We’ve only just begun — On Blindness

Twenty-Third Sunday after Pentecost [Proper 30] (Sunday, October 27th, 2024)
A SERMON for the congregation of St. Stephen, Summerland BC
The Very Rev. Ken Gray

ON (MY) BLINDNESS

When I consider how my light is spent,
   Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide,
   And that one Talent which is death to hide
   Lodged with me useless, though my Soul more bent
To serve therewith my Maker, and present
   My true account, lest he returning chide;
   “Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?”
   I fondly ask. But patience, to prevent
That murmur, soon replies, “God doth not need
   Either man’s work or his own gifts; who best
   Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state
Is Kingly. Thousands at his bidding speed
   And post o’er Land and Ocean without rest:
   They also serve who only stand and wait.”
—John Milton

Traditionally, the fourteen lines of a sonnet consist of an octave (or two quatrains making up a stanza of eight lines) and a sestet (a stanza of six lines). Within such a disciplined form, beauty, insight, profundity, and Spirit appear. For us today, the kicker comes in the last line. To the fundamental question: “What must one do to be saved?” the poet responds, nothing. Simply “stand and wait.” For both the clever and the ignorant, the focused and the confused, the sighted and the blind, all should stand and wait. God does the rest.

Writing during a period of tempestuous religious conflict, through the autocratic reign of Charles the First, Oliver Cromwell and the English civil war, through to the restoration of the Tudor monarchy, the author of Paradise Lost, John Milton, is considered one of history’s greatest poets writing in English.

By 1652, Milton had become totally blind; the cause of his blindness is debated but bilateral retinal detachment or glaucoma are most likely. His blindness forced him to dictate his verse and prose to amanuenses who copied them out for him. One of his best-known sonnets, “When I Consider How My Light is Spent,” titled by a later editor, John Newton no less, “On His Blindness,” is presumed to date from this period.

Milton is not alone in reflecting on blindness and spirit. More than one scholar suggests that the author of Psalm 139 might have been blind. Such an assumption changes the way we hear portions of this familiar text:

If I say, “Surely the darkness shall cover me,
    and night wraps itself around me,”
even the darkness is not dark to you;
    the night is as bright as the day,
    for darkness is as light to you.
For it was you who formed my inward parts;
    you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made.
    Wonderful are your works; that I know very well.

Through our senses we engage the world, taking in data to be interpreted through our head and heart in tandem with gut, hunch, and wisdom. Sight is named throughout scripture as both instructive and comforting. In today’s lections the sense of sight is contrasted with the sense of hearing, no less so than in the concluding verses of the Book of Job. As Job and the Lord finally return to fruitful conversation after a brutal period of confusion and conflict, in the 42^nd chapter Job answers the Lord: “I know that you can do all things, and that no purpose of yours can be thwarted . . . [N]ow my eye sees you; therefore I despise myself, and repent in dust and ashes.” And Job lived happily, very happily, ever after. Another experience of blindness appears in today’s Gospel passage (MARK 10:46-52):

“As Jesus and his disciples and a large crowd were leaving Jericho, Bartimaeus son of Timaeus, a blind beggar, was sitting by the roadside. When he heard that it was Jesus of Nazareth, he began to shout out and say, ‘Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!’ Many sternly ordered him to be quiet, but he cried out even more loudly, ‘Son of David, have mercy on me!’”

Mercy is the cry; restoration of vision is the plea. Been there myself, maybe not as profoundly as Bartimaeus, the one called “blind.” Interesting how we tend to name people by role, or ability, or charism, or disability. While a student chaplain in my seminary years I suggested to my supervisor that I should have a tag made saying “Please be aware that I am visually impaired.” I thought that they needed to know; Rudy said they would figure it out.  His advice was appropriate. Bartimaeus is a whole person, complete with unique human circumstances. And so am I.

It is true that each and every day my own experience of blindness eats away at my self-confidence. I can never drive, so I work hard at figuring out how to get places; but I can and do get places, not always when I want, but generally speaking, I am mobile. I remain however insecure, not always sure I see what is truly before me. I take in line, colour, shape, and form well. Detail, well not so well. I always miss part of the picture.

“Jesus stood still and said [to his disciples], ‘Call [the man] here.’ And they called the blind man, saying to him, ‘take heart; get up, he is calling you.’ So throwing off his cloak, he sprang up and came to Jesus. Then Jesus said to him, ‘What do you want me to do for you?’ The blind man said to him, ‘My teacher, let me see again.’ Jesus said to him, ‘Go; your faith has made you well.’ Immediately he regained his sight and followed him on the way.”

I have often wondered — why is my faith not enough for a similar result? — there’s no sufficient answer to that. “It is what it is,” as counsellors, jailers, clergy, and funeral directors often say. As a jogger friend says, if the hill in front of you looks too steep, go around it. There is usually a Plan B. Look for it; find it; go through it! One place where there is no Plan B, or as ecojustice activists say, there is No Planet B concerns the state of our planet, earth. Not my words, but an online commenter on today’s texts writes this:

“We can see Bartimaeus’ transition from blindness to sight as symbolizing human consciousness about the dire need for environmental justice and how blind humanity has been in letting big economic interests (since the Old Testament’s times) to lead the world and dictate Biblical interpretations that allows extractivism and consumerism, seeing the environment (what was created apart from humans) as re-source not source of life.

Published by Grove Books in the UK, The Ethics of Environmental Management: Does Stewardship Lead Us Down a Blind Alley? raises similar challenges: “This book explores the vital issue of managing the natural environment. It traces significant international developments since the Rio Earth Summit in 1992, and examines whether placing monetary value on nature is ever defendable.

Pertinent to our local discussion as Anglican and United Church congregations up and down Highway 97 I wonder to what extent our own eyes are open, or are we blinded to new possibilities? Bartimaeus vision-recovery is an image of the Church’s transition from spiritual blindness to insightful, relevant, and timely missional dialogue. Sadly, we have lost parishioners for whom “church” was mainly building and Sunday experience. While both remain important, appetite for both in Western Canadian culture is disappearing. Our missional context has shifted. We are quickly being drawn, even forced, into a new realm of “church,” where engagement with creation, the marginalized, and a challenge to the corrupt powers of the privileged severally and individually are now the fora for mission and ministry engagement.

Deep breath now . . . Fasten your seat belts . . . As the Carpenters once sang: “We’ve only just begun.”