Homily for 4th Sunday of Lent

Homily for the
4th Sunday of Lent
April 3, 2011
John 9: 1-41
Ursulines, Willow Dr., N.R.

“I am the light of the world” (John 9: 5).

As you know, tens of thousands of catechumens around the world are preparing for Christian initiation at Easter. Thousands more, already baptized Christians, will complete their initiation by being received into the full communion of the Catholic Church, being confirmed, and receiving the Holy Eucharist for the 1st time.

You also know that Lent is the final prep of all these catechumens and semi-initiated Christians, if I may use that term, for what they’re about to do: commit themselves completely to God our Father thru Jesus Christ our Lord by the power of the Holy Spirit.

For us who are already baptized, confirmed sharers in the Eucharistic mystery, Lent is a season of recalling our initiation and renewing our commitment to God in Christ by the gift of the Spirit.

The gospel readings on the Sundays of Lent, especially in this Year A cycle, are powerful reminders of what we are about, of what God is about. Like Jesus in the desert and catechumens in the baptismal rite, we reject sin. With Jesus we’re heading toward heavenly glory, as the profession of our faith reminds us. With the Samaritan woman, we seek eternal life in living water. Like the man born blind, we’re enlightened by Christ. We hope to be raised from the grave like Lazarus by Jesus, the resurrection and the life. Jesus gives sight to a man born blind. This 9th chapter of John is rich in symbols of light and darkness, of sight and blindness.

Christ Healing the Blind Man (El Greco)

The story connects us to the opening lines of the Bible: “In the beginning … the earth was a formless wasteland, and darkness covered the abyss…. Then God said, ‘Let there be light,’ and there was light. God saw how good the light was” (Gen 1:1-3). The story connects us to the opening lines of John’s gospel: “Through him was life, and this life was the light of the human race; the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it” (1:4-5).

Jesus is the Word of God that speaks light and goodness. Jesus, in our passage today, identifies himself as this light of the world, and he demonstrates his power over the forces of darkness, like that first word spoken over the dark abyss, by opening a man’s eyes to natural light.

More is at play in the story, of course, including a lot of Johannine irony. The blind man plainly sees who Jesus is, commits himself decisively to Jesus (9:30-34), and worships him (9:38). Those who announce their own insight—the Pharisees—are the ones who fail to see the obvious, the evidence of God’s work in the world, and so are left in their spiritual darkness, in sin (9:40-41). “His own people did not accept him. But to those who did accept him he gave power to become children of God” (1:11-12). God forbid that we ever become so blasé about God, about Jesus, about religious matters, that we miss the obvious presence of God at work around us! Even St. Augustine worried, “Timeo Deum transeuntem”: “I fear God’s passing by; I’m afraid lest God show up and pass me by because I wasn’t paying attention.”

In the Eastern Churches, Baptism is often called “illumination” or “enlightenment.” Thru this gospel story, we can see why. Our eyes are opened in this fundamental sacrament to see Christ, the light of the world, the light shining in the darkness of a world dominated by sin, the light which overwhelms and drives out the darkness of our own sins. In this sacrament we commit ourselves to walk henceforth in the light, which we’ll do in symbolic form at the Easter Vigil as we acclaim and follow in procession “Christ our Light.” In this sacrament we start on the road with him who is “Light from Light” (Creed) toward eternal light.

An interesting aspect of this story—not at all typical of most of the gospel miracle stories, tho I’d say it is typical of the “signs” in John’s Gospel—is that the man who was born blind doesn’t come to Jesus, doesn’t appeal to Jesus, for healing. Did you notice that? Contrast that with, e.g., blind Bartimaeus on the outskirts of Jericho, who cried out, “Jesus, Son of David, have pity on me!” (Mark 10:46-52). The initiative is Jesus’. The healing of this man, like our salvation, begins from God. It’s an act of grace, like our own Baptism, like the Incarnation of God’s Son.

Like the man born blind, it’s up to us to accept the light offered to us and then respond to the light. He responds with a developing or deepening faith that begins with obedience and eventually leads to total commitment and to worship. When he’s 1st questioned about his healing, he recounts how “the man called Jesus made clay and anointed [his] eyes” and told him to go and wash, but he doesn’t know where this Jesus has gone (9:11-12). When he’s challenged a little further, he proclaims that Jesus “is a prophet” (9:17), which is a deeper insight into the person of Jesus. Under pressure to denounce Jesus, he’s steadfast in insisting that “this man [is] from God” (9:33). Jesus asks him whether he believes in the Son of Man (9: 35), which is a messianic title. (A curious point: the Vulgate here reads not “Son of Man” but Filium Dei, “Son of God,” a plainly incorrect reading of the Greek text, υιόν του ανθρώπου.) Not only does he believe in the Son of Man, but he confesses more: that Jesus is Lord, Κύριος: “I do believe, Lord” (9:38). This is the Greek equivalent of the Hebrew YHWH. “And he worshipped him” (9:38). Without seeing nail marks and spear hole, this man has arrived at the faith of Thomas, seeing that Jesus is “My Lord and my God!” (20:28).

The man’s progressive growth in understanding of and commitment to Jesus is, of course, indicative of our own faith journey. That understanding will be complete only in heaven, but one hopes it’s substantially deeper now than when we were confirmed or were junior religious. Likewise, our commitment to Jesus as our Lord and God, our Savior and model of human life in God’s service, as our beloved friend.

Secondary characters in this story are the man’s parents. They refuse to take a stand about Jesus when the Pharisees question them about their son: “He’s of age; he can speak for himself” (9:21), which they say, John informs us, “because they were afraid of the Jews, who had already agreed that if anyone acknowledged him as the Christ, he would be expelled from the synagog” (9:22). The man himself takes a stand in favor of Jesus, and is thrown out (9:34). This is his total commitment, which his parents—for whatever reason—refuse to make.

John was writing his Gospel at the end of the 1st century, when Jewish Christians were being forced to decide where they stood, and those who stood with Jesus were being expelled from their synagogs, told that they couldn’t have Jesus as their Messiah, their Lord, and worship him, and still be faithful Jews. That context also explains why John, unlike the Synoptic Gospels, repeatedly refers to Jesus’ enemies as “the Jews,” notwithstanding that Jesus himself, and all of his 1st disciples, were themselves Jewish. Those who regarded themselves as pure “disciples of Moses” (9:28) were forcing the distinction, undefining Christians as Jews. And all over the Eastern Mediterranean, John’s world, the disciples of Jesus were being compelled to decide whom they would follow: “Do you believe in the Son of Man?” (9:35).

In our time Christians in Iraq, Pakistan, Egypt, India, Vietnam, China have to take similar stands. So do we. Not so long ago, Catholic colleges were removing crucifixes from their classrooms, supposing they needed to do so if they received federal funds. Last year, Georgetown University covered over the name of Jesus (which, ironically, is part of the Jesuit logo) lest it interfere with a presidential appearance. Beyond counting is the number of politicians who jettison their “personal beliefs” in the public forum and act directly contrary to what they say they believe. Such are contemporary examples of fear of expulsion from the synagog, of choosing the darkness rather than the light.

Happily, there have been excellent examples of public figures standing on their beliefs: Bob Casey, Sargent and Eunice Shriver, e.g., in politics; John Wooden and Tony Dungey in sports; the Iowa high school wrestler who forfeited a shot at a state title last month rather than violate his religious principles by wrestling a girl. Going way back, we might recall Pee Wee Reese’s embrace of Jackie Robinson in the face of the racism of the 1940s, including that of some Dodger stars like Dixie Walker.

When we step outside the religious house, does our faith go with us? Do we stand with Jesus and his Church, or do we find ourselves accommodating ourselves to the world of darkness, the world hostile to who Jesus is and what he teaches today thru the Scriptures and the Holy Father? When we teach and counsel, do we present clearly the Church’s social and moral teachings, thru which Jesus offers his light to the world?