Jesus, who the Prophet
Isaiah foretold would open the eyes of the blind (Is 42: 6-7), was in
On
another occasion Jesus opened the eyes of a beggar at
The classical story of blindness
is traditionally reserved for the fourth Sunday of Lent (Jn 9: 1-41). Its
position in Lent implies that a good part of the sin in us calling for Lenten
repentance is our blindness—our spiritual blindness. That’s a malady lodged not
in our eyes but in our hearts and heads.
Last
Sunday’s gospel about Jesus and the Samaritan woman at the well, read in its
entirety, rambles on. This Sunday’s gospel about the man born blind, read in
its entirety, also rambles on. So the church again gives us a shortened version
to read today. However, the lengthier and more rambling reading of this gospel
has its plus. It builds up to an impatience which screams out, "For God's
sake, can't you people see? It’s so obvious."
The rambling version
It was on a Sabbath that Jesus cured the man
born blind. That riled up the Pharisees who were sticklers on the strict
observance of the Sabbath. So they initiated a grand jury investigation. They
summoned the cured man and asked, “How come you can now see?” He replied, “That
man Jesus put mud on my eyes, washed it off, and now I see.” Some of the Pharisees protested saying, “God
wouldn’t give a guy who violates the Sabbath the power to work miracles.” But
others asked, “How can a sinful man do something as wonderful as this?” They were divided. Some even wondered whether
the beggar had ever been blind in the first place.
So they dragged him off to his shabby
parents and asked, “Was your son born blind?” “Yes,” they admitted. “Well, how
come he can now see,” the Pharisees ask. Afraid of being kicked out of the
synagogue, they were evasive and answered, “We don’t know. Ask him; he’s of
age. He can speak for himself.”
The
religious authorities again pulled the cured man off to the side for more
interrogation. They weren’t going to give up until they got the answer they
were looking for. It’s called truth-extraction. “Tell us again, how come you
can now see?" "My gosh, I've
already told you. This man Jesus put mud on my eyes, and now I can see.” Then
exasperated the man cried out, “It’s so obvious. For God’s sake, can’t you
people see?”
The rambling story is full of the obvious.
It was obvious that the man was born blind and obvious that he now saw. It was
obvious, too, that the Pharisees were determined not to see the obvious. This
classic story of the man born blind is not so much about a man physically blind whom
Jesus cures but more about people spiritually blind whom Jesus can’t cure. The
story is about spiritual blindness. That’s a malady lodged not in our eyes but
in our hearts and minds. Spiritual blindness is choosing to see what we want to
see and not what’s really there. Spiritual blindness is choosing not to see even
the obvious, and that calls for Lenten repentance.
Our crisis
I
am a snowbird who comes to
Before
I came this year, I called Monsignor Rossi, Vicar General of your
Archdiocese. I told him that I would
like to help out in a parish near
I
am in my eighty-first year. I was ordained a priest over a half a century ago
in 1951 (many of you weren’t born yet). I have gone through the pontificates of
Pius XII, Good Pope John XXIII, Paul VI, John Paul I (pope for one month) and John
Paul II. Now in his 26th year as Pope and 85th years of
his life, he is extremely beset by the infirmities of old age. And here I am again
limping in at a ripe old age of 80 to relieve this crisis here at
We,
the church, have a crisis on our hands, and that crisis is now almost thirty
years old. Crises aren’t supposed to be left to die of old age. They are
supposed to be met as challenges. Most of the time we look upon crises
negatively, as when we cry out, “Oh my God, we’ve got a crisis on our hands!” But
there’s an old oriental wisdom which looks upon crises positively—as a time for
decision and as a moment of opportunity. As moments of opportunity, crises should
be faced with a sense of innovation and adventure. Importing an 80 year old to
solve the problem of a dying priesthood might be necessary for the immediate moment,
but it is not a very innovative or adventurous way to solve the problem in the
long run.
Our Blindness
The
shortage of priests is obvious everywhere, and it is only getting worse. It’s
also obvious to many of us that that shortage is man-made (like the gas
shortage at our pumps), for if we work hard at looking, it becomes obvious that
there is really an abundance of candidates out there wanting to be harvested
for priestly ministry in the church. There are fine young men out there who
want to serve the church and God’s people but who at the same time want to be husbands
and fathers. It’s also obvious that
it’s a great waste not to reap that abundant harvest that’s out there.
And
for those who work hard at looking, it is also obvious that there are fine
young women out there who also feel called to serve God’s people in ordained
ministry. And it is obvious, at least to me, that women can do just as fine a
job at it as we men do. Last year I assisted at the funeral of a woman whose
son is married to a Presbyterian
minister. The Rev. Sarah and I officiated at the funeral in a cemetery chapel. With
great feeling, Rev. Sarah, clothed in clerical garb, did the first reading from
the Book of Proverbs, Chapter 31, which sings the praises of a woman who is a
good mother, wife, and manager of her household.
At the final commendation Rev. Sarah invited the
crowd in the cemetery to draw near to the casket which was being kissed by a setting
sun on a day filled with the feel of fall. It was obvious that she was doing a
wonderful job at pulling everyone into a heartfelt final good-bye for her
mother-in-law. And it was obvious that she liked what she was doing. As I watched
attentively, I found myself exclaiming, “Gee, look how these Presbyterians have
solved their crisis of ministry: they ordain women.” And I felt myself crying
out at my own church saying, “For God’s sake, can’t you people see? It’s so
obvious.”
Conclusion
How to pray
for vocations
Every
Mass has a dismissal, an Ite, Missa est. The dismissal for this
Fourth Sunday of Lent is, Go, the Mass is ended. Go home now and work hard at
looking and then don’t shrink from what you see. Go, the Mass is ended. Go home
now and heed your spouse or your children or your mothers and fathers, when
they cry out at you saying, “For God’s sake, can’t you see?” Go home now and hold
your holy hour for vocations this coming Wednesday, March 9 When you pray for
vocations this is how you should pray: “Dear Lord, lift the veil from our eyes
to see the obvious, and give us the courage to face our crisis as a wonderful
moment of opportunity in which you, the Lord of the harvest (Mt 9: 9-13), is
speaking to us. Amen.”
The whole rambling story
about the man born blind has a happy ending. When Jesus hears the man has been kicked
out of the synagogue, he goes in search of him. When he finds the beggar, he
wraps his arms around him and speaks these cryptic words:
I have come into this world
so that those who do not
see might see,
and those who do see might
become blind.
(Jn 9:39)
Translation:
"I have come into this
world
to give sight to those who
see that they don’t see,
and to indict those who are
spiritually blind.