March 22, 2020: Grace Revealed
Rev. Dr. Rhonda Blevins
John 9:1-7
As he walked along, he saw a man blind from birth. His disciples asked him, “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?” Jesus answered, “Neither this man nor his parents sinned; he was born blind so that God’s works might be revealed in him. We must work the works of him who sent me while it is day; night is coming when no one can work. As long as I am in the world, I am the light of the world.” When he had said this, he spat on the ground and made mud with the saliva and spread the mud on the man’s eyes, saying to him, “Go, wash in the pool of Siloam” (which means Sent). Then he went and washed and came back able to see.
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What might God be trying to say to us through this global pandemic?
I ask the question as a fellow traveler, as one seeking a ray of light—a word of hope. I don’t recall in my lifetime such a disruption to our way of life, and in such a short time frame. It’s disorienting; it’s confusing. People are scared—most of us have a least some amount of anxiety, asking questions like, “How do I protect myself and my loved ones?” “Will the economy recover?” “Will I be able to keep my job?” “Will my business survive?” And then if you’re like me, every time I sneeze I’m absolutely certain I’ve caught the coronavirus. “Quick! Call the paramedics and tell the kids mama loved them!”
We look for answers. We believe the lie that “everything happens for a reason,” so there must be a “reason” for our shared suffering. So we cast blame. We blame the Chinese. We blame the government. Or worse still, we blame God.
We see how this plays out every time a natural disaster strikes. Some famous preacher will proclaim God’s judgment . . .
· Like the preacher who said God sent Hurricane Katrina to New Orleans to punish them for orgies
· Or the preacher who said that the school shooting at Sandy Hook was God’s way of punishing America for gay marriage or abortion
· And most recently, the preacher who said recently that God sent the coronavirus to punish us for our sins like “transgendering little children.”
Poppycock! (There’s a word I’d much rather use, but keeping it rated “G” for the kids at home!)
To be fair, this blame-casting isn’t new with our generation or ridiculous television preachers (which I have become over these past two weeks . . . yikes!) No, Jesus also battled this misguided ideology, and from his own disciples of all people!
In the story we read a moment ago, the disciples asked Jesus a question out of their ingrained belief that “everything happens for a reason”: “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?” Jesus shot down the question. “Neither.” The disciples assumed that the man’s blindness was a consequence of sin. And you know what assuming does, right? It wasn’t the man’s sin that caused him to be blind. It wasn’t his parents’ sin. Or his grandparents. Or his great-grandparents. It wasn’t even the fault of Adam and Eve in their “original sin.” Not everything happens for a reason.
These days we’re looking for someone, something to blame for our collective suffering. The Chinese. The government. The spring breakers congregating on Clearwater Beach. Casting blame is a defense mechanism. It’s often what we do to mitigate our anxiety instead of sitting with our fear, naming it, holding it, observing it.
If we’re not pointing fingers and finding someone, something to blame for our suffering, we’re trying to fix something, anything that we can fix. So we get busy prepping—purchasing hand sanitizer, toilet paper, Lysol spray. We talk to our stockbroker and think what a great investment gold would be right about now.
This “fixing” is my go-to response. You’d think with no corporate worship gathering I’d take it easy and read a couple of novels. On the contrary, even on a pre-scheduled camping trip with my family, I was busy on my laptop, creating a daily blog, preparing to launch church in some new, reimagined online way.
“Who is to blame?” we cry out in the face of human suffering. Jesus says matter-of-factly, “No one.”
“What can I do to fix it?” we say through our manic over-functioning. Jesus says matter-of-factly, “Nothing.”
Suffering is simply part of the human experience. And it is the mechanism through which we grow.
Listen again to how Jesus answered the disciples’ question: “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?” Jesus answered, “Neither this man nor his parents sinned; he was born blind so that God’s works might be revealed in him.”
In other words, although not everything happens for a reason, but God can redeem everything that happens.
How might God redeem this current situation? Father Richard Rohr offered these words a couple of days ago:
We are in the midst of a highly teachable moment. There’s no doubt that this period will be referred to for the rest of our lifetimes. We have a chance to go deep, and to go broad. Globally, we’re in this together. Depth is being forced on us by great suffering, which as I like to say, always leads to great love.
For God to reach us, we have to allow suffering to wound us. Now is no time for an academic solidarity with the world. Real solidarity needs to be felt and suffered. That’s the real meaning of the word “suffer” – to allow someone else’s pain to influence us in a real way. We need to move beyond our own personal feelings and take in the whole. This, I must say, is one of the gifts of television: we can turn it on and see how people in countries other than our own are hurting. What is going to happen to those living in isolated places or for those who don’t have health care? Imagine the fragility of the most marginalized, of people in prisons, the homeless, or even the people performing necessary services, such as ambulance drivers, nurses, and doctors, risking their lives to keep society together? Our feelings of urgency and devastation are not exaggeration: they are responding to the real human situation. We’re not pushing the panic button; we are the panic button. And we have to allow these feelings, and invite God’s presence to hold and sustain us in a time of collective prayer and lament.
If Father Rohr is right—that now is the time to allow ourselves to feel what we feel within the presence of God—it means we must let go of the defense mechanisms of blame-casting and problem-fixing, and simply be in this moment. And in the being, a deepening, perhaps?
Again I ask, “What might God be trying to say to us through this global pandemic?”
What scales are falling from our eyes, enabling us to see, perhaps for the first time?
· If at one time we thought we were invincible, maybe we’re learning that we are vincible.
· If at one time we thought we were independent, maybe we’re learning that we are interdependent.
· If at one time we thought we could save the world through motion, maybe we’re learning the way to save the world is through stillness.
The hidden grace in this collective moment is the hope that, while this pandemic will forever change us, we will come out on the other side able to see more clearly. In the words of Anne Lamott, “I do not understand the mystery of grace—only that it meets us where we are but does not leave us where it found us.”
Let us pray . . .
jesus, come to us
in your holy alchemy
combine human spittle and earthly sod
into the mystical salve
that can help us see
not just in new or sharper ways
but for the first time
ever
and in our seeing
transform our being
and in our being
transform our thinking
and in our thinking
transform our caring
and in our caring
transform our doing
o lord jesus christ
redeem this suffering
grant us hope for a brighter day
and in the meantime
if it’s not too much
empower us
simply
to be.
amen.