insight

Shalom Mennonite Church

Sunday, October 7, 2012

Worldwide Communion Sunday

Text: John 9:1-11

Eric Massanari

“insight”

If I were asked to compose a title

for this story in the gospel of John,

I think it would be something like:

      Those who can't see, do.

      Those who can see, don't.

Or, perhaps I would borrow

a choice phrase from the

poet, e.e. cummings, and call it:

      When the eyes of our eyes are opened.

This is a story about sight.

It is only partly about

seeing with the eyes in our heads.

That vision is a supreme gift,

one that is easy to take for granted

as long as we are able to see,

and do not have our vision inhibited

by injury or illness or age.

The blind man in this story is utterly blind,

and we are told he has been so from birth.

So, when Jesus makes the mud,

and spreads it on his eyes,

and then he goes to wash

in the pool at Siloam,

and then he sees,

it is a wondrous thing.

But as this story unfolds you begin

to get the sense that it isn't

just about that kind of seeing,

and that there may be other

varieties of blindness.

We see another sort of blindness
right at the beginning of the story
when the disciples ask Jesus:

Teacher, who sinned, this man or his parents,

that this he was born blind?

Who sinned?

Who is to blame?

They're looking at the man and their world

with a fault-finding vision.

If there is hurt, or suffering or brokenness,

there must be someone to blame, right?

It is a particular kind of blindness

that needs to ascribe blame

to someone or something out there

for the pain or disquiet we feel in here.

We meet more blind people in this story

when the healed man returns from

the Pool of Siloam and rejoins his neighbors.

Who is this man? They ask.

Surely this isn't the blind guy

that we've walked past all these years.

No, it's probably just a man who looks like him.

They have been able to see this man

only through the obscured vision

of judgment and shame.

Perhaps they've seen him as

too crippled and weak to be worthy

of their attention. Or, perhaps they

have felt ashamed by his presence

and their own unwillingness to

acknowledge him fully as a neighbor.

And this shame and guilt has turned their

gaze away from who he truly is.

Whatever it may be, they too are blind.

The healing of this man

reveals the blindness

in the world all around him.

He is surrounded by people who see with their eyes,

but have no insight.

Insight has been described as

“seeing with the eyes of the heart.”

It is vision that remains open,

curious, and teachable.

It means seeing with a desire

for understanding that which

may dwell below first appearances

and the surface of things.

Our patterns of blaming,

shaming, fearing, and judging,

diminish our capacity to

see one another and our world

in any sort of open, loving way.

One of the greatest gifts you can give the world,

is learning how to identify these patterns in yourself.

To notice them in a way

that doesn't turn the

blame, shame and judgment

back in on your own being

but simply sees that yes, indeed,

you, too, have these patterns

and can choose not to act them out.

We can each choose to nurture insight,

to practice seeing ourselves and

the people and the world around us

in a way that seeks deeper understanding,

that remains curious and open.

This is what allows love to flow.

This is what Jesus repeatedly asked people to do,

to recognize their own blindness.

He didn't shame them into it.

He didn't damn them for it.

He did challenge them to become honest enough,

and uncomfortable and disturbed enough to let it go.

The meal we are about to eat together,

the Lord's Supper,

is a nourishing meal.

It is not meant to nourish so much

our physical bodies—certainly not in

the way the delicious potluck food

will in just a little while!

This is nourishment for

the body that we are

when our lives are joined by love.

This is nourishment for

that deeper sight--for insight.

Jesus offers a loaf of bread,

and a cup of wine,

to help people see differently.

To see the world differently,

and to see one another differently.

To come to this table with

our sisters and brothers,

and on this special day

with people all around the world,

is to be invited to let the

scales fall from our eyes—

scales of blame, shame, fear, guilt, judgment.

If you desire to see deeper,

to live with greater love,

then come to this table

with others who seek the same.

We are not the perfect.

We are the wounded,

the broken,

the gifted,

and the beautiful.

May the eyes of our eyes be opened at this table of our Lord. Amen