41

IF you lose your eyesight because of a cataract, and get that fixed, you can see again.  If you have never seen and you get eyesight as is the case of some individuals who had congenital cataracts, the longer you have been blind, the less likely removing the cataracts will accomplish anything.  The neurologist Oliver Sacks, said that you have to die as a blind man and be reborn as a sighted man.  In other words, you have to put new software in your brain to interpret what is coming in through the eyes.  

So when you read this long story, what catches your eye? The miracle, yes, but it’s an interesting one, isn’t it?  Jesus raised Lazarus from the dead by simply calling his name and telling him to come out.  Here he makes mud from dirt and spit, and smears it into the man’s eyes.  Is that significant?  Saint Ambrose saw the significance.  God created man from mud and Jesus takes mud to repair this man.  Not a long stretch.  Maybe he had no eyes and now he has them because Jesus created them for him.  But the man’s miracle isn’t complete; he has to wash in a pool, a specific pool named “Siloam” which means “the one who is sent”.  Again another church father saw this as reminiscent of baptism, because at baptism we become members of the body of Jesus, the one who is sent.  Maybe that’s a little bigger stretch.

But then the action proceeds.  The apostles already kicked it off with their question -- “If he’s blind, who sinned, him or his parents?”  Kind of like asking “When did you stop beating your wife?” 

But think for a minute about the blind man -- he’s wandering around in a daze of happiness -- he probably has a goofy grin on his face; he’s staring at birds and flowers and people are taking notice.  They aren’t even sure it’s the same man who used to sit and beg; they have never seen that one staring at things and grinning with joy.  But he assures them that he is.  And then we begin the contact with the Pharisees.  Now you have to remember that John often uses the word “Jews” to refer to the Pharisees.  This has gotten us Christians into a lot of trouble down through the years.  I don’t know what was going on in John’s mind, but there are apostles and the parents of the man and Jesus himself standing around, all of whom are Jews.  

You know how when you are reading or watching a detective story, the detective cleverly discovers who the villain is by asking questions and following up with more questions and investigation?  If you go back and read this story, it’s like a reverse detective story.  The blind man tells everybody up front that Jesus made mud and smeared it on his eyes and he washed in the Siloam pool and could see.  And he keeps repeating that.  But the Pharisees don’t believe him.  And they keep gathering evidence.  They ask the parents, who say, “we don’t know how he gained his sight, but he’s been blind since he was born.”  Then they turn to the blind man again and point out again that Jesus is obviously a sinner, so the blind man can’t possibly be right.  And he tells them again.  And finally, because he sticks to his story, always coming back to “I was blind, and now I see” they throw him out of the synagogue.  I think John was going for a little humor here.  

But the lesson for us is clear.  Are we like the Pharisees?  Are we missing the presence of God in our midst because of our preconceptions?  I think that much of the time we do.  Part of the problem is that we don’t know what the presence of God should look like.  Or even worse, we think we know.  Look at the Pharisees in this story.  They have concluded that Jesus is a sinner because he healed on the Sabbath.  Now the Pharisees had a point.  They aren’t irrational; in the case of an emergency, Sabbath rules could be overridden.  But Jesus could have waited to work the miracle, but didn’t – so he is seen as a sinner.  A sinner cannot be a conduit for a miracle; they know God doesn’t work through sinners.  They’ve made two logical assumptions that keep them from seeing the miracle in their midst, the hand of God in the healing of the blind man.  

God is always working in our midst.  Even when bad things happen, we know that God chastises his sons and daughters with the intention of bringing them closer to himself.  So let us open our own eyes as well.  There is a wonderful exercise.  In the evening at the end of the day look back on your day just for a minute.  What happened that you did not expect to happen?  What were the consequences?  How was God involved? Because he is especially the God of surprises.