Let us look around and see where God has been

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Lessons, Lent 4A: 1 Samuel 16:1-13; Psalm 23; Ephesians 5:8-14; John 9:1-41

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The recent announcement by U.S. Secretary of Defense Pete Hegseth suggests that the attacks by the U.S. and Israel on Iran are divinely inspired and aimed at ushering in the great battle of Armageddon to hasten the return of Christ. This shocking statement serves as a cautionary example of the dangers of reading apocalyptic literature literally, out of context, and without understanding the original author’s meaning and intent. Framing the conflict with Iran in such terms simplifies complex issues into a binary narrative. By portraying the situation as a struggle between “civilization and fanaticism” or as a battle between biblical “good and evil,” it turns a complicated regional conflict into a moral drama, thus justifying the war as acceptable and even righteous.

Upon closer examination, it becomes clear that this worldview stems from polarization. It reduces the world to “us” versus “them,” “good” versus “evil,” “the righteous” versus “the sinners,” and “the saved” versus “the doomed.” Adopting this perspective and employing this kind of language—literally and uncritically—feeds an Armageddon-focused Christian identity. This perspective views the cosmos as an eternal struggle between good and evil, ultimately leading to hatred, conflict, and war.

In contrast, Jesus invites us to embrace a different worldview. He encourages us to love our enemies and pray for those who persecute us. He invites us to share meals with those we consider sinners and tax collectors. This concept of a banquet is a recurring metaphor among the Gospel writers. In this metaphor, the story of the world becomes an invitation to all. It becomes much more challenging to divide people into “us” and “them” because we must recognize that everyone is invited. This worldview encourages us to start with the conviction that “all human beings share the same divine image. All human beings are, ultimately, sisters and brothers in one human family created in the image of God.”

Therefore, instead of approaching the world and those who differ from us with an attitude of suspicion, fear, and hatred, we engage with others from a place of openness, welcome, and love. In this framework, we seek not to destroy our “enemies” but to love them, and we strive to embody in our own lives and relationships God’s open, unifying, and celebratory Life. We aim to participate in the “trajectory of compassion” (Bruce Sanguin), which leads us away from abuse, exploitation, and violence, and toward collaboration, generosity, and justice.

You might consider it this way: Soon, you will gather around the altar for communion. Bread and wine will be held before you. As you look at that bread and take the cup, you will be invited to see the Body and Blood of Christ. You will be encouraged to look beyond what is immediately before you. That’s what it means when our eyes are opened.

This morning’s gospel reading is filled with confusion. We have the event itself—Jesus spitting into dirt to make mud and smearing it on a blind man’s face. After that, there is a veritable pandemonium; no one seems to understand what has happened.

First, we have the neighbors, who cannot determine if this is the same man who used to beg. They keep asking, “Is he the same guy or a different one?” Despite his insistence, “I am the man,” they can't wrap their heads around it. He tells them the whole story, from beginning to end, yet they still aren’t satisfied.

So, they take him to the Pharisees. He repeats his story again, but the Pharisees still don’t understand. Consequently, they call the parents, reasoning that they should be able to explain what happened since he is their son. However, the parents have no idea how to answer the questions, so they turn things back over to their son. Thus, the neighborhood tribunal resumes, asking what has happened and attempting to figure it out.

The paradox of this story is that the man who was once blind is now the only one who can see properly. He is the only one capable of recognizing Jesus, accepting the miraculous healing he has been offered, and sharing that experience with others. Everyone else, who possesses physical sight, lacks the insight to comprehend what has occurred.

What enables this man to see Jesus—not just with his eyes but with understanding and acceptance of his healing? And why are the others in the story—the parents, the neighbors, the Pharisees—unable to see or grasp what has happened?

Part of the answer lies in assumptions. At the beginning of the story, the neighbors ask Jesus a question: “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents?” The very nature of this question reflects the assumptions made; they believe someone must be at fault, interpreting the blindness as a punishment.

The disciples have asked a closed question, seeking a simple answer from Jesus: Who sinned, this man or his parents? However, Jesus shifts their focus from binary questioning to metaphor and mystery, where true healing can occur.

Instead of responding directly to the disciples’ question, Jesus uses metaphors of light and darkness to explain His work in the world. He then takes some dirt, spits on it, rubs it in His hands, and smears it on the man’s eyes. This act of physical contact with dirt becomes the catalyst for the man’s healing. After washing in the pool, he emerges—and for the first time, he can see.

This is where the chaos begins. Despite having witnessed this miracle firsthand and the blind man’s unwavering account of events, the people simply cannot grasp what has occurred. From their initial question to the conclusion of the story, their fixed assumptions prevent them from experiencing the miracle. When do our own assumptions get in our way? What assumptions do we hold about others and their capabilities? What about our assumptions about God?

In our first reading from the Book of Samuel, we see how assumptions again hinder understanding. Samuel has been asked to announce the Lord’s chosen one. Jesse’s sons pass before Samuel one by one, but Samuel rejects each of them. The family assumes that one of the older brothers will be chosen since they are stronger and more attractive; they believe these traits are God’s criteria. Yet, again and again, their understanding is challenged.

Finally, when David arrives, Samuel hears from God that he is the one to be anointed. It doesn’t matter that David is the youngest or that he has just been tending sheep. It doesn’t matter that his brothers and father assumed he wouldn’t even be considered. God breaks through this closed system, defying the assumptions and parameters we try to impose on Him.

Perhaps our message of hope this morning is that God takes all our presumptions, all of our assumptions and closed questions, and breaks through to create miracles. Maybe the good news is that even when we are lost in confusion, trying to understand where things come from or how they happen, God is still present, actively working to heal those who are ready to receive it.

We are all more like the disciples than we would like to admit, often asking closed questions of Jesus. We are also more like David’s brothers than we realize, dismissing the youngest, the one merely working as a shepherd. Furthermore, we resemble the neighbors, unable to accept the testimony presented to us because it doesn’t align with our worldview.

The good news is this: Our confusion doesn’t hinder God’s work. Our questions don’t stop Jesus from doing good in the world. Our assumptions cannot obstruct the prophets God chooses.

Perhaps the invitation for us is to be honest about our confusion and, for now, to set aside our questions. Let us look around and see where God has been, where God is now, and where God will always be at work—in our world, within us, and in our surroundings. God is breaking through our assumptions. Thanks be to God.