It isn't supposed to be this way

A homily based on the following Scripture from the daily office lectionary of the Book of Common Prayer:

John 9:18-41 New Revised Standard Version (NRSV)

The Jews did not believe that he had been blind and had received his sight until they called the parents of the man who had received his sight and asked them, “Is this your son, who you say was born blind? How then does he now see?” His parents answered, “We know that this is our son, and that he was born blind; but we do not know how it is that now he sees, nor do we know who opened his eyes. Ask him; he is of age. He will speak for himself.” His parents said this because they were afraid of the Jews; for the Jews had already agreed that anyone who confessed Jesus to be the Messiah would be put out of the synagogue. Therefore his parents said, “He is of age; ask him.”

So for the second time they called the man who had been blind, and they said to him, “Give glory to God! We know that this man is a sinner.” He answered, “I do not know whether he is a sinner. One thing I do know, that though I was blind, now I see.” They said to him, “What did he do to you? How did he open your eyes?” He answered them, “I have told you already, and you would not listen. Why do you want to hear it again? Do you also want to become his disciples?” Then they reviled him, saying, “You are his disciple, but we are disciples of Moses. We know that God has spoken to Moses, but as for this man, we do not know where he comes from.” The man answered, “Here is an astonishing thing! You do not know where he comes from, and yet he opened my eyes. We know that God does not listen to sinners, but he does listen to one who worships him and obeys his will. Never since the world began has it been heard that anyone opened the eyes of a person born blind. If this man were not from God, he could do nothing.” They answered him, “You were born entirely in sins, and are you trying to teach us?” And they drove him out.

Jesus heard that they had driven him out, and when he found him, he said, “Do you believe in the Son of Man?” He answered, “And who is he, sir? Tell me, so that I may believe in him.” Jesus said to him, “You have seen him, and the one speaking with you is he.” He said, “Lord, I believe.” And he worshiped him. Jesus said, “I came into this world for judgment so that those who do not see may see, and those who do see may become blind.” Some of the Pharisees near him heard this and said to him, “Surely we are not blind, are we?” Jesus said to them, “If you were blind, you would not have sin. But now that you say, ‘We see,’ your sin remains.

“It isn’t supposed to be this way.” How often the pain of that sentiment rings deep and true in my own heart. In the face of suffering, in sickness, in loss, in severed relationship— our hearts cry out against injustice, "it’s not supposed to be this way.”

Which always leads to the question: why?

Humans are natural interpreters, so we’re always looking to find the first half of a “cause-and-effect,” explanation. If this, then that. This is how life is supposed to work.

But sometimes life goes rogue. Sometimes the cause isn’t something I can see, or sometimes there seems to be no cause at all, and my whole paradigm is shattered. Then what? How can I cope?

The gospel of John encounters this very question about an unnamed man’s blindness from birth. The story begins with the disciples asking Jesus whose sin it was that caused this man’s blindness. Surely this is judgment for someone’s immoral behavior?

Jesus tells them this man’s blindness was intended for his healing. This healing, actually—the one he was about to perform to display the power of God. Cause-and-effect is suddenly flipped, and Jesus teaches his disciples to stop looking behind them for the answers, but to lift their eyes in faith to what could happen to redeem it. This is the gospel. This is the kingdom of God.

That’s beautiful and hopeful and everything, but that’s not often what we want when we’re the ones faced with suffering, is it? Even with someone else’s. We’d like to find a neat and tidy explanation, because if it could happen to them, well I need to be sure somehow that it’s not going to happen to me. We need an explanation—we need to point our finger at something they did wrong to end up in such difficult circumstances, otherwise we’d have to acknowledge that it could just as easily be us.

Asking “why,” isn’t wrong. Crying out that “it’s not supposed to be this way,” isn’t either. But it does show us where we put our faith. Our best explanation of “why” can so easily become the object of our faith that we put God on trial. We presume the judge’s seat, because our way of understanding the world has made us feel safe, and we will not tolerate the injustice of that coming undone.

Enter: the Pharisees. They’re so attached to their understanding of sin and righteousness, that they not only refuse to see Jesus’s miracle, but they paint this man’s glorious healing as a threat. Their system is vulnerable if they acknowledge that Jesus can perform the works of God on the Jewish day of rest. And they cling to it. And what does it cost them?

Clinging to our own understanding of how things are “supposed” to happen means we miss out. We miss out on the joy of a man whose sight—and entire life—was restored.

Jesus exposes the systems of cause-and-effect in each of our lives. The true judgment. If we really reaped what we’ve sown—if things were really “how they’re supposed to be,” we would be crushed under the consequences of our self-centered lives.

But grace. Jesus opens the eyes of the blind. All who are willing to confess that their vision is limited, that they cannot see with eyes of faith, that their world is centered around themselves and who cry out for their eyes to be opened to something bigger—all those are given sight. Freed from their own humanity. Freed from their own damage.

Freed to imagine and join in on the work of God in the most unlikely places—precisely where things aren’t as they’re “supposed” to be.