How to Miss a Miracle

How to Miss a Miracle (or, The Danger of People Who Are Absolutely Sure About God)

Readings: Micah 7.7-9 and John 9

There is a particular kind of religious person who is absolutely certain about everything.

You know the type. They have charts. They have position papers. They have committees whose sole purpose in life is to decide who is in and who is out. They have statements of orthodoxy with footnotes and appendices and occasionally a small flowchart explaining how you can tell if someone is definitely going to hell. And if you ever meet one of these people, you will notice something fascinating about them.

They are never in any doubt. Not about doctrine. Not about morality. Certainly not about what God thinks on any subject. Correct forms of liturgy, the correct place of women in the church, the correct attitude towards people of unusual sexuality. They have, as it were, a direct line to the Almighty, who seems to agree with them in remarkable detail. Which brings us to today’s Gospel from the Gospel of John.

Because John chapter 9 contains one of the great comic reversals in the New Testament. It begins with a man who has been blind from birth. He lives on the margins of society. He has no status, no authority, no theological education, and—until a few minutes ago—no eyesight.

Jesus, however, has healed him. And you might imagine that everyone would be delighted.

But no…

Because the healing has taken place on the Sabbath. Which means that a committee must be convened. A theological investigation must be undertaken. Forms must be filled in. Witnesses must be called. Before you know it the whole thing has turned into something resembling a church tribunal with slightly worse biscuits. The neighbours are interrogated. The parents are interrogated. And eventually the man himself is interrogated repeatedly by the religious authorities.

Now here is the delicious irony. The only person in the entire story who can see clearly what has happened is the man who was blind. Everyone else—particularly the professional religious experts—is completely incapable of seeing what is right in front of them.

They know the rules. They know the regulations. They know what God is allowed to do and what God is not allowed to do. And therefore they know with complete certainty that whatever has just happened cannot possibly be from God. You can almost hear the tone of voice:

“God would never do a miracle in a way that contradicts our policy framework.”

Which leads to one of the funniest lines in the whole passage.

The formerly blind man says to them, with the gentle sarcasm of someone who has begun to enjoy the situation slightly too much:

“Here is an astonishing thing! You do not know where he comes from, and yet he opened my eyes.”

Translation: “You are supposed to be the experts.”

The conversation goes downhill rapidly from there. Eventually the authorities lose patience and say to him:

“You were born entirely in sins, and are you trying to teach us?” And they throw him out. It is a wonderful moment. The man who has just received his sight is expelled by the people who are absolutely certain that they can already see perfectly well. Which brings us to the punchline.

Jesus later finds the man and says: “I came into this world so that those who do not see may see, and those who do see may become blind.” Some Pharisees nearby hear this and ask nervously, “Surely we are not blind, are we?” And Jesus replies—rather devastatingly—

“If you were blind, you would not have sin. But now that you say, ‘We see,’ your sin remains.” In other words: the real problem is not ignorance. The real problem is certainty. And if you think about it, that problem has never entirely gone away.

Throughout the history of the church there have always been groups who are completely confident that they alone have grasped the Truth in its pure and undiluted form. They know exactly what God thinks about everything. They know exactly how the church should behave. They know exactly who counts as faithful and who has clearly wandered into grievous error. And if the rest of the church would simply listen to them, the whole thing would be sorted out very quickly. It is a marvellous level of confidence. One cannot help admiring it. Though one does occasionally wonder how they managed to get hold of God’s private briefing notes.

The difficulty, of course, is that the Gospel seems rather suspicious of people who are entirely certain that they can see. Because again and again in the New Testament the people who recognise Jesus most clearly are not the religious professionals. They are the ones who know what it is like to be in the dark. People who are uncertain. People who are searching. People who are prepared to admit that they might not yet have understood everything.

Which is where the prophet in our first reading from the Book of Micah becomes unexpectedly relevant. Micah looks around at a society that has descended into corruption and mistrust. The political system is failing. Justice is collapsing. Neighbours can no longer trust each other. Sound familiar?

It is not, in other words, the sort of moment when cheerful optimism comes naturally. And yet Micah says something quietly defiant:

“As for me, I will look to the Lord…
though I sit in darkness, the Lord will be a light to me.”

Notice what he does there. He does not claim that he can already see everything clearly. He admits that he is sitting in the dark. But he trusts that God is still capable of bringing light. Which, in the end, may be the most faithful posture of all. Not the loud certainty that declares, “We see everything perfectly.” But the quieter faith that says, “We are still learning to see.”

Because when we become too certain—too convinced that we alone possess the full and final version of Truth—we run the risk of becoming exactly like the people in John’s story. Very religious. Very confident. And completely unable to recognise God when he turns up and does something unexpected.

So perhaps the invitation of the Gospel today is wonderfully simple: remain curious. Remain humble. Remain slightly suspicious of anyone who claims to have the whole of God neatly mapped out. And if you ever find yourself sitting in the dark, unsure what God is doing, remember the words of Micah:

“Though I sit in darkness, the Lord will be a light to me.”

Because sometimes the people who see that light most clearly are the ones who are honest enough to admit that they are still learning how to see.

Amen.