Fourth Sunday of Lent: Knowing, Through Jesus
I suspect that every one of us have at some point heard reports that tell us that something like salt or butter are bad for us, only to sometime later hear that they are good for us. In our world there are more than enough experts—on our news programs and talk shows, at our places of work, and perhaps even in our homes—imparting knowledge. All too often, it’s knowledge that conflicts with that of other experts, leaving us to wonder: Who’s right? But even more: What do we really know?
Even the current crisis we’re in: You can read or hear one report that has you believing that all this panic associated with Coronavirus is overblown. I’ve had people tell me they are angry at our bishop and the church for abandoning them, over an illness that bears little difference from the flu. I’ve had people tell me that the statistics indicate that there are far fewer cases of Coronavirus than the flu—both in terms of those who have it, and those who’ve died from it.
On the other hand, I’ve had people express genuine fear, citing the number of deaths in Italy, and the great concerns associated with those who work in hospitals, their shortage of supplies and resources necessary to prevent continued spread. I’ve had people tell me that the only reason the numbers are fewer than the common flu, is because most of us haven’t been tested for it.
All of it can leave us wondering: What do we really know? Today’s Gospel is about knowing and not knowing. It’s a narrative that slowly develops, moving from uncertainty to knowing; from blindness to seeing; from darkness to light.
The word ‘know’ appears eleven times in this Gospel, yet it’s filled with uncertainty. For example, after his healing, his neighbors don’t recognize him; the people aren’t sure why he was blind in the first place. Even more, there’s uncertainty of why he was healed and who healed him.
The man himself wasn’t sure who exactly had healed him. He only knew what he had experienced.
I also mentioned that this story reveals a movement from blindness to seeing. Not just seeing physically, but also spiritually. Because although the healing of the man’s sight was instantaneous, his growth in spiritual sight was gradual.
Finally, I also said that this story involves a movement from darkness to light. Jesus said: ”We have to do the works of the one who sent me while it is day. Night is coming when no one can work. While I am in the world, I am the light of the world.”
St. John makes it clear that believing moves us from darkness to light. We’ve all heard the expressions “seeing is believing” or “I’ll believe it when I see it”. But St. John’s Gospel reveals that when it comes to Jesus, the opposite is true: when we have faith and choose to believe, we will then see. It’s not unlike what is necessary to see the sacraments for what they confer: we see the elements, but to see God in them, we must first believe.
Early Christians saw a connection between this Gospel narrative and the Sacrament of Baptism, even though there is no mention of Baptism. Early Christians spoke of photismos—a Greek word, meaning illumination—to describe the effects of Baptism. And like the washing in the pool of Siloam which moved the blind man toward seeing, toward knowing, toward the illumination through Christ Jesus—baptism began for us the life-long process of illumination.
In the way that as one ages, their sight becomes dimmed and less clear—perhaps we who have been given the gift of Illumination can gradually become spiritually blind—even in whatever way we regard ourselves as enlightened on the Coronavirus and how to respond to it, or all the other areas where our worldly knowledge extends. But how well do you know Jesus? As we sometimes remind ourselves, it’s a much different thing to know about Jesus, versus knowing Jesus. Lot’s of people know about him, but it doesn’t mean that he is the one who illumines their path and guides them; or that it is through his way of seeing, that they see.
Lent is a call to us Christians, to regain our sight, to come to ensure we know Jesus. How is that done? I tend to cite these five points as helpful ways to gradually come to know him:
• First, spend time in prayer each day. Perhaps simply asking him, “What do you want from me today?”. Then take some time to truly listen, and to trust in it.
• Second, is to spend some time with spiritual reading. For example, on formed.org you can download free e-books. I’ll recommend three: Church Fathers & Teachers: From Saint Leo the Great to Peter Lombard by Pope Benedict XVI; Because God is Real: Sixteen Questions, One Answer by Peter Kreeft; and finally, What to Do When Jesus Is Hungry? A Practical Guide to the Works of Mercy by Fr. Andrew Apostoli. Spend some time reading something that feeds your soul.
• Third, have someone in your life who helps you to be a better Christian. Who is it for you? If you are the most Christ-like in your sphere, you need to add to your list of friends.
• Fourth, try to live like Jesus did: in simplicity, in humility, and pointing the way to the Father by what you say and what you do.
• Fifth and finally, stay close to him in the Sacraments. At this time, for the most part, that means spiritual communion, or even the ocular communion we have by coming to Adoration. Be close to him.
In whatever way you’re regarded as an expert on matters of the world—even if only by your children—may we all bear in mind that we are only walking in the dark if we don’t at least desire to have Jesus as our light.