March 19, 2023
Lent 4 Year A
Epiphany, Winnipeg
John 9:1-41
Celidonius – a name given by Eastern Christian and Catholic perspectives to the man born blind, who is not named in the gospels. Give someone a name.
If you were counting you might have noticed how often Celidonius speaks. We heard this: He said “I am,” “He answered, ‘The man called Jesus made mud,’” He said, “I do not know,” he said, “He put mud on my eyes,” he said, “he is a prophet,” he said, “I do not know…”, he answered them, “I’ve told you already,” he answered, he answered, he said, “Lord, I believe..” Ten times, and maybe I missed one or two, this man whose only name we hear is "the man born blind" speaks and speaks and keeps on telling his story. If you’re like me you might always have heard this as a story about the miracle of Jesus opening up the eyes of someone who has never ever been able to see. But Jesus doesn’t just open his eyes; he opens his mouth and looses his tongue. So this man begins to speak and won’t stop trying to be heard. He insists on telling his story even if the ones he’s telling don’t hear or just plain don’t listen. The fun thing is, then he goes on the attack. He says to the ones who won’t stop asking the same question, “I told you already, and you don’t want to listen, but you keep wanting to hear the story. Do you want to follow Jesus too?” And then he says, “That’s amazing: You just don’t get it, do you?” And the religious leaders who are probably good people who really just want to do what’s right are finally left with nothing more to say than “You’re a sinner and you’re trying to teach us?” That’s the theological equivalent of saying, “Oh, yeah!?”
This man whose eyes are opened begins to sound a lot like any number of people we might be able to think of whose voices are not heard but who keep on speaking. From a student in school who has been marked unfairly to thousands of women in the streets of Iran or any movement or protest or quiet voice that in some way has said over all the years, “Listen to me, listen to us, we have something to say. We’re here. And we will not stop saying it, even if you will not hear.” Celidonius, a man born blind, can suddenly see the world in a way he couldn’t before. And he’ll tell the story again, even if the ones who seem to hold the power will not want to hear. Maybe you’ve been that one. Maybe you’ve found yourself again and again not being heard. In a classroom or at a meeting, in a relationship or in a world where you’ve never really felt like you’re one of the normal ones, or you’ve never really felt like you matter, because you’re too young or too old or not man enough or smart enough or any kind of this or that enough. You have a good companion in this man whose eyes Jesus opened, because he keeps insisting on being heard. And you can too. Please don’t stay silent. And you have a good companion, we have a good companion in Jesus, who opens our eyes to see the world in a new way, and who makes himself at home with anyone who is not seen or heard. And he opens up eyes and mouths and loosens tongues so that we can speak and keep telling the story of what we have seen.
There are, of course, those other characters in the story. There are the neighbours, who have only ever known this man as a panhandler who can’t see.
Maybe some of them have thought he’s lazy, or maybe some have thought he’s just a nuisance. Certainly a lot of them would know him as a friend or neighbour or as their neighbour’s kid whose name is…Celidonius? Or something less Latin? But they’re confused and they want to know more. How did this healing happen? How did this Jesus open your eyes, how did this thing that’s actually a good thing but a thing that we don’t understand…how did this happen? That’s how it goes with neighbours and communities, isn’t it? We sort of all have our places and our roles, and if those places and roles change it’s hard for us all to adjust. These neighbours of someone who has always been unable to see and only able to beg don’t really know what to do when everything changes for him. They’re confused, and so is he.
And there are the Pharisees, who are not bad people, but who don’t seem able to listen to answers they don’t want to hear. They don’t seem interested in listening to someone they never thought they had to listen to before, or who is less educated, or who has less status in the community, or who should know their place and maybe just keep quiet. Maybe I’ve been that one. Well, I know I have. As a young pastor fresh out of seminary I really knew a lot of stuff and when I look back honestly I know that I would sometimes ask a Bible study group or Confirmation class or church council meeting a question and I knew what answer I wanted before I asked the question; it was hard to hear an answer that didn’t fit. So I’d ask again, thinking that maybe this time the answer would be right, and I’d have no idea that maybe the answer I was hearing was a better one than the answer I wanted to hear. I think I’ve done that as an older pastor three and half decades out of seminary too. I thought I could see. In fact, sometimes I see things so clearly that I’m blind to what doesn’t fit in with my answer. Maybe you’ve been that one as well. For any number of reasons you just can’t hear an answer you don’t want to hear, or it’s just hard to understand someone who’s never spoken before, so it’s easiest just not to hear. Or to use language we hear more of these days, maybe it’s just easiest to mansplain, or gaslight, or just plain ignore someone who says what we don’t want to hear. Of course, the fourth character in the story is Jesus. He doesn’t say much. He just tells his disciples that it’s nobody’s fault that this man was born blind; but God can do something here. Then he tells the man to go and wash the mud from his eyes, and then Jesus disappears from the story until the end, after all the arguing is done and the one born blind has been thrown out. Then Jesus and Celedonius have an actual conversation. Jesus listens. This story is not really only about someone getting their sight back. I wish it were, because I know people who cannot see any more and I know how much they want their sight back, and I want that for them too. Just be able to see again, OK? And if I just ponder it for a minute or two I know I can be a little afraid that it could happen to me too. But I’ve also known someone who never did get his sight back – a musician I knew in Saskatoon. He had never been able to see with his eyes, but somewhere along the way he had come to see - in a way that doesn’t need eyes - that he belonged in the world and that he had a voice and that he didn’t need to give up and that he could speak and stand up and claim his place. He could offer his gifts, his wisdom, his humour, his music…and I think he knew that Jesus saw him that way too: as someone who belongs and whose voice matters. This story isn’t only about seeing with our eyes. It’s about ears and mouths too. It’s about one who listens and speaks and opens us to see, or hear, or believe, that wherever we go we are face-to-face with the one coming into the world to set the world free and to bring the world back to life again. This one who speaks to us listens, whether our response is brilliant or stammered or way off the mark or frightened or silent or confused or just what we all need to hear. This one who speaks to us opens our ears to listen to one another, and opens our eyes to see the people around us who have a voice to be heard, who have a place to belong if only we listen and give them room, and who have a voice and a witness that might just speak to us, change us, and help us see the world like we haven’t seen it before. The gospel of John calls Jesus “the Word.” Jesus is the Word of God who speaks to us. A troubling word, a comforting word, a liberating word, a healing word. And Jesus, the Word who speaks to us, hears us and sees us, and knows that you matter, I matter, we matter; all the voices matter.
AMEN.