See and Believe

 

Come and See John 1.29-42 1-15-2017 

See and Believe
A Homily for Sardis Baptist Church
Bob Stillerman
March 26, 2017
John 9: Parts of it all

They say that in 1974, David Thompson could jump so high and levitate for so long, that if you put a quarter on the top of the backboard in Reynolds Coliseum, he could jump up and give you change – two dimes and a nickel. Nearly a half century later, people still ask, “How do you know such things?” And red-clad State fans will tell them, “I didn’t believe it, but then I saw it with my own two eyes. I can’t explain how or why, but oh man, do I believe!”

They say that in 1974, Philippe Petit used a tight-rope to high-wire between the World Trade Center Towers eight times. He balanced himself more than 1,300 feet in the air for forty-five minutes. And when I heard this story, I said: “There’s no way, dude!” But you can see for yourself, with your own two eyes. Just YouTube it, and you’ll believe. There was another miracle, too. Trespassing charges against Petit were dropped in exchange for him doing a performance for children in Central Park!!!

To be sure, Philippe Petit and David Thompson worked miracles – their bodies could do things that normal human beings can’t. This is not to dismiss their work effort – no doubt each man possessed a discipline to bring out the very best of his natural abilities. But there’s also no denying that each man was infused with God-given talent. And no amount of science, nor reason, nor logic will ever explain how certain human beings can possess super natural amounts of athleticism or balance or genius.

And what I love about these two men is that the audiences who watched them embraced the wonder of their talents. They allowed themselves to be swept up in the moment. Nobody looked for hidden wires. Nobody lobbed allegations of steroid use. Nobody said, “There’s got to be a reasonable explanation for such talent.” No. Instead, audiences realized immediately that something special was happening. And they believed. And in such belief, they were transformed into another plane, even if only briefly. In one fleeting moment, they felt electricity. And they didn’t need an answer, or an explanation, or a dose of reality.

In today’s lection, there’s another miracle. And it’s of a physical, unexplainable nature. Jesus restores eye site. He grabs some dirt, spits in his hands, makes the dirt mud, rubs it on a blind man’s eyes, tells him to wash in the Pool of Siloam, and presto, the blind man can see.

Those who witnessed our more modern miracles, reacted with the following statement: “Look what he just did!” And they allowed that excitement to infuse them with energy.

Those who were witness to the blind man’s healing didn’t react with a statement of excitement. Instead, they reacted with questions:

“How did he do that?”
“Why did he do that?”
“Should he have done that?”
“And should he have done that for you?”

Nobody stops to celebrate that here is a man whose life has been made more whole. Here is a man who will no longer be burdened by the stigma of blindness (regrettably it was associated with sinfulness in those days). Here is a man invited back into the community of the living.

But the village – its leaders, its residents, even the man’s parents – they want an explanation. There’s got to be an orderly reason for this. And we’ve got to authenticate the authority of this healer. And we’ve got to document what’s really happened. After all, these kinds of things disturb the status quo in our quaint little town.

So there’s a series of investigations. The man is questioned, the church leaders are consulted, the man’s parents are interviewed, and the man is re-interviewed (actually re-interrogated!!!) a second time. “Who is this man who has healed you, and why has he done it?!? Answer us. Now!”

Eventually the newly-seeing man is exhausted and exasperated. “You say you don’t know Jesus. And you don’t know where he comes from. And you don’t know why he does what he does. Well here’s what I know: I’m the one he helped. He gave me sight. And now I can see with my own two eyes. And it doesn’t take a genius to know that what this man has offered me is from God. And as a matter of fact, I think this man is of God as well. A prophet, even.”

Would that this man’s story was the exception to the rule. It’s not. Whether we’re in ancient Palestine or present-day Pineville, the reporting of God’s miracles will always be met with skepticism. Sometimes, it seems, skepticism is less scary than belief. And sometimes it’s just easier to dismiss the new challenges of God’s impossibilities for the comfort of humanity’s possibilities. After all, if Jesus can help blind men see, and Samaritan women find living water, and Nicodemus see a little light in the dark of night, that means God’s got the power to transform our lives as well. That means that God may meet us in transcendent moments, and radically reshape our foundations. And it may mean we’ll have to explain the unexplainable.

The blind man didn’t let his neighbors’ need for answers and explanations impair his belief. He trusted what he experienced. And he let his new sight lead him to the living Word. He couldn’t explain it. But he knew what he saw.

And I think that’s the challenge this passage gives to each of us. If you hang around church long enough, something’s gonna grab hold of you. And you might not be able to explain it. “How can this place make me feel what I feel? How can what’s so broken become so healed? How can community notice what I thought was invisible? How is it that bread isn’t just bread, and grape juice isn’t just grape juice?”

And here’s the question. When basketball players levitate, and acrobats tight-rope tall buildings, and blind persons find sight, and God somehow stirs inside of you, will your belief extend only as far as your neighbor’s skepticism? Or will you embrace the unexplainable, and believe what you have seen for yourself? And in that single moment, will you let God transcend your need to be right, your need to know everything, your need to say, “I told you so.”

I don’t know about you, but I want to see God make change. Miraculous change. Transformative change. Change that’s so good, it’s too good to be true. Change you can barely believe.

Two dimes and a nickel to be exact. Amen. (And Go Pack!).