The Man Born Blind

Sometimes a miracle upends your life
In ways you can’t control and wouldn’t choose. 
Your eyes are still adjusting to the light
When you’re hauled up before some angry Jews.
And so instead of lingering on each line
That marks your mother’s face or staring at
A swooping bird or laughing at the child
Who’s toddling with his father down the street,
You’re forced to gaze on men with narrow eyes
And tight, pale lips who skewer you with glares,
Incapable of recognising grace
While blinded by their legalistic fears.
You’re ostracised. But in your loneliness
He looks for you and—found—you see his face. 

---

John’s account of the man born blind—with its drama, humour, and pathos—is one of my very favourite gospel stories. You almost want to cheer, the way that this man, who can’t read or write, who has spent his life dependant on the charity of others, stands his own against the Pharisees with verve and even a dash of sauciness. And doesn’t it make you melt a little, when Jesus, having heard the news of his ostracisation, searches for him and, on finding him, reveals himself? And the man sees him for who he is, sees him with the eyes of his soul as well as those of his body, and worships him as his Lord and God. This anonymous beggar sees what the cultural elite don’t: “the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ.”¹

1. 2 Corinthians 4:6b (ESVUK)