It’s What You See

As [Jesus] walked along, he saw a man blind from birth. His disciples asked him, “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?” Jesus answered, “Neither this man nor his parents sinned; he was born blind so that God’s works might be revealed in him. … When he had said this, he spat on the ground and made mud with the saliva and spread the mud on the man’s eyes, saying to him, “Go, wash in the pool of Siloam”…Then he went and washed and came back able to see. (From The Gospel According to John 9:1-7, NRSV)

As a poet and educator, a quote from Henry David Thoreau is often on my mind: it’s not what you look at that matters, but what you see. There’s a lot in John chapter 9 to be seen, and it would be easy to focus on all of the blindness, the lack of sight in this story:

The man at the center of the story is literally blind. (vs 1)
The disciples’ lack of understanding and metaphoric blindness before the healing takes place. (vs 2-7)
How, after sight is granted to the formerly blind man, the Pharisees and the crowd display a lack of belief (spiritual blindness) by questioning if the man was even really blind to begin with, and then driving his whole family out of their religious community for their dealings with Jesus. (vs 8-41)

All of these elements are fair game, clearly build upon each other, and are a part of the central point of the passage. It’s also what I was taught as a kid in Sunday School. But this was never the first thing I saw. I was always deeply bothered by this flannel graph favorite, but it took me years to understand what was staring me right in the face: the blindness of Jesus.

maybe Jesus needed more time to think
the disciples asked Him whose sin blinded
this man from birth: his, his parents? appalled,
Martha cannot believe in this Jesus
whose deaf answer trembles her Bible closed.
so that you could see the power of God?
she remembers the eyes which accused her
of lapses in prenatal care. questioned
her fidelity. found lawful cause for
his tiny body’s chronic rebellion
against its own good. as the pastor reads
His response, she finds their false blame better—
more acceptable—than sons suffering
for parlor tricks, divine object lessons.

~ MEH

What Do We Deserve?

From the outset, this story is a theological and emotional rollercoaster. Jesus sees a man who is blind, and since this is Jesus, we assume a healing is forthcoming. But before He can open His mouth, His disciples ask a provocative question:

“Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?” (vs2)

The disciples see someone in pain and ask a question accusing the man and his family of being so sinful that he deserves his aliment. The implication is plain: natural pain, illness, or sickness is the result of sin. We get what we deserve, which may include bearing the burden of our parents’ sin.

Look, I’m a high school teacher. I have no problem with basic “cause and effect” logic when it comes to consequences. You didn’t do your homework or study, so you failed the test. You tipped back in your chair, so you fell over. You said something racist/sexist/homophobic to the wrong person on the right day, so now you walk with a limp. Speeding can cause an accident. Unprotected sex can result in an STD. Uncritical voting practices can, ironically, lead to the downfall of democracy. These are outcomes easy to understand. But most of us will balk at the idea that we “deserve” an effect that is not a direct result of something we ourselves caused.

To some degree we can begrudgingly accept the reality that the decisions that others make, especially our parents, can have a negative impact on us. Ask the family, significant other, coworker, or employee of abusers, alcoholics, emotional manipulators, gamblers, or any other shitty people. We can all be hurt by the actions of others, but to say we “deserve” that hurt is unhealthy. [Pause: if you don’t think this is true, you are probably in an abusive situation, as your friends have been telling you for years. Listen to them. Get out.]

The beginnings of Jesus’ responses bears out the truth of this:

Jesus answered, “Neither this man nor his parents sinned… (vs 3a)

YES, Jesus! Smack down their highly problematic theological assertion—their backward hamartiology imputing sin on the innocent. This is where the story should: Jesus drops this knowledge, heals the man who is blind, and they all go out to throw loan sharks out of the Temple. But the problem is that Jesus keeps (f**king) talking…

“…he was born blind so that God’s works might be revealed in him.” (vs 3b)

Seriously Jesus: WTF?

Let’s really stop and unpack this.

In answering thier question, Jesus says that this man’s decades of blindness was preordained by God—presumably before the foundations of the earth were lain—as a “parlor trick” or “divine object lesson” for the benefit of the disciples (and presumably everyone else who would come in contact with the healed man, whether in person, or reading his story in the Christian New Testament). Yes. The number of people impacted by this miraculous event is an amazing witness. And no doubt the formerly blind man was very grateful for his healing (you know, save for the whole having his life of pain questioned and his family run out of town thing, which undoubtedly sucked). But, again, let’s really look at what this means.

Let’s propose a new scenario: a mother has a child with a serious physical or cognitive limitation which significantly harms the child’s quality of life. She hears this story being preached by her pastor/priest from the pulpit one Sunday morning. What would she take away from this tale?

It’s one thing to believe an almighty God is doing the Divine’s Best to redeem all our free will actions—that “all things working together for good” (Romans 8:28) means that God is exerting effort in the face of the causes and effects that lead to our pain. Call it “natural evil,” or “a result of The Fall,” or “nature red in tooth an claw,” or “shit happens,” this mother, like many of us, can begrudgingly accept this idea when it comes to “why bad things happen.”

But it is another thing entirely to ask this woman if she is comfortable serving a God who believes that the ends justify the means. Asking her to accept a utilitarian model of theodicy—achieving “the most good for the most people” means that some people have to suffer by divine design. What could she take away other than false hope or anger at the prospect that maybe, hopefully, there is “some good reason” that God has for directly causing her child pain?

That might be a shit-filled pill too large to swallow.

It Gets Worse

I am not the only person who thinks this. Other characters in the Bible do as well. If we continue reading The Gospel According to John, a couple of chapters later we come to a story about Lazarus—a close friend of Jesus—whose situation is placed in relation to this story about the man who was formerly blind.

In John chapter 11, when Lazarus get very very ill, his sisters—Mary and Martha—send word to Jesus that His beloved friend is close to death. Upon hearing this news, Jesus responds, “This illness does not lead to death; rather, it is for God’s glory, so that the Son of God may be glorified through it” (vs 4b) [sound familiar?]. He then hangs out for another two days until he receives word that Lazarus has died. Eventually, Jesus makes the trip to see Lazarus’ body, which has now been in the tomb for four whole days. But, just like with the blind man, Jesus is unfazed because He had a plan, knew what He was doing all along. Yes, healings are great, but by now you should see the pattern and the problem.

If Jesus could heal him, why should Lazarus have to suffer like this—his body wracked with pain, alternating between fever and chills, gasping for each labored breath? And what about the people who love Lazarus and must watch him suffer? They attempted to cool his body, relieve his pain, force him to eat something, tell him everything is going to be alright when they didn’t believe it themselves. Being so concerned for the welfare of their brother, for the first and only time recorded, Mary and Martha try to cash in on their long-standing friendship with Jesus, desperately believing that He had the power to save him (See 21-27; 32).

But it’s not only Lazarus’ family who feels this way, but the friends gathered around who knew the power of Jesus. So much so they reference his previous encounter with the formerly blind man:

Jesus began to weep. So the Jews said, “See how he loved him!”
But some of them said, “Could not he who opened the eyes of the blind man have kept this man from dying?” (vs 35-37)

Again, yes, to exist on this planet means we will suffer in various ways, including our bodies rebelling against us and those we love. Ugly and painful deaths are also built into the system. Thus, the fact that Jesus heals anyone in the Bible is wonderful. But don’t miss the rationale given for the illness, for the death. Don’t be blind to the Bible’s own words. Jesus said Lazarus was sick “…for God’s glory, so that the Son of God may be glorified through it” (vs 4b). God becomes the cause of this effect and it forces one, or at least me to, respectfully, call theological bullshit.

An Uncomfortable Way of Seeing

As I’ve grown older, my Sunday school discomfort has been tempered by my life as a writer and educator. It’s led me to wonder if these self-referential stories have fallen prey to a common literary issue: the narrative plot hole.

Sometimes an author is so wrapped up in the point that they are trying to make that they don’t think through the implications of all the details; They are so focused on the big picture, the major theme and motifs running through a work, the finer point get lost. It’s the same reason why medical shows are eviscerated by doctors, sci-fi movies by physicists, and police procedurals by civil rights lawyers. Some would call this a blasphemous thought. I recommend those people to not read any of the other posts on this website. But I think this way of seeing is better than the alternative.

I won’t dive into the depth of what this way of seeing requires in terms of “the inerrancy of Scripture,” “divine inspiration of Scripture,” and the variety of other hermeneutical concerns some would raise. I am aware of them, but if you’re bothered by this, you’ll probably hate my answers for those. But I will provide one for the Bible nerds: this view of Jesus/God in the Gospels is singular to John. What do I mean? This idea that physical ailments are a result of sin or God’s divine plans in this particular way, only shows up in The Gospel According to John. It is not present in in the Synoptic Gospels (Matthew, Mark, or Luke).

Neither the Lazarus story in chapter 11 or our principle story in chapter 9 are found in the other gospels. In Mark 8:22-26 there is a blind man being healed story that is similar to the John narrative, but among the many differences there is no mention of sinfulness or the idea that God plans such pain for people. Going for the trifecta, John provides a third story that suggests that disability is tied to sin.

In John 5:1-18, Jesus comes across a man who is paraplegic. Jesus heals the man before going on His merry way, but it’s the aftermath that we see this uniquely Johannine theology of suffering:

Now the man who had been healed did not know who it was, for Jesus had disappeared into the crowd that was there. Later Jesus found him in the temple and said to him, “See, you have been made well! Do not sin any more, so that nothing worse happens to you.” (vs 13-14)

Again, this story is not contained in the other three gospels. Make of that what you will, but it seems pretty clear the writer(s) of John had a way of looking at things that was not shared by the other gospel writers. Maybe three out of four gospels agree that the idea that physical suffering being a part of the divine plan is simply a wrongheaded idea. I guess you get to decide who you agree with.

But, to paraphrase this game’s creators, what do I know? I’m just a poet and you probably think I’m going to Hell.

* Dr. Matthew E. Henry (MEH) is the Boston-born educator, editor, and author of six books of poetry, including The Third Renunciation (New York Quarterly Books, 2023). The Third Renunciation is a collection of theological sonnets, wherein the poem featured above is published.

Anthology

This Present Former Glory: Anthology of Honest Spiritual Literature

He was also the editor of A Game for Good Christian’s This Present Former Glory: An Anthology of Honest Spiritual Literature

Dr. Henry received his MFA in poetry from Seattle Pacific University, yet continued to spend money he didn’t have completing a MA in theology (Andover Newton Theological School) and a PhD in education (Lesley University). But he should not be confused with the long dead, white, theologian. His work can be found at www.MEHPoeting.com and on Twitter (he will never call it X) at @MEHPoeting.