Sticking with Your Story

I used to think that if I said a thing one time,that was enough.  But our faith stories have to be told over and over again.  That’s the theme of this sermon from March 2, 2008.

Ephesians 5:8-14  John 9:1-41 

Sticking with Your Story

This is a long story. In fact, all of the stories we will hear during this Lenten season are from the gospel of John, and they are all long stories: Nicodemus, the Samaritan woman at the well, and today, the healing of the man blind since birth. Each of these stories is long and complex, and there are good reasons why.

The author of the fourth gospel is weaving together a narrative that will convince his listeners that Jesus was, indeed, the Son of God, the Light of the World.

The story we heard today begins with a theological debate among the disciples: they want to know why this man was blind: was it a result of his own sin, or of the sin of his parents? This is the kind of question we all ask everyday: why did this thing happen? Sometimes we are just curious; sometimes we are looking for someone to blame; sometimes we are trying to shift the responsibility away from ourselves to someone (or something) else; sometimes we are just lamenting and not expecting an answer at all. And sometimes we are asking a theological question: Is this event a punishment from God?

That’s not a foolish question, considering all of the times (perhaps more notably in the Hebrew Scriptures) that the Bible assures us that the righteous are rewarded and the wicked are punished. That’s not a foolish question because our sense of fairness leads us to that conclusion. It’s not a foolish question because our relationship with God hinges on the answer – will we “fear God” in the sense of being awed and respectful, or will we “fear God” with anxiety and dread?

Jesus, somewhat uncharacteristically, actually answers his disciples directly: “Neither this man nor his parents sinned; …” [John 9:3] This is not to be a story about retribution for sin; this is to be a story about light and darkness, about blindness and sight.

And so the story of the man blind from birth begins with an especially earthy healing story – saliva and dust made into a restorative mud. It is a simple and straightforward story – which is fortunate, since the man is going to have to repeat it many times before the end of Chapter 9! No one around him, it seems, is quite willing to believe what happened.

First there are the neighbors, who think there must be some mistake, that this cannot really be the blind beggar that they have known. When he tries to convince them, they want to know the whole story – so he tells them.

Not satisfied with that, the crowd takes him to see the Pharisees, who are variously curious and outraged about how a man who is clearly “not from God” – clearly, because he does not observe the Sabbath – can possibly perform such signs. This time the man, having already told his story, simply says, “He is a prophet.” [John 9:17]

These temple officials are not persuaded by either his story or his proclamation, and so they go (of all places) to see his parents. They, we are told, are afraid of the Jewish authorities, and so they do what frightened people often do: they kept quiet and told the questioners to ask the man himself.

Which is what they do. They stick to their story (“This man is a sinner”) and the man sticks to his story (“I have told you already”). There the deadlock remains: the temple officials call upon their pedigree as “disciples of Moses,” and the man calls upon his own experience – with a little dig to the temple folks as he goes. They drive him out.

Jesus has not been present for all of this uproar, but when he learns that the man has been driven out, he searches for him. Together, they affirm the stories that they have been telling. Jesus reveals that he is the “Son of Man,” (John 9:37] for whom the world has been waiting, and the man in turn attests his faith in that assertion: “Lord, I believe.” [John 9:38].

They have both stayed with their stories, and have repeatedly spoken their truth. Their claims have been challenged in several ways. First, they were challenged by the everyday expectations and habits of their neighbors and friends. They ask “Is this really the beggar we have always known?” And that question reminds us of the question asked about Jesus, “Isn’t this the carpenter’s son …” It’s a question that clings to the familiar and rejects the new.

Their stories were also met with fear. The man’s parents were unwilling to say anything to the authorities that might put them in danger. And we remember that in the terrifying night of Jesus betrayal, that Peter would likewise be unwilling to say anything that might associate him with a condemned man.

And their stories were challenged on the basis of religious beliefs and doctrines: anyone (like Jesus) who worked on the Sabbath could not be a righteous person, and no unrighteous person could do the work of God. The man who claimed healing must be mistaken or lying or otherwise suspect. And we remember all the times that Jesus’ claim to be the Son of Man will be rejected because he does not honor the legalism of the Pharisees, and he eats with sinners – tax collectors, prostitutes, and the like.

I spoke last week of the importance of telling our own faith stories and listening to the stories of others. I hope that I made clear that listening is as important as telling, and that listening requires that we do not follow the leads of these neighbors, Pharisees, and family members. Growing together in faith requires that we be willing to set aside our everyday habits and expectations and to acknowledge the deep truth of what others say to us. Growing together in faith requires that we set aside our fears and anxieties and be willing to speak (and hear) the truth, even in the face of danger. Growing together in faith requires that we sometimes set aside our doctrinal beliefs to make room for God’s living word to break into our lives.

Growing together in faith calls us to be like Jesus and like the man who was blind from birth: willing to tell our own stories – tell them again and again if necessary – in the face of disbelief, fear, and convention. That’s one of the reasons we gather as a community for worship every week: to tell and retell the stories that define who we are and whose we are.

The words of Jesus begin this long narrative, and they also bring it to a close. We understand, now, why Jesus has asserted that he is the light of the world: he has come to bring sight to those who do not see. What is harder to understand is the second half of that proclamation: that he has come so that “those who do see may become blind.” [John 9:39]

He is speaking where the Pharisees can hear him, apparently, and they wonder if he is talking about them when he talks about “those who do not see.” What they do not see is that he has caught them in a clever turn of the phrase. If they claim to be blind, they will have to acknowledge that their leadership and learning are not adequate to recognize the Son of Man when he is standing in front of them. If they claim to be “those who do see,” then they are doomed to blindness, or as Jesus put it, “your sin remains.” [John 9:41]

The words of Jesus are a kind of frame around this story of the man blind since birth, the man who has to repeat his story so many times over so many objections. Jesus, too, especially as portrayed in this fourth gospel, has to repeat his story over and over again, usually to people who object to his claims on one basis or another. We can be grateful for his persistence, in the light of our reluctance to let go of our established habits, in the light of our anxiety about receiving God’s healing and grace, in the light of our over-reliance upon convention and doctrine. We can be grateful to be followers of the one who is the Light of the World, and who opens our eyes to see God’s power and mercy all around us.

Amen.