Healing and Belonging

John 9:1-41

Our gospel reading for today is John 9:1-41, the story of Jesus’ healing of a man born blind.  I won’t read the text now, as I read it in a different video with the rest of the day’s liturgy.  So how can we open ourselves to the good news in this story?

 

Well, I am recording this video because our congregation, like lots of others, has suspended face to face worship.  We are still in the early stages of being careful about how much we’re around others.  And it’s already proving difficult.  We’re realizing how much we enjoy the freedom of moving around, going here and there, being in close proximity with others.  And so I’m reading this healing story from that angle today.

On one level this entire story is about our need for connection, for closeness, for belonging.  Notice that the story reaches a climactic end point when the religious authorities throw the healed man out of the synagogue.  That’s our first clue that this is a story about being included, about the blessing of belonging to a community where you’re valued and welcomed. 

In the story, a man blind from birth receives his sight.  This is dramatic enough.  Can you imagine how lovingly you would look at the faces of others if you had never seen faces before?  Can you imagine how much joy would get from looking up into the blue sky or towards the stars at night?  Can you imagine the wonder of gazing at the landscape, or tree bark, or a beautiful blue flower or a fat little dog?  But the healed man received more than his sight.  He got his whole life back.  Because of his disability, he had been limited to begging.  He couldn’t work, couldn’t participate in the broader economy, couldn’t enjoy the dignity of doing his share.  But Jesus rejoins him to a fuller life, lived in the rhythms of his community.

It’s also a story about how sin works.  Some of the characters in the story think they have sin all figured out.  They know how it works and they know how to categorize people as not-so-bad, bad, and really bad.  Jesus’ disciples do it first.  They give voice to the assumption that anything difficult or challenging that happens in life must mean that God is punishing us for something.  “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?” (9:2).  Jesus’ response was crystal clear: “Neither this man nor his parents sinned” (9:3).  That’s not how sin works, says Jesus.  God isn’t in the punishment business like that. 

The religious authorities get bent out of shape when they find out that Jesus healed the man born blind on a special sabbath day.  We’re professionally religious people.  We dress up when we go to church.  And we get there earlier than other people.  We follow God’s rules.  But this guy Jesus isn’t following the rules.  He’s a “sinner.”  The rest of the story invites us to recognize that healing on the wrong day doesn’t make you a sinner.  God is in the business of healing.  And whenever we play some small role in the healing and wholeness of other people, we’re doing God’s work.  Even if we don’t follow all the rules.

So let’s be careful about all of our inherited assumptions about what sin is and who qualifies as a sinner.  Nevertheless, this story does have something to say about sin.  We sin against God when our lives contribute to the fracture and fragmentation of the community.  We sin against God when our lives tell the lie that some of us are more important than others.  We sin against God when our behavior undercuts the dignity and beauty of other people.  Notice, as the story unfolds, that the man born blind is wronged first by his neighbors who don’t even recognize him, then by his own parents who are afraid to say much about him, and finally by the religious leaders who insult him. Everyone sins against this man except Jesus, who heals him and reconnects him to his own strength and dignity. 

Now let me say something about the disgusting part of the story – the spit and the mud.  Notice that the man does not even ask for healing.  Jesus and the disciples just happen across him as he sits and begs.  And without warning, Jesus starts spitting on the ground.  Now let’s be honest, to get enough mud you’re going to have to spit not once, but several times.  The man born blind is thinking, “Why is the rabbi spitting and spitting.  I don’t like where this is going!”

Jesus makes a paste from his own spit and mud and applies this to the man’s eyes.  We find ourselves in a moment when we are being cautioned to practice “social distancing.”  We’re advised to stay six feet away from one another, so that my cough or sneeze doesn’t get it all over you.  We are highly vulnerable right now to the bodily fluids of others.  And here Jesus wipes muddy spit across a man’s eyes, and then tells him to go wash.  And when he washes, he is healed.  The healing part is great, but if you’re not gagging a little, or dry heaving, or at least horrified, then you’re not quite imagining the messy intimacy of the story. 

When we lived in NYC, we used the subways to get around.  And Remy was a toddler, so he was still in a stroller.  Once we were on a packed subway with all of our kids, and Remy was drinking a bottle of milk.  He threw his bottle down, and it landed in a way that squirted warm milk in the faces of several people sitting next to the stroller.  So these people are wiping the warm milk off their faces and shooting us death stares.  And we want nothing more than to disappear, but there’s nowhere to go when you are on a crowded subway car.  Look, he’s my own kid, and if his warm milk had sprayed ME in the face, I probably would have thrown up.

Suffice it to say, those of us listening to this story and trying to hear some good news do not like the idea of a stranger wiping their muddy spit across our faces.  This encounter represents a closeness, a messiness, a fleshiness, a sharing, an intimacy that violates our need for clear boundaries and personal space.  But even so, this story reminds us how much we miss one another right now.  It’s only been a few days of being careful about how much we’re together.  And already we miss friendship, closeness, the touch of those we love. 

Let me talk for a minute about some of the tender places in our lives that call out for God’s healing right now.

We may not be physically blind right now, but it’s really hard for us to see our lives as places of joy.  And it’s really hard for us to see the wonder and the beauty of life right now when we are in the midst of disappointment.  Your kids might tell you that they’re glad they’re not going back to school.  But press a little bit and you’ll find kids who are deeply confused and disappointed to lose the end of their year.  These extra measures of caution came right as many were prepared to travel or at least rest and relax over Spring Break.  And those plans and trips, long anticipated, had to be postponed.  There are kids missing their sports season, missing prom and even graduation.  There are now businesses struggling and employees who have been let go and who are uncertain about the future.

It has been hard for all of us to change our lives, to avoid unnecessary physical contact, to forego get-togethers and public places.  Many of us are working from home.  Even the comfort of being together in our faith communities has been taken from us.  This difficult time will likely make us more grateful for the many forms of togetherness we often take for granted. 

But I do want you to remember that God’s healing work in our lives is not channeled only through religious services and church life.  God’s healing of the man born blind didn’t happen in a church.  It happened outdoors, on a street corner.  In fact, the religious people didn’t like the healing and didn’t have room for it within their system.  Now I do believe that the rhythms of worship in a gathered community are a gift from God that provide encouragement, fellowship, accountability, and comfort.  And yet during this time when we are unable to be together at church, let’s remember that the church isn’t good news.  Jesus Christ is good news.  God’s love for everyone and everything is good news.  And that living energy we call the Spirit of Christ can never be confined to a religious institution or a special building.

In closing let me say a few things about what God’s healing energy might look like for us this week.

First, as much as you are able, keep your body moving.  Stay active.  When we experience healing and wholeness, our bodies are in motion.  However long this crisis lasts, I encourage you to resist the urge to sit.  No one is telling you to stay indoors all day.  So get out and go for a walk as often as you possibly can.  Researchers tell us that simply being outdoors, being in closer contact with the natural world, can decrease our stress levels.

Second, and related, we are created to be engaged in a variety of tasks and projects.  Whether that is starting a garden or reading a poem or cleaning the garage or cooking a meal, you’re better when you’re doing.  When you are at your healthiest, you are creative and productive.  That means you weren’t built to be an all-day consumer of coronavirus news.  Let me be blunt: it’s unhealthy to stay in front of a news-feed all day.   Get an update a few times a day via social media, or tv, and let that be it.  Our bodies can’t handle the anxiety created by watching news all day.

Third and finally, we can’t be healthy if our schedules are chaotic and unpredictable every day.  Parents, if you are dealing with kids who are schooling at home, they need rhythm.  They need structure.  They need a predictable, reliable form to the day.  You don’t have to schedule every minute.  But make sure that you collaborate as a family and come up with workable routines.  Time to go to bed and time to wake up.  Maybe there’s an hour or two of learning in the morning.  Then time outside.  Then a walk.  Then maybe after a little more work there’s a reward like video games or time on their phones.  And then maybe there is time for free reading before dinner.  How you build the schedule doesn’t matter.  But all of us, adults as well as children, do better when we come to each day with at least some loose framework for how to move through that day. 

Sometimes we can experience God’s healing by simply receiving our lives for what they are; by accepting the days as they come to us.  I don’t like these imposed limitations any more than you do.  But it just is.  And we’ll get through it together.  And the energy that connects us in our shared work and in or patient waiting will be the healing energy of the risen Christ.  It may be that in this foreign territory, in this strange new time of social distancing, we learn something valuable about how much we need each other.  May God bless you and your family as we keep moving forward.  Amen.