I Samuel 16:1-13; Psalm 23; Ephesians 5:8-14; John 9:1-41
The Rev. Candice B. Frazer
Several years ago, before I even thought about going to seminary and becoming a priest, I was a youth minister at St. Paul’s in Selma. One particular group of teens had grown up with Harry Potter and we had woven the series into much of our Christian formation. One November, I took them to see the latest Harry Potter movie. We loaded up and drove to Montgomery. The theater was packed so the group had to split up in twos and threes as the theater was too crowded for us to sit together. One of the youth group members was a girl blind from birth. She and I partnered together and found a seat almost at the top of the theater and against the wall—a strategic seat as I knew I would have to describe what was happening on screen during the movie and wanted to get out of the way with as few people around us as possible.
Taylor had been born blind. Neither her parents nor her older sister had any vision problems. Her mother had experienced a safe and healthy pregnancy. She wasn’t a smoker and didn’t drink or indulge in any behaviors that might have affected the pregnancy. When Taylor was born, she seemed like a healthy, perfect baby. And she was except for her inability to see—her pupils did not respond to light like they were supposed to. No one sinned. No one had done anything wrong. No one was to blame.
Upon seeing the man blind from birth, Jesus’ disciples asked him whether the man or his parents had sinned. Many believed that disability was a punishment; a consequence to a sinful nature. Jesus doesn’t directly respond. Instead, he reframes the way the disciples (and, by extension, we) are called to look at disability. It is not a punishment for sin, instead it is an opportunity for the glory of God to be revealed.
He then explains to the disciples that part of their calling is in the reframing of the world so that people might see the light instead of getting lost in seeing only the darkness. Jesus is the light of the world, to see the world as Jesus sees it, is to always see the possibilities of God—not the judgment or condemnation we believe God has suffered the world.
Taylor and I sat down and settled in. we chatted about our love for Harry Potter. The theater was abuzz with excitement. As the lights dimmed and the previews started, the theater quieted. I began to whisper to Taylor describing what was happening on the screen. I whispered as quietly as I could so as not to disturb those around us. Taylor, for her part, listened intently—our heads bowed together, almost touching. Every so often, my description was less than adequate and Taylor would ask a clarifying question, but for the most part she remained silent.
At one point, the people sitting directly in front of us turned around and scowled at us as I was whispering furiously to describe the action on the screen. I gave the couple an apologetic smile and when it dawned on them that Taylor was blind, their faces softened as they turned back to the screen. A little while later, a couple of girls behind us began to complain about people who talked at movies. They didn’t direct their comments to us, per se, but their audible whispers were just loud enough for us, and those around us, to hear. It was very obvious they were talking about us. Finally, another of our neighbor’s was much more direct –asking if we would mind not talking during the movie as we were disrupting everyone around us. I apologized and explained that Taylor was blind and I was trying to help her ”see” the movie. He didn’t say anything else to me, but it was obvious he was not pleased.
The neighbors and those who had seen him as a beggar began to question the man who had been healed. They were not satisfied with his answers—even when he replied in the affirmative. He had been blind since birth and a beggar. Now he could see? They did not understand what had happened and were unable to accept such a drastic shift in the circumstances of their world. Though they didn’t realize it, they were the most comfortable when the status quo was unencumbered. Change was threatening—the status quo offered comfort and security. They did not appreciate when their environment became disrupted. It put them in their uncomfortable place and challenged what they believed about the world. So, they kept needling the man who had been healed. Instead of celebrating the healed man’s new found sight or, at least, simply being open to this new life before him—they questioned and judged and finally rejected him.
As the movie continued, Taylor and I scrunched further down into our seats—both of us feeling the tension mounting around us. I continued to describe the action on screen as quietly as I could. Taylor asked few questions, if any. The people directly behind us started kicking our seats. We didn’t turn around or acknowledge this new level of escalation and, after a while, it stopped. Though, periodically, the girls continued to make unkind comments about people who talked during movies. Taylor and I both felt judged and rejected.
When the movie ended and the lights began to brighten, Taylor and I stood up—I worked hard not to make eye contact with any of the people around me. Taylor didn’t have to worry about that for obvious reasons. She was beaming and I was worried we were about to be beaten up. But Taylor didn’t seem to notice the hostility around us. She started gushing about the movie, thanking me for bringing the movie to life for her and comparing the movie to the book. She was so full of enthusiasm, I had to stop her from stepping away from her seat as we were near the top of the stairs and I didn’t want her to take a misstep and tumble down them. As she took my elbow and we began the precarious journey downward, I would say the word, “step,” every time she needed to step down. She gripped my elbow tightly as well as the hand rail. Our unhappy neighbors began to realize the reason we had whispered throughout the movie as Taylor’s disability became obvious. I heard the two girls who had sat directly behind us, kicking our chairs and passively-aggressively complaining about us, say, “Oh my God. That girl is blind. That is why she was whispering to her during the movie.”
The other responded, “I am so embarrassed. Should we go say something.”
“No,” the first girl replied, “Let’s just hang back.”
And there it was. Even with the dawning realization of the truth of their environment, they still could not enter into relationship with us. Instead, they drove us out. They were not willing to invite us in—maybe because of their shame or maybe because we were too different and that made them uncomfortable. I don’t know and it doesn’t really matter—we felt rejected, exiled and unworthy.
That is what happened to the man born blind and was now healed. Instead of celebrating his new found sight or even just accepting him, he was driven out—rejected, exiled, found unworthy to be part of the community in his healed state. He could see the light, for the first time in his life, and he was surrounded by darkness—the shame and shallowness of a community who could not accept anything more than status quo. He was judged and rejected, not because he had done something wrong but because he had done something different.
As Taylor and I reached the bottom of the stair, it had become clear that people were giving us our space. No one was jostling against us or trying to get around us. We walked down the corridor and found the man who had asked me to stop talking, standing there, holding the door for us. I thanked him. In return, he smiled at me and said, “No. Thank you.” In that moment, I realized that though he—and many of our neighbors in the theater that night—had not understood what was happening as I whispered to Taylor in the dark, they had found a new appreciation for what they had just witnessed. It caused that glow that starts slow in the depths of your heart and spreads the light when you know you’ve done the right thing.
As Taylor and I stepped into the main hallway and made our way back to the lobby, I saw another of our neighbors—the couple who had sat in front of us and given us the dirty looks—point at us. I overheard the woman say to the man, “You would think people would have better sense than to bring a blind girl to the movies.” Sometimes, as Jesus pointed out to the Pharisees, even when we see, our sin remains.