John 9 1:11

The Rev. T. Richard Snyder

July 26, 2009

Dirt was an important part of my life growing up. Or, to put it another way, dealing with dirt was important. My earliest recollection is that as an infant I was not allowed to eat dirt. Imagine that! And much to the consternation of my brothers and I we were consistently sent from the dining table if we hadn't washed our hands. Warnings about diseases from dirt were common and we were admonished not to touch certain parts of our bodies because they were "dirty." Right up there alongside the Bible and the American Flag were the household idols of Mr. Clean, the White Tornado, and Ivory Soap. My parents and all those around them insisted, "cleanliness is next to godliness."

I got the message. If dirty hands are impolite or even potentially dangerous, then I concluded that those who work with their hands must be inferior to those who work with their minds. This valuing was reinforced by an educational division between college prep for the "better" students and vocational training for those who couldn't make it intellectually and by a societal reward system that pays managers more than laborers, and professors more than trash collectors. In the same way, when it came to the religious realm, the so-called spiritual was considered more valuable than the material-the religious more important than the secular. There was a hierarchy of holiness and at the top were those pious few who had escaped the mundane and handled the holy things.

It wasn't too different in Jesus' day. Many things were considered dirty, sometimes referred to as an abomination, and pious people were prohibited from touching them. These included certain animals and meats, women who were menstruating, beggars, and people with infirmities. A truly virtuous person had to be careful not to be defiled by coming in contact with these forbidden things.

That's the context of the story we read from John. Palestine was littered with the destitute. You couldn't walk on the streets without passing by the lame, the blind, the lepers-all begging for a handout and for healing.

This day Jesus is walking with his disciples who take particular notice of a man who had been blind from birth. The man blind from birth was an outcast, dependent upon begging to survive. No pious Jew would have anything to do with him. Because of his infirmity, Levitical law prohibited him from entering the synagogue, which the Pharisees scrupulously enforced. Given this cultural context, it is not surprising that when the disciples notice the man they ask Jesus, "who sinned, this man or his parents that he was born blind?"

To us, that might seem a strange question but a prevalent myth of the day was that anyone who was sick or poor (and they almost always went together) was being punished for some sin, either their own or their parent's.

Perhaps their question, linking woundedness and sin, isn't so foreign to us after all. It's the same question people ask today when they wonder if poverty isn't a result of laziness, AIDS the result of homosexuality, or rape a response to a woman "asking for it".

"Who sinned?" is a convenient question. It allowed the well and the privileged to avoid any responsibility for the sick and the poor. At best, they were required to offer them the leftovers from their table so that they would not starve. Believing this explanation allowed their lives to on undisturbed by the blind man's presence. And, rather than caring for him the privileged could focus on their own personal purity.

It remains a convenient myth in our day. As long as we are content to blame the victims, we never need to face up to the task at hand, which is to bind up the wounded, feed the hungry, house the homeless and give sight to the blind. We can be content with living lives of privilege, attending to our personal purity, and distributing from our excess out of noblesse oblige.

And so they ask, who sinned, this man or his parents that he has been born blind. Jesus' answer upsets the myth and undercuts their assumptions. "No one. It was neither his sin nor the sin of his parents that has led to his condition but this is so the works of God might be made manifest in him."

But the answer Jesus offers is, on the face of it, equally disturbing. "No one", says Jesus. So far so good. But then he continues with a statement that has led to some horrendous interpretations. His condition is "so the works of God might be made manifest. We must work the work of the one who sent me while it is day." Does he mean that God caused the man's blindness so a miracle could take place? That has been the traditional interpretation of the meaning of Jesus' words. Jean Calvin, one of the great Protestant reformers paralleled this notion with his claim that God created some to be poor so that others could exercise charity. Say what? God caused the man's blindness so God could look good? If that is who God is, I want out.

There is another way to understand his answer. What I take Jesus to be saying is, "don't waste your time conjecturing--look at the man. Trying to assess blame in the face of the mystery of suffering will get us nowhere. The man's condition does not call for an

explanation-or for blame--it calls for action." Jesus says, "We must work the works of the one who sent me while it is day." So he spits on the ground, reaches down and makes mud, and puts it on the eyelids of the man who is blind. Then he tells him to wash in the pool of Siloam. When he does, the man's vision is restored and his life begins anew.

Ironically, many of the Pharisees were so concerned with personal purity that they were hostile to the healing. Because they were sure his blindness was the result of sin they felt he deserved his condition and in their self-righteousness they took no joy in his recovery. Instead they interrogated him, doubted his account, badgered his parents, and accused the one who healed him, of breaking the Sabbath laws. The story goes on to tell us that even though he was no longer infirmed, he was still was refused admission to the synagogue.

I cannot help but draw a parallel between the response of the Pharisees and the response of many today to those who have been released from jail or prison. Even those who have served their time and been successfully rehabilitated often face scorn, mistrust and rejection upon their release. We are a society that would rather blame than heal, rather look on at a distance at those who have fallen than to offer them a helping hand. But despite their hostility, their refusal to believe and their rejection--the man is joyous. "All I know is that once I was blind, and now I can see."

I wonder if our focus on our own purity, our own salvation, our own uprightness blinds us to the real impurities, the real unrighteousness in our world. I've know may a devout believer who is visibly upset about the use of obscene language but waited in vain for them to denounce the obscenities of poverty, war, or discrimination.

Have we, as Jesus said, been so busy straining out the gnat that we have swallowed the camel? The disciples certainly were. They were so concerned with whether the man had sinned and deserved to be blind that they failed to see the real sin-the sin of rejection.

Whether you take the healing story literally or not, the challenge of it is that each of us has been called to work the works of the one who sent us. For Jesus, the important thing was not religious purity nor pious cleanliness but rather taking notice of those who have been invisible, touching the untouchable, and healing the wounded, while there is time.

There are several things I'd like to lift up about this calling. The first is that we are called to touch the wounded. There can be no healing if we refuse to get our hands dirty. One of the things for which Jesus was most criticized was that he ate and rank with publicans and sinners, he talked with prostitutes, he permitted a woman who was menstruating to touch him, he sat with the sick and the outcasts. He touched them.

That, of course is easier said than done. It is far easier for me to be with those who are privileged and protected as I am than to be with the wounded, the imprisoned and the outcasts. Sometimes I'm not wanted, frequently I don't know what to do or say, and often I'm uncomfortable. The great surprise is that when I do, however imperfectly, I too experience the grace of healing. One of the central claims of the Gospel is that truth emerges from the margins, beauty is found in that which has been discarded, strength is discovered in what has been considered weak, and wisdom abounds in that which we have labeled folly. Its in the nitty gritty that grace emerges and miracles occur. We can't keep our hands clean and hope to heal the blind.

The second truth is that we have to work with what we have. Sometimes what we have is remarkable and significant. Other times we feel like little David facing the Giant Goliath with only a slingshot as our weapon. But that doesn't matter. It's not what we don't have that counts. It's what we do have. Jesus didn't have much-no opthamalogical team or equipment--just a little dirt and spit. One of the most astounding lessons of life is when we put what we have at the disposal of those in need, miracles occur.

Finally, perhaps the most startling fact of all is that God has very little to work with also-God only has us. Whatever healing is to occur, whatever justice accomplished, whatever brokenness mended-it will only be as we do it. We must do the work because we are all there is to get the job done. We are the spit and dirt and hands of God.

The challenge of Jesus comes to each of us. It is not so much a call to clean up our act as it is to get down in the mud. If the blind of our world are to experience sight, if the imprisoned are to find freedom, if the oppressed are to be liberated, if the marginalized are to be welcomed at the table, it will only be as we heed the call to touch the untouchable. The old adage got it wrong-it is dirtiness, not cleanliness that is next to Godliness after all.