Spit-Therapy
As
Jesus was walking along, he saw a man who had been blind from birth. “Rabbi,” his disciples
asked him, “why was this man born blind? Was it because of his own sins or his
parents’ sins?” “It was not because of his sins or his
parents’ sins,” Jesus answered. “This
happened so the power of God could be seen in him.” Then he spit on the ground,
made mud with the saliva, and spread the mud over the blind man’s eyes. He told
him, “Go wash
yourself in the pool of Siloam” So the man went and washed and came back seeing! His neighbors and
others who knew him as a blind beggar asked each other, “Isn’t this the man who
used to sit and beg?” Some said he was, and others said, “No, he just looks like him!” But
the beggar kept saying, “Yes, I am the same one!” They asked, “Who healed you?
What happened?” He told them, “The man they call Jesus made mud and spread it
over my eyes and told me, ‘Go to the pool of Siloam and wash yourself.’ So I
went and washed, and now I can see!”
The
Jewish leaders still refused to believe the man had been blind and could now
see, so they called in his parents. They asked them, “Is this your son? Was he born
blind? If so, how can he now see?” His parents replied, “We know this is our
son and that he was born blind, but we don’t know how
he can see or who healed him. Ask him. He is old enough to speak for himself.”
His parents said this because they were afraid of the Jewish
leaders, who had announced that anyone saying Jesus was the Messiah would be
expelled from the synagogue…. And they threw him out of the synagogue.
When Jesus heard what had happened, he found
the man and asked, “Do you believe in the Son of Man”? The man answered, “Who
is he, sir? I want to believe in him.” “You have seen him,” Jesus said, “and he
is speaking to you!” “Yes, Lord, I believe!” the man said. And he worshiped
Jesus. (John 9:1-2;
6-11; 18-23; 34-39)
The old guy at
the corner hasn't seen him, and the woman selling figs hasn't either. Jesus
describes him to the scribes at the gate, and to the kids in the courtyard.
"He's about this tall; his clothes are a little ragged." But no one
has a clue. For the better part of a day Jesus has been searching up and down
the streets of Jerusalem. He didn't stop for lunch; he didn’t even pause to catch
his breath. The only time his feet weren’t moving was when he was asking, "Pardon
me, but have you seen the blind fellow who used to beg on the corner?"
He searched the
horse stable; he even checked out an old shed. Now Jesus is going door-to-door.
"He has a homeless look," Jesus tells people. "Unkempt. Dirty. Muddy
eyelids." Finally a boy gives him a lead. Jesus takes a back street toward
the temple and spots the man sitting on a stump between two donkeys. Christ
approaches from behind and places a hand on his shoulder. "There you are!
I've been looking all over for you." The fellow turns and, for the first
time, sees the one who let him see. And what the man does next, you may find
hard to believe. But first, a little review is in order.
John introduces
him to us with these words: "As Jesus was walking along, he saw a man who
had been blind from birth." (John 9:1) This man has never seen a sunrise.
Can't tell purple from pink. The disciples fault the family tree. "Rabbi, why
was this man born blind? Was it because of his own sins or his parents’ sin?”
(v. 2) “Neither,” Jesus replies. Trace this condition back to heaven. The
reason the man was born sightless? So that "the power of God could be seen
in him." (v. 3)
Talk about a
thankless role. This guy’s been selected to suffer. Some sing to God’s glory,
and others teach to God's glory. But who wants to be blind for God's glory? And
what’s tougher? The condition, or discovering it was God's idea? But the cure
proves to be as surprising as the cause. "[Jesus] spat on the ground, made
mud with the saliva, and spread the mud over the blind man’s eyes.” (v. 6) You
know, the world is filled with various paintings of Jesus: in the arms of Mary,
in the Garden of Gethsemane, in the darkened tomb. But I've never seen a
painting of Jesus spitting. But there he is – Jesus smacking his lips,
gathering a mouth full of saliva, and letting the blob drop to the dirt. And then
he squats, stirs up a puddle of . . . what would you call it? Holy putty? Spit
therapy? Saliva solution? Whatever the name, Jesus places a fingerful in his
palm, and then, like Rembrandt, streaks the mud-miracle onto the blind man's
eyes. "Go, wash in the pool of Siloam," Jesus says. (v. 7)
So, the beggar
feels his way to the pool, splashes water on his mud-streaked face, and rubs
away the clay. The result is the first chapter of Genesis, just for him. Light
where there was darkness. Virgin eyes focus. Fuzzy figures become human beings.
And John receives the Understatement of
the Bible Award when he writes: "He . . . came back seeing." (v.
7) Come on, John. Running a little short on verbs, there? How about "he raced back seeing"? Or, "He danced back seeing"? Maybe, "He
roared back whooping and hollering
and kissing everyone he could find, for the first time, seeing"? The guy
had to be thrilled. And we’d love to leave him that way. But if this man's life
were a cafeteria, he just stepped away from the sirloin to jump into the line
for the Brussels sprouts.
For instance,
look at the reaction of the neighbors: "’Isn’t this the man who used to
sit and beg?’ Some said he was, and others said, ‘No, he just looks like him!’
But the beggar kept saying, ‘Yes, I am the one!’” (vv. 8-9) Did you notice that?
These folks aren’t celebrating; they’re debating. They’ve watched this man
grope and trip since he was a kid. (v. 20) So, you'd think they’d be rejoicing.
But they aren’t. Instead, they march him down to the church to have him kosher
tested.
Upon arrival, the
Pharisees ask for an explanation, and the once-blind beggar says, "He
applied clay to my eyes, and I washed, and I see." (v. 15) Again we pause
for the applause. Still nothing. No recognition. No celebration. Apparently,
Jesus had failed to consult the healing handbook – “Now it was a Sabbath on the
day when Jesus made the clay and opened his eyes. . . . The Pharisees were
saying, 'This man is not from God, because He does not keep the Sabbath.'"
(vv. 14, 16) Pause. Did you hear that? Did you hear that noise? That’s the
beeping of the absurdity Geiger counter. The religious leaders' verdict bounces
the needle off the chart. Here, let me give you an example of what I’m talking
about.
Suppose the
swimming pool where you swim has a sign on the fence that reads, “Rescues Performed by Certified Lifeguards
Only.” Of course, you never give the sign a thought until one day you bang
your head on the bottom of the pool. You black out, ten feet under. Next thing
you know you're belly-down on the side of the pool, coughing up water. Someone
rescued you. And when the lifeguards appear, the fellow who pulled you out of
the pool has since disappeared. But as you come to your senses, you tell the lifeguards
your story. However, rather than rejoice, the lifeguards and the bystanders shout,
"Doesn't count! Doesn't count!" They’re acting like referees waving
off a basketball that cleared the net after the clock had expired. "It
wasn't official. Wasn't legal. Since the rescuer wasn't certified, consider
yourself drowned." Absurd, right? So, won’t anyone rejoice with this man?
The neighbors
didn't. The preachers didn't. Oh, but wait. Whew. Finally. Here come the
parents. But the reaction of the formerly blind man's parents is even worse. “‘Is
this your son? Was he born blind? If so, how can he now see?’ His parents
replied, ‘We know this is our son and that he was born blind, but we don’t know
how he can see or who healed him. Ask him. He is old enough to speak for
himself.’ His parents said this because they were afraid of the Jewish leaders,
who had announced that anyone saying Jesus was the Messiah would be expelled
from the synagogue.” (vv. 18-22)
How could the
parents do that? Granted, to be put out of the synagogue was a big deal. But
isn't refusing to help your child even worse? And who was really blind that day,
anyway? The neighbors didn't see the man – they saw a novelty. The church
leaders didn't see the man – they saw a technicality. The parents didn't see
their son – they saw a social difficulty. In the end, no one saw him. So, “they
threw him out of the synagogue." (v. 34) And now, here he is on the back
streets of Jerusalem. The fellow’s got to be just a little bewildered. Born
blind only to be healed. Healed only to be kicked out. Kicked out only to be
left alone. From Mt. Whitney to the Mojave Desert, all in one Sabbath. Now he
can't even beg anymore. How would that feel? Maybe you know how that feels. Do
some people seem to be dealt more than their share of bad hands? If so, Jesus
knows. He knows how they feel, and he knows where they are. "Jesus heard
that they had thrown him out, and went and found him." (v. 35)
If three decades
of earth walking and miracle working aren’t sufficient, or if there’s any doubt
in your mind about God's full-bore devotion, he goes and does something like
this. He goes Columbo and tracks down
a troubled pauper. And when he arrives, the beggar lifts his eyes to look into
the face of the one who’d started it all. Is he going to criticize Christ?
Complain to Jesus? You couldn't blame him for doing both, frankly. After all, he
didn't volunteer for the disease, or the deliverance. But he does neither.
"He worshiped Jesus," instead. (v. 38) And don't you think he probably
knelt? And wouldn’t you think he probably wept? And if so, how could he keep
from wrapping his arms around the waist of the one who gave him sight? And so he
worshiped him. And when you see Jesus, you will too.
Some of your
legs may be wheel-chaired, and some of your hearts may be hope-starved. But
"these hard times are small potatoes compared to the coming good times,
the lavish celebration prepared for us." (2 Cor. 4:17 MSG) The day you see
your Savior you will experience a million times over what Joni Eareckson Tada
experienced on her wedding day. You see, a diving accident had left Joni paralyzed
at the age of seventeen. All of her nearly fifty years since have been spent in
a wheelchair. Her handicap doesn't keep her from writing or painting or
speaking about her Savior. Nor did her handicap keep her from marrying Ken. But
it almost kept her from the joy of the wedding.
She'd done her
best, mind you. Her gown was draped over a thin wire mesh covering the wheels
of her wheelchair. With flowers in her lap and a sparkle in her eye, she felt a
"little like a float in the Rose Parade." A ramp had been
constructed, connecting the foyer to the altar. Unfortunately, while waiting
her turn to motorize over it, Joni made a discovery. Across her dress was a
big, black grease mark courtesy of the chair. And the chair, though
"spiffed up . . . was still the big, clunky thing it always was."
Then the bouquet of daisies on her lap slid off center, and her paralyzed hands
were unable to rearrange them. She felt anything but the picture-perfect bride in
Bride's Magazine. Nevertheless, she
inched her chair forward and looked down the aisle. And that's when she saw her
groom.
“I spotted him
way down front, standing at attention and looking tall and elegant in his
formal attire. My face grew hot. My heart began to pound. Our eyes met and, amazingly,
from that point everything changed. How I looked no longer mattered. I forgot
all about my wheelchair. Grease stains? Flowers out of place? Who cares? No
longer did I feel ugly or unworthy; the love in Ken's eyes washed it all away.
I was the pure and perfect bride. That's what he saw, and that's what changed
me. It took great restraint not to jam my ‘power stick’ into high gear and race
down the aisle to be with my groom.”
When she saw her
groom, she forgot about herself. And when you see Jesus, you will too. I'm
sorry about that greasy gown. And your flowers? They tend to slide, don't they?
Who has an answer for the diseases, drudgeries and darkness of this life? I
don't. But we do know this: everything changes when you look at the groom. And
yours is coming.
Just as he came
for the blind man, Jesus is coming for you. The hand that touched the blind
man's shoulder will touch your cheeks. The face that changed his life will
change yours, as well. And when you see Jesus, you will bow in worship, too.
Grace,
Randy
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