And There Was Light
Commentary
The significance of light and darkness is evident from the very beginning of scripture. Indeed, from the very beginning, period. “Let there be light” is, famously, the first thing we have a record of God saying. It is the essential first act of creation. And as we continue to read, we discover that it is just the first blow in God’s ongoing combat against darkness.
Later, the gospel writer picked up on what God did at creation and built upon it. John saw yet another divine victory over darkness in the person and work of Christ. “In him was life,” John wrote, “and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it” (John 1:4 NRSV).
Surrounding nations had an exalted view of the sun. Many ancient peoples deified it and worshiped it. Ancient Israel, meanwhile, bore witness that God spoke light at the beginning, but it was some time later that God made the sun as a kind of junior assistant in the whole lighting enterprise. And the first followers of Jesus heard and affirmed that he was actually the true light of the world.
Just as the biblical narrative begins with God introducing light into darkness, we see things come full circle at the end of the scriptures. In the penultimate chapter of Revelation, we read the description of the New Jerusalem, the heavenly city, and we discover that “there will be no night there” (22:25). In the end, it seems that darkness has been altogether conquered. And it is not the sun that gets the job done, but rather the Lord is reaffirmed as the true source of light. “The city has no need of sun or moon to shine on it, for the glory of God is its light, and its lamp is the Lamb.”
The larger biblical context of the theme of light and darkness is important to keep in mind as we read this week’s lectionary passages. And as we focus especially on the two New Testament texts, we will see the prominence and significance of light.
1 Samuel 16:1-13
Who could have imagined the significance of this event as it was happening? See the old, dusty prophet working his way through the tiny, out-of-the-way village of Bethlehem. Apart from an immediate hundred-mile radius, no one on earth knew who Samuel was. Jesse’s radius of fame was even smaller. And his youngest son was still more anonymous -- seemingly forgotten or overlooked even within his own family. In real time, therefore, there was nothing about this scene that led one to think something major was happening.
I am reminded, in this regard, of the lovely line from Philips Brooks’ cherished Christmas carol “O Little Town of Bethlehem”: “How silently, how silently, the wondrous gift is given.” This was Brooks’ observation about what God was doing at Christmas. And while the anointing of David is not on a par with the birth of the Savior, they are related. And this event from a thousand years earlier in the little town of Bethlehem is also so silent, so lacking in fanfare, so unnoticed.
Human beings are naturally fascinated by what we perceive to be the big and flashy works of God. We call them miracles, and we even presume to debate whether or not they happened because they seem impossible to us. Yet “God’s foolishness is wiser than human wisdom, and God’s weakness is stronger than human strength” (1 Corinthians 1:25). And so it is that the quiet and unnoticed works of God burst into significance. Such is Christmas. Such is the cross. And such is the anointing of David.
Samuel is functioning at God’s direction and as God’s agent. His expressed fear of Saul is ironic, since Samuel fearlessly confronted and condemned Saul to his face on several occasions. Such is the unevenness of the human creature, however. We are similarly surprised along the way by Noah, Abraham, Gideon, Paul, and others: we wonder how people who exhibit such faith and godliness in one moment can so easily decline to fear and frailty in the next. Such is our nature.
Interestingly, God offers no direct response to Samuel’s expressed apprehension. He simply continues to give his instructions to Samuel. There is no reassurance, just direction. We certainly see other occasions in scripture where the Lord gives reassurance to a frightened person or people. Not here. Perhaps he knew that Samuel knew better. Samuel, after all, was the one who first instructed Israel about who was really their King and who was not. And in this moment, he was being called to serve the eternal King, which should trump any fear of the very mortal one.
The parade of Jesse’s sons passes by Samuel. And while the prophet himself is impressed by what he sees, he understands that none of these men is God’s choice for Israel’s throne. And when it seems that they have come to the end of the line, Samuel asks Jesse: “Are all your sons here?” It’s interesting to note what the prophet knows and doesn’t know.
As it happens, the youngest of the family isn’t in attendance. He has sheep duty today. Samuel insists that he be summoned, and when he finally arrives, the Lord says to Samuel, “Rise and anoint him; for this is the one.”
That one was David. He had been out tending the flock, being trained in God’s school. He was learning about leadership. He was courageously fighting off wild beasts. He was learning about his own dependence on God and the Lord’s shepherd-like care. And he was likely watching over his flocks on the same hillsides where shepherds a thousand years later would be greeted by angels, directed into “the city of David,” and told about the birth of the anointed one whom later crowds would hail as the “son of David.”
Ephesians 5:8-14
Our New Testament lection is brief but dense. In it Paul employs highly picturesque language, and those pictures suggest a prevailing dualism: light and darkness, visible and invisible, fruitful and unfruitful, awake and asleep. The middle school English teacher might fault Paul for mixing metaphors. In his Hebrew mind, however, perhaps he is rather confirming truth through a multitude of witnesses.
The first image is the juxtaposition of light and dark. Interestingly, Paul does not say to the Ephesians that they were formerly “in” darkness but are now “in” light. That use of light and dark is certainly found elsewhere in the New Testament as a way of portraying a spiritual condition. But this passage does not feature the common and expected preposition “in.” Rather, Paul makes a more direct and dramatic connection: “you were darkness,” but now “you are light.”
We are reminded of the hopeful word spoken to God’s people through the prophet Isaiah: “Arise, shine; for your light has come, and the glory of the Lord has risen upon you” (Isaiah 60:1 NRSV). The people are command to shine -- both “arise” and “shine” are imperatives in the original Hebrew. But that shining is evidently a response: “for your light has come.” Whatever shining they can do, it seems, is not their own achievement, for light has to come to them.
Somewhere along the way in our schooling, you and I learned about the orbit of the moon around the earth, as well as the interplay of the sun and earth in the various “phases” of the moon. In fact, of course, the moon is always round, but it does not always appear that way. Instead, it is more or less fully lit at different times each month. It has no light of its own, but it does a beautiful job of reflecting to the sun’s light. And so, our experience of a full moon becomes an image of a thing being light when it is fully lit. The moon shines when its light has come from elsewhere. When the moon is in darkness, it is darkness. But when it is in the light, it is light. And so too with the people of God.
Another bit of imagery employed by Paul in this brief passage is captured in his use of the words “fruit” and “unfruitful.” This imagery goes almost as far back in scripture as the juxtaposition of light and darkness, for the command to be fruitful comes only a few verses after the command “Let there be light.” And if we are attentive to it, we will discover that the fruitful/unfruitful theme is almost as pervasive in scripture as the light/darkness theme is.
The fundamental issue with fruitfulness, of course, is that a living thing is producing according to its design. In the beginning, God created trees, animals, and human beings to be fruitful. It is an extension of God’s creative act, inasmuch as each thing reproduces itself “according to its kind.” And in that design, to bear fruit is to function according to design.
In Psalm 1, fruitfulness becomes a metaphor for right living. And both John the Baptist and Jesus pick up on that theme in their preaching and teaching, warning that unfruitful trees are cut down and unfruitful branches are cut off. An unfruitful life, you see, is one that is not functioning the way that God intended. And, meanwhile, Paul’s image of “fruit of the Spirit” becomes the highest expression of what a life lived according to God’s design looks like.
Then Paul turns to the contrast of things visible and invisible, which is naturally connected to the earlier matter of light and darkness. The deeds associated with darkness are shameful and therefore done in secret. Light, meanwhile, exposes those things, showing them for what they are. And so, in verse 11, we see how all three of the images used by Paul thus far are tied together in his mind. “Take no part in the fruitful works of darkness,” he writes, “but instead expose them.”
Finally, Paul briefly juxtaposes the images of being awake and asleep, and the state of sleep is equated with being dead. As with the light/dark and the fruitful/unfruitful, the awake/asleep duality is a spiritual metaphor. And it is a natural companion to the prevailing light/darkness image inasmuch as being asleep is associated with darkness and waking up is associated with the coming of the light.
John 9:1-41
Our gospel lection is a long one, for it endeavors to tell an entire story. It is, at the surface, the story of a blind man healed by Jesus. But it becomes also a story about spiritual testimony, human prejudices and fears, letter versus spirit of the law, the definition of sin, and the work of God. A single sermon is not enough to mine the depths of this pericope.
As a preacher, I sometimes have to fight the temptation to feel burdened by a rich or a lengthy text. Do I feel burdened by a buffet at a restaurant? Of course not. It is all opportunity, and the abundance is a blessing. So too with John 9. You and your congregation are not obliged to consume the whole spread. Just know that everywhere you go in the text will be delicious and nutritious.
For our purposes here, then, let me outline briefly a few of the preaching options that I see.
First, the passage begins and ends with questions of sin and culpability. The disciples presume that the central character’s physical blindness is the result of someone’s sin. That is, someone is at fault, and that is why the man is unable to see. Jesus disabuses the disciples of that diagnosis. At the other end of the story, however, the connection between blindness and sin is turned inside out. “If you were blind,” Jesus warned the Pharisees, “you would not have sin. But now that you say, ‘We see,’ your sin remains.” Rather than the man’s blindness being the man’s fault, the Pharisees’ fault lies in the fact that they claim to see.
As an aside, the fact that Jesus corrected the disciples’ misunderstanding of the source of the blind man’s condition should prompt us to give serious attention to the number of times he casts out demons. Modern readers are often inclined to write off the demon-possession episodes as primitive superstition. Yet since Jesus did not hesitate to correct the misdiagnosis of the blind man, we should take his acceptance of the possession diagnoses as an affirmation of their reality.
Second, when we take this story as just one in a much larger collection of healing stories from Jesus’ ministry, we are impressed by the variety we see there. Some are healed with a word, some with a touch, at least one by touching him, some at a distance, some up close, and this one with spit and dirt. There is no one single formula for healing with Jesus. And likewise, just as there are a variety of methods, there are a variety of requests. Some come to Jesus needing healing for themselves, some request on behalf of others, and this man does not even seem to request healing -- it is, rather, Jesus’ initiative with this blind man.
This point will preach. When we talk about the work of God’s prevenient grace in our lives, we affirm the divine initiative that works in us, on us, and for us quite apart from our seeking or requesting. Unlike Bartimaeus, this blind man is not calling out to Jesus. Indeed, in a way that seems almost intrusive, Jesus covers the blind man’s eyes with mud, forcing the need to wash. And with the washing comes the healing.
Finally, we see in this episode how slowly belief comes. In our proof-hungry age, the skeptic claims that he would believe if only he could see God do something miraculous. Yet the testimony of scripture suggests otherwise. A miracle had clearly happened in their midst, but so many people were reluctant to believe. For some, they doubted that the seeing man was the same person as the blind man. For others, the apparent slighting of the sabbath is an impediment to belief. For the parents, fear is an obstacle to faith. And even for the blind man himself, a full recognition of Christ was slow to come -- though it did come in the end. And what the narrator portrays in this chapter is a microcosm of the larger truth portrayed by his whole gospel: people respond differently, and belief seldom comes quickly or easily to people.
Application
At the beginning of Genesis and the end of Revelation, light and darkness are presented as physical realities. When viewed in the larger context of so much of the biblical material in between, though, it’s hard not to see a spiritual correlation. Apart from the work of God, the world -- or any individual life -- is in darkness. He brings light. And when he brings light, no other light source is needed, and darkness is overcome.
Paul’s instructions to the Christians in Ephesus succinctly capture the stakes for the individual. There is a sort of darkness existence, if you will. It is unfruitful and associated with shame and death. But there is also a light existence, and the people of God are called to “live as children of light.”
Meanwhile, the episode from John 9 is story, not teaching. Yet stories often serve to illustrate truth even better that teaching. And so, just as the larger pattern of scripture presents us with both physical and spiritual versions of light and darkness, so this story juxtaposes both the physical and spiritual versions.
The physical darkness is embodied by the blind man. He lives in darkness, inasmuch as he cannot see. Yet shortly after he is enabled to see physically, he also comes to see spiritually. As foils to his example, however, are the religious leaders, who purport to be in no sort of darkness at all. Yet the reader recognizes them as models of spiritual darkness in that they cannot really see Christ. They see rules being broken, they see insolence, they see troublemaking, but they do not see Jesus. And so while they are not physically in darkness, their spiritual darkness persists.
Jesus’ contact with the religious leaders serves to prove a point that Paul makes. “Everything exposed by the light becomes visible,” Paul wrote. And so it is that the true condition of those leaders is exposed by Jesus.
“As long as I am in the world,” Jesus said, “I am the light of the world.” So the same God who spoke light into darkness physically in the beginning, sent Light into the spiritually dark world in his Son. For those who are ready to be freed from darkness, like the man born blind, that is good news. For those who love the darkness, however, his coming means exposure and judgment.
Alternative Application
1 Samuel 16:1-13. Heart Condition. We can all look at the same thing, but we will not all see the same thing.
I have become acutely aware of this principle as a homeowner. Through the years I have dealt with experts in very different fields related to house and property. I learn from each of them, and I discover that each one brings a different set of eyes to the very same house.
The pest control guy, for example, can’t look at a house without seeing the tiny, out-of-the-way spots where mice are likely to find their way inside. My friend who installs replacement windows sees details and issues that I do not. The landscaper, meanwhile, is pointing out to me the telltale coloration of some leaves on one of my bushes. And the designer is seeing things that do not even exist: she sees possibilities; she sees what a place or a space could become.
In every case, they are seeing more than I do. I walk around the same house that they do, but it’s a different experience for them. None of these are areas of expertise for me, you see, and so they help to open my eyes to things I hadn’t noticed before.
If such variance exists among human beings, how vast must be the difference between what we see and what God sees! This is surely one of the myriad blessings of prayer. To talk with him about a person or situation is to take a walk around the house with the Someone who can open our eyes to things we wouldn’t see otherwise.
Furthermore, we discover that we are often looking at the wrong thing. I might be troubled by the fingerprint on the window, for example. My friend who installs windows for a living, however, sees some early, tiny evidence of moisture in one corner between the panes. He would tell me I am focusing on the wrong thing.
The Lord told Samuel that he was focusing on the wrong thing. He had been sent to the house of Jesse to find the next king of Israel, and Samuel was looking at the outward appearances. It’s what we human beings see first, of course, but that doesn’t mean it is what we should focus on or see exclusively. And Samuel is taught that those outward appearances are not at all what God looks at.
“Do not look on his appearance or on the height of his stature,” God tells Samuel regarding Eliab, “because I have rejected him.” While the first impression might have commended this prepossessing son of Jesse, he was evidently disqualified at another level. And so God goes on to explain to Samuel: “The Lord does not see as mortals see; they look on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart.”
We aren’t told what was wrong with Eliab’s heart, but of course that’s none of our concern. It is sufficient for us to know the very truth that God revealed to Samuel. And the truth is that the Lord looks on the heart.
We human beings invest a good deal of time and money in our outward appearances. If our only aim is to please human beings, then it is money and time well spent. But if our aim is to please God, then we might reflect on how to attend to what really matters: our hearts.
Later, the gospel writer picked up on what God did at creation and built upon it. John saw yet another divine victory over darkness in the person and work of Christ. “In him was life,” John wrote, “and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it” (John 1:4 NRSV).
Surrounding nations had an exalted view of the sun. Many ancient peoples deified it and worshiped it. Ancient Israel, meanwhile, bore witness that God spoke light at the beginning, but it was some time later that God made the sun as a kind of junior assistant in the whole lighting enterprise. And the first followers of Jesus heard and affirmed that he was actually the true light of the world.
Just as the biblical narrative begins with God introducing light into darkness, we see things come full circle at the end of the scriptures. In the penultimate chapter of Revelation, we read the description of the New Jerusalem, the heavenly city, and we discover that “there will be no night there” (22:25). In the end, it seems that darkness has been altogether conquered. And it is not the sun that gets the job done, but rather the Lord is reaffirmed as the true source of light. “The city has no need of sun or moon to shine on it, for the glory of God is its light, and its lamp is the Lamb.”
The larger biblical context of the theme of light and darkness is important to keep in mind as we read this week’s lectionary passages. And as we focus especially on the two New Testament texts, we will see the prominence and significance of light.
1 Samuel 16:1-13
Who could have imagined the significance of this event as it was happening? See the old, dusty prophet working his way through the tiny, out-of-the-way village of Bethlehem. Apart from an immediate hundred-mile radius, no one on earth knew who Samuel was. Jesse’s radius of fame was even smaller. And his youngest son was still more anonymous -- seemingly forgotten or overlooked even within his own family. In real time, therefore, there was nothing about this scene that led one to think something major was happening.
I am reminded, in this regard, of the lovely line from Philips Brooks’ cherished Christmas carol “O Little Town of Bethlehem”: “How silently, how silently, the wondrous gift is given.” This was Brooks’ observation about what God was doing at Christmas. And while the anointing of David is not on a par with the birth of the Savior, they are related. And this event from a thousand years earlier in the little town of Bethlehem is also so silent, so lacking in fanfare, so unnoticed.
Human beings are naturally fascinated by what we perceive to be the big and flashy works of God. We call them miracles, and we even presume to debate whether or not they happened because they seem impossible to us. Yet “God’s foolishness is wiser than human wisdom, and God’s weakness is stronger than human strength” (1 Corinthians 1:25). And so it is that the quiet and unnoticed works of God burst into significance. Such is Christmas. Such is the cross. And such is the anointing of David.
Samuel is functioning at God’s direction and as God’s agent. His expressed fear of Saul is ironic, since Samuel fearlessly confronted and condemned Saul to his face on several occasions. Such is the unevenness of the human creature, however. We are similarly surprised along the way by Noah, Abraham, Gideon, Paul, and others: we wonder how people who exhibit such faith and godliness in one moment can so easily decline to fear and frailty in the next. Such is our nature.
Interestingly, God offers no direct response to Samuel’s expressed apprehension. He simply continues to give his instructions to Samuel. There is no reassurance, just direction. We certainly see other occasions in scripture where the Lord gives reassurance to a frightened person or people. Not here. Perhaps he knew that Samuel knew better. Samuel, after all, was the one who first instructed Israel about who was really their King and who was not. And in this moment, he was being called to serve the eternal King, which should trump any fear of the very mortal one.
The parade of Jesse’s sons passes by Samuel. And while the prophet himself is impressed by what he sees, he understands that none of these men is God’s choice for Israel’s throne. And when it seems that they have come to the end of the line, Samuel asks Jesse: “Are all your sons here?” It’s interesting to note what the prophet knows and doesn’t know.
As it happens, the youngest of the family isn’t in attendance. He has sheep duty today. Samuel insists that he be summoned, and when he finally arrives, the Lord says to Samuel, “Rise and anoint him; for this is the one.”
That one was David. He had been out tending the flock, being trained in God’s school. He was learning about leadership. He was courageously fighting off wild beasts. He was learning about his own dependence on God and the Lord’s shepherd-like care. And he was likely watching over his flocks on the same hillsides where shepherds a thousand years later would be greeted by angels, directed into “the city of David,” and told about the birth of the anointed one whom later crowds would hail as the “son of David.”
Ephesians 5:8-14
Our New Testament lection is brief but dense. In it Paul employs highly picturesque language, and those pictures suggest a prevailing dualism: light and darkness, visible and invisible, fruitful and unfruitful, awake and asleep. The middle school English teacher might fault Paul for mixing metaphors. In his Hebrew mind, however, perhaps he is rather confirming truth through a multitude of witnesses.
The first image is the juxtaposition of light and dark. Interestingly, Paul does not say to the Ephesians that they were formerly “in” darkness but are now “in” light. That use of light and dark is certainly found elsewhere in the New Testament as a way of portraying a spiritual condition. But this passage does not feature the common and expected preposition “in.” Rather, Paul makes a more direct and dramatic connection: “you were darkness,” but now “you are light.”
We are reminded of the hopeful word spoken to God’s people through the prophet Isaiah: “Arise, shine; for your light has come, and the glory of the Lord has risen upon you” (Isaiah 60:1 NRSV). The people are command to shine -- both “arise” and “shine” are imperatives in the original Hebrew. But that shining is evidently a response: “for your light has come.” Whatever shining they can do, it seems, is not their own achievement, for light has to come to them.
Somewhere along the way in our schooling, you and I learned about the orbit of the moon around the earth, as well as the interplay of the sun and earth in the various “phases” of the moon. In fact, of course, the moon is always round, but it does not always appear that way. Instead, it is more or less fully lit at different times each month. It has no light of its own, but it does a beautiful job of reflecting to the sun’s light. And so, our experience of a full moon becomes an image of a thing being light when it is fully lit. The moon shines when its light has come from elsewhere. When the moon is in darkness, it is darkness. But when it is in the light, it is light. And so too with the people of God.
Another bit of imagery employed by Paul in this brief passage is captured in his use of the words “fruit” and “unfruitful.” This imagery goes almost as far back in scripture as the juxtaposition of light and darkness, for the command to be fruitful comes only a few verses after the command “Let there be light.” And if we are attentive to it, we will discover that the fruitful/unfruitful theme is almost as pervasive in scripture as the light/darkness theme is.
The fundamental issue with fruitfulness, of course, is that a living thing is producing according to its design. In the beginning, God created trees, animals, and human beings to be fruitful. It is an extension of God’s creative act, inasmuch as each thing reproduces itself “according to its kind.” And in that design, to bear fruit is to function according to design.
In Psalm 1, fruitfulness becomes a metaphor for right living. And both John the Baptist and Jesus pick up on that theme in their preaching and teaching, warning that unfruitful trees are cut down and unfruitful branches are cut off. An unfruitful life, you see, is one that is not functioning the way that God intended. And, meanwhile, Paul’s image of “fruit of the Spirit” becomes the highest expression of what a life lived according to God’s design looks like.
Then Paul turns to the contrast of things visible and invisible, which is naturally connected to the earlier matter of light and darkness. The deeds associated with darkness are shameful and therefore done in secret. Light, meanwhile, exposes those things, showing them for what they are. And so, in verse 11, we see how all three of the images used by Paul thus far are tied together in his mind. “Take no part in the fruitful works of darkness,” he writes, “but instead expose them.”
Finally, Paul briefly juxtaposes the images of being awake and asleep, and the state of sleep is equated with being dead. As with the light/dark and the fruitful/unfruitful, the awake/asleep duality is a spiritual metaphor. And it is a natural companion to the prevailing light/darkness image inasmuch as being asleep is associated with darkness and waking up is associated with the coming of the light.
John 9:1-41
Our gospel lection is a long one, for it endeavors to tell an entire story. It is, at the surface, the story of a blind man healed by Jesus. But it becomes also a story about spiritual testimony, human prejudices and fears, letter versus spirit of the law, the definition of sin, and the work of God. A single sermon is not enough to mine the depths of this pericope.
As a preacher, I sometimes have to fight the temptation to feel burdened by a rich or a lengthy text. Do I feel burdened by a buffet at a restaurant? Of course not. It is all opportunity, and the abundance is a blessing. So too with John 9. You and your congregation are not obliged to consume the whole spread. Just know that everywhere you go in the text will be delicious and nutritious.
For our purposes here, then, let me outline briefly a few of the preaching options that I see.
First, the passage begins and ends with questions of sin and culpability. The disciples presume that the central character’s physical blindness is the result of someone’s sin. That is, someone is at fault, and that is why the man is unable to see. Jesus disabuses the disciples of that diagnosis. At the other end of the story, however, the connection between blindness and sin is turned inside out. “If you were blind,” Jesus warned the Pharisees, “you would not have sin. But now that you say, ‘We see,’ your sin remains.” Rather than the man’s blindness being the man’s fault, the Pharisees’ fault lies in the fact that they claim to see.
As an aside, the fact that Jesus corrected the disciples’ misunderstanding of the source of the blind man’s condition should prompt us to give serious attention to the number of times he casts out demons. Modern readers are often inclined to write off the demon-possession episodes as primitive superstition. Yet since Jesus did not hesitate to correct the misdiagnosis of the blind man, we should take his acceptance of the possession diagnoses as an affirmation of their reality.
Second, when we take this story as just one in a much larger collection of healing stories from Jesus’ ministry, we are impressed by the variety we see there. Some are healed with a word, some with a touch, at least one by touching him, some at a distance, some up close, and this one with spit and dirt. There is no one single formula for healing with Jesus. And likewise, just as there are a variety of methods, there are a variety of requests. Some come to Jesus needing healing for themselves, some request on behalf of others, and this man does not even seem to request healing -- it is, rather, Jesus’ initiative with this blind man.
This point will preach. When we talk about the work of God’s prevenient grace in our lives, we affirm the divine initiative that works in us, on us, and for us quite apart from our seeking or requesting. Unlike Bartimaeus, this blind man is not calling out to Jesus. Indeed, in a way that seems almost intrusive, Jesus covers the blind man’s eyes with mud, forcing the need to wash. And with the washing comes the healing.
Finally, we see in this episode how slowly belief comes. In our proof-hungry age, the skeptic claims that he would believe if only he could see God do something miraculous. Yet the testimony of scripture suggests otherwise. A miracle had clearly happened in their midst, but so many people were reluctant to believe. For some, they doubted that the seeing man was the same person as the blind man. For others, the apparent slighting of the sabbath is an impediment to belief. For the parents, fear is an obstacle to faith. And even for the blind man himself, a full recognition of Christ was slow to come -- though it did come in the end. And what the narrator portrays in this chapter is a microcosm of the larger truth portrayed by his whole gospel: people respond differently, and belief seldom comes quickly or easily to people.
Application
At the beginning of Genesis and the end of Revelation, light and darkness are presented as physical realities. When viewed in the larger context of so much of the biblical material in between, though, it’s hard not to see a spiritual correlation. Apart from the work of God, the world -- or any individual life -- is in darkness. He brings light. And when he brings light, no other light source is needed, and darkness is overcome.
Paul’s instructions to the Christians in Ephesus succinctly capture the stakes for the individual. There is a sort of darkness existence, if you will. It is unfruitful and associated with shame and death. But there is also a light existence, and the people of God are called to “live as children of light.”
Meanwhile, the episode from John 9 is story, not teaching. Yet stories often serve to illustrate truth even better that teaching. And so, just as the larger pattern of scripture presents us with both physical and spiritual versions of light and darkness, so this story juxtaposes both the physical and spiritual versions.
The physical darkness is embodied by the blind man. He lives in darkness, inasmuch as he cannot see. Yet shortly after he is enabled to see physically, he also comes to see spiritually. As foils to his example, however, are the religious leaders, who purport to be in no sort of darkness at all. Yet the reader recognizes them as models of spiritual darkness in that they cannot really see Christ. They see rules being broken, they see insolence, they see troublemaking, but they do not see Jesus. And so while they are not physically in darkness, their spiritual darkness persists.
Jesus’ contact with the religious leaders serves to prove a point that Paul makes. “Everything exposed by the light becomes visible,” Paul wrote. And so it is that the true condition of those leaders is exposed by Jesus.
“As long as I am in the world,” Jesus said, “I am the light of the world.” So the same God who spoke light into darkness physically in the beginning, sent Light into the spiritually dark world in his Son. For those who are ready to be freed from darkness, like the man born blind, that is good news. For those who love the darkness, however, his coming means exposure and judgment.
Alternative Application
1 Samuel 16:1-13. Heart Condition. We can all look at the same thing, but we will not all see the same thing.
I have become acutely aware of this principle as a homeowner. Through the years I have dealt with experts in very different fields related to house and property. I learn from each of them, and I discover that each one brings a different set of eyes to the very same house.
The pest control guy, for example, can’t look at a house without seeing the tiny, out-of-the-way spots where mice are likely to find their way inside. My friend who installs replacement windows sees details and issues that I do not. The landscaper, meanwhile, is pointing out to me the telltale coloration of some leaves on one of my bushes. And the designer is seeing things that do not even exist: she sees possibilities; she sees what a place or a space could become.
In every case, they are seeing more than I do. I walk around the same house that they do, but it’s a different experience for them. None of these are areas of expertise for me, you see, and so they help to open my eyes to things I hadn’t noticed before.
If such variance exists among human beings, how vast must be the difference between what we see and what God sees! This is surely one of the myriad blessings of prayer. To talk with him about a person or situation is to take a walk around the house with the Someone who can open our eyes to things we wouldn’t see otherwise.
Furthermore, we discover that we are often looking at the wrong thing. I might be troubled by the fingerprint on the window, for example. My friend who installs windows for a living, however, sees some early, tiny evidence of moisture in one corner between the panes. He would tell me I am focusing on the wrong thing.
The Lord told Samuel that he was focusing on the wrong thing. He had been sent to the house of Jesse to find the next king of Israel, and Samuel was looking at the outward appearances. It’s what we human beings see first, of course, but that doesn’t mean it is what we should focus on or see exclusively. And Samuel is taught that those outward appearances are not at all what God looks at.
“Do not look on his appearance or on the height of his stature,” God tells Samuel regarding Eliab, “because I have rejected him.” While the first impression might have commended this prepossessing son of Jesse, he was evidently disqualified at another level. And so God goes on to explain to Samuel: “The Lord does not see as mortals see; they look on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart.”
We aren’t told what was wrong with Eliab’s heart, but of course that’s none of our concern. It is sufficient for us to know the very truth that God revealed to Samuel. And the truth is that the Lord looks on the heart.
We human beings invest a good deal of time and money in our outward appearances. If our only aim is to please human beings, then it is money and time well spent. But if our aim is to please God, then we might reflect on how to attend to what really matters: our hearts.
