“Turning A Blind Eye”                                                                             September 24, 2013

John 9:1-41                                                            Rev. Cheryl D. Galan, Transitional Leader

Do you remember a time when you couldn’t see?

I’m remembering one summer when I was serving as a Volunteer Director

at Camp Whitman on Seneca Lake in New York

….I’d just finished getting ready for bed at the shower house,

and realized I’d forgotten my flashlight.

Oh well, I shrugged.  After all these years, I know these woods like the back of my hand.

          Surely I can find my way back to my cabin without it.

It happened to be a cloudy night.

            No stars, no moon, and out there in the wilderness, 

                     no ambient light reflected onto the clouds from lights on the ground

                              because there weren’t any.

Just dark.  Pitch black.  Night.

            I headed back in the direction of my cabin on a dirt road, 

                     following the ruts with my feet, the brush to the sides of the road, barely discernible,

the black shadows of the tree tops - dark against dark

                                   forming a tunnel around the open sky.

I found the  fork in the road  and turned to the right.

Home free, I thought.

            But then I got to the tree-lined field.  Somewhere, at the edges of the field

buried within the trees was the path that would lead me home.

Now I couldn’t see a thing.  And I’d lost my bearings.           

Just on the other side of the trees I could hear the laughter of

my campers, settling in for the night, but there I was alone, 

just me and my blind eyes in the darkness.

For the blind man of John’s gospel, life had always been like that.

            Since birth, only darkness.  Since birth, all alone in the not seeing.

                       

NEVER a time when he could see.

Until Jesus.

Until Jesus spat on the ground and scooped up a fingerful

            of dirt mixed with saliva and touched his eyes with it.

Until he felt the cool, wet mud on his eyelids.

Until he heard Jesus tell him to go wash in the pool of Siloam

           and he stretched out his arms, one more time groping in the darkness,

                   one more time reaching in the darkness,

                        one more time walking the well-worn path in the darkness, 

a path he knew so well he didn’t falter or stumble, once he got clear of the crowd.

And one last time he fell on his knees by the cooling waters of the pool

            plunged his hands into the water, 

                        scooped it up by hands-full to splash his eyes,

now caked with the mud that was hardened and dry, like crust.

Washing the mud away, the blind man opened his eyes.  And now, he could see!

Where he’d walked with unhalting steps on the way to those healing waters, 

           I imagine he stumbled now; he faltered now

                  as he walked in a world he’d never seen before.

Now he made his way along a path, both familiar and entirely foreign.

Now he came home to voices that had faces and faces that had questions

            and questions that flew at him and unsettled his soul.

How were your eyes opened?

Where is he?

How can a man who is a sinner perform such signs?

Is this your son?  How does he now see?

What did he do to you?

How did he open your eyes?

The neighbors, the Jews, the Pharisees, even the man’s parents struggle to reconcile the truth 

        as they have  KNOWN it with this new reality represented in the answers 

                 the formerly blind man gives them.

They ask.  He speaks.  And it’s as if they are moving through thick, pea-soup fog,

It makes no sense.  

       It turns the conventional wisdom on which they have depended on its head.  

And so, it rocks their world.

With mud and spittle, by a touch and a command, on the Sabbath, a blind man sees,

            but now everyone else does not.

The neighbors, the Jews, the Pharisees, and the man’s parents

do not see that Jesus has come among them to touch

where conventional wisdom says…do not touch.  

Do not touch my certainty.  Do not touch my comfort.

Do not touch the institutions in which I have invested large parts of myself. 

Do not touch my beliefs, the rules that help me find my place 

        in a sometimes chaotic and confusing world.

Do not touch my relationships-in-community,  the way my life is ordered.

Do not touch my family.

Do not touch the carefully constructed arguments of my well-informed mind. 

Do not touch my judgments.  Do not touch my prejudices. 

Do not touch my heart.  Do not touch……me.

There we have it, right?

It’s one thing for Jesus to mess with a blind beggar’s life,

but quite another for him to mess with mine.

Earlier today, we saw just a snippet of the film, Something The Lord Made.

We saw courage and vision,

pain-staking experimentation and practice,

ambition and more than a smidge of grandiosity

as Dr. Blalock went out on the limb that led to

the world’s first surgical procedure on the heart.

This work saved the life of a baby who otherwise would have died 

         and paved the way for medical procedures we now take for granted.

Blalock, Thomas, and their medical team created new norms,

crafted new conventional wisdom,

                        and charted a new course from which we reap benefits to this day.

But this is also a story about Dr. Blalock’s struggle to allow his own heart to be touched.

The under-current of the story is the largely unquestioned and unchallenged racism of the Jim Crow culture in which Dr. Blalock operated.

It was unconventional, that he forged such a close partnership

         with Vivian Thomas,  an uneducated black man whose trade was carpentry.

It was highly irregular when he invited Vivien into the O.R. to talk

him through the procedure they’d together developed and rehearsed.

But at the end of the day, when the accolades came, Dr. Blalock stood alone….

Vivien Thomas was not there, not in the headlines, not in the photo ops,

            not in the recognition ceremonies.  

Turning a blind eye to the blockage in his own heart,

            Blalock could not see and would  not allow it.

            Later he would look back on that time and say, “I have some regrets.”

Isn’t that the way it goes for us?

We want healing, for ourselves and for our world.

We pray for it.  We work, that it may be so.  We plan for it.

We protest and advocate for it. 

            We educate for that which we believe bring healing. 

…..while about our own hearts we insist…..Do not touch

So where does this leave us? 

It leaves us where we began…with our blind eyes…in the dark.

And along comes Jesus, who will climb out on a limb,

         to overturn the conventional wisdom that in this story that begs for our hearing

           and calls out for our healing:  that someone did something wrong.

Who sinned? asked the Pharisees.

To which Jesus responded,  Neither this man nor his parents sinned.

In a recent interview, Diana Butler Bass spoke of the condition of many congregations today and said,

“It’s not your fault.

The world you grew up in has changed very radically.

You didn’t change it. It changed around you.”

Who sinned....that we minister in a context of ever-diversifying demographics

      and disparities of wealth and opportunity in our churches and communities?

Who sinned.....that  institutional patterns and policies which formerly

            served us well are now falling apart?

Who sinned....that we  suffer numeric decline,

            not to mention the aging buildings with creaky floors, our Achilles heel?

Who sinned... that graying congregations and greening congregations alike

       face the daunting challenge of articulating why it matters that we are Christian,

                not to mention Presbyterian, in a world that mostly doesn't care?

 Who sinned...that we struggle to find our prophetic voice

            in the mist of pervasive violence and deep, persistent injustice?

Who sinned....that the signs of dis-ease in the earth, in our bodies, in our relationships 

       so rattle us to the core, that in our fear we become brittle, blind, or blocked,

                unable to see the beauty, the pain and raw vulnerability 

                        in the faces of our brothers and sisters.

                       

Don’t you see?  It’s not your fault, Elizabeth Presbytery.

           

Instead, it’s our opportunity, for Jesus also said,            

            “This man was born blind so God’s works might be revealed in him.”

What if this moment in our shared history could be less about

            who is to blame and more about God’s works, revealed through us.

Here’s your opportunity to shine with the light that has been given to you.

            Did you notice, when you read the lines of the blind man in the story,

                        while everyone else was confused and arguing, 

 while they bickered and complained, you spoke with growing clarity.

           

It was as if, in the telling of your own story, in reflecting on your experience

with Jesus Christ, in the questions that came flying at you,

and the words, however inadequate, you used to answer them….

a  growing awareness snuck up on you, a strengthening voice rose up in you, 

             like the gradual brightening of the morning sky,

until suddenly astoundingly,  it burst over the horizon and you blurted out,

“If this man were not from God, he could do nothing.”

And then Jesus found you….again.

            Jesus found YOU….who have been tumbled, tussled and tossed about

                        …and Jesus presented the question toward which this whole drama

                                    has been leading:  “Do you believe in the Son of Man?”

And sight turns to insight as YOU, the blind one confess,

“Lord, I believe,” and worship him.

May it be so, for us and for our congregations, for the sake of the healing of our world.  Amen. 

Dear Friends,

In the art world, chiaroscuro is the name of a technique that brings the illusion of three dimensionality on a two-dimension canvas, by boldly contrasting light and dark.  Hard-core Star Wars fans, may remember that in the novel version of Revenge of the Siths, the chapter featuring light-saber duels between Darth Vadar and Obi Wan Kenobi and the Emperor and Yoda is called Chiaroscuro.

A bold contrast between light and dark, black and white…that gives depth.

Not surprisingly, the technique of chiaroscuro emerged when Europe emerged from the Dark Ages, bringing incredibly rich examples of art, literature, and poetry.
  

At the time Carraggio painted “The Nativity” there was constant fighting in Italy and an outbreak of the plague.  Into this darkness, he paints the light that simultaneously appears to bathe and emerge from the Child lying in the manger.  Mary’s face is softened by the light, which also strikes the rapt faces of the adoring shepherds and illumines the hovering heavenly host.

The gospel of John puts it this way, “What came into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people.  The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.”  -John 1:4,5

As I write, we have been thrust into the unspeakable darkness of grief in the wake of a mass shooting that claimed 27 lives, 20 of them children…and the shooting that felled two police officers in Topeka.  Our hearts break for families who not only face Christmas, but the rest of their lives without a child, sibling, parent, friend. Our hearts break for the first-responders who walked into the horror and did their jobs, took care of the injured, provided for the safety of their community, and now must live with the memory of it.  Our hearts break for communities whose sense of security is shattered.  Our hearts break for a nation that has heard another wake-up call, has seen another sign of distress and now must work together to discern what must change. 

Into this darkness, Jesus comes. 

The One through whom all things are created comes to us.  There’s the light.  The One born in a tiny nowhere town called Bethlehem, in the humble setting of a stable, surrounded by the poverty, oppression and violence, now lives among us.  There’s the dark.  In this bold contrast, the Christmas story lifts us from the two-dimensional pages of Scripture to reveal a three-dimensional realm, where the birth of a child brings peace on earth, salvation for all, God’s love-in-the-flesh.

No matter what else is going on in the world no matter what concerns we carry, like a weight on our hearts, still there is simple, yet profound evidence of the goodness and grace available to us.  Real, hard evidence that God comes to us, abides with us, Our Lord, Emmanuel.

You can see it in places like Doorstep’s Christmas distribution center, where neighbors in need browse among goods donated by community members and ‘shop’ for gifts for their families.

Or, in the growing piles of scarves knit and crocheted by members of our needlework group, given away along with the mountain of gifts provided the members of our congregation, through our Christmas Adoption program.

In the faces of our youth, whose mid-night madness yields treasures for others.

In the voices of the B.A.S.I.C. choir members who sing for those isolated in hospice or nursing care facilities.

In the generous offering of those who prepare the meals and sing the songs at Noon noels.

In the red and white Christmas Joy offering envelopes that overflow from the plates and spill out to bless strangers-in-need.

In every moment of kindness when someone chooses love over fear, compassion over anger, generosity over selfishness, community over isolation.

And you will most assuredly see it on Christmas Eve when we gather, in the darkness, in the light.  In this world of conflict, we will tell the Story.  At this time of uncertainty, we will sing the carols.  Aware of the suffering of those we love and of strangers whose pain touches our vulnerability, we will say our prayers.   With broken hearts, we will come to the Table.  In spite of our deepest fears, we will light candles.

In all of these ways we add fuel to the flame of God’s love, bringing more and more light to the darkness of our world.  Like the bold contrast of chiaroscuro, may our celebration of Christmas bring us to the depths of God’s love for us, to the three-dimensional wonder of Christ’s birth for us.  Lord, hear our prayer. 

Blessings,

Cheryl

It was a 're-do' day.  After our orientation at the offices of Rebuild Joplin, most of us went to a home that is nearing the finish line.  Our assignment?  Laying tile floors in the kitchen and two bathrooms.  The challenge?  A volunteer group started the job before we got here and made a mess.  It happens.  Many of us arrive with a strong desire to help, but not necessarily with skills to do the jobs we are assigned.  With appropriate supervision and instruction, even newbies can learn how to lay a tile floor.   But the tiles laid by the previous group had to be pulled up first.

Most of our day went to scraping the residue of mortar that had dried to the floor's underlayment.  It was strenuous, tedious work, but by mid-day we were able to start applying new mortar and laying new tiles.  A couple of us applied grout between the tiles of one floor that had remained intact.  Tomorrow, we'll return to continue with the tile floors and start with installation of laminate flooring, as well.  Some are working at a warehouse, unloading, sorting and shelving new electrical supplies.

We see both the recovery of the community and the lingering challenges.  We have met Tara, the homeowner whose home is nearing its finish.  Tara initially took cover in the bathtub of her home when the tornado warnings came.  But when she felt the walls tremble, she moved to an interior closet and survived.  The house she purchased 14 months before the storm was declared a total loss and her insurance coverage paid off the mortgage debt, leaving her with an empty lot.  Her daughter was caught in her car during the storm, as a telephone pole crashed through the windshield, pinning her in the car.  Now Tara says, "My daughter was physically hurt, emotionally we're all still hurt, but we're alive and that's the most amazing thing."

In the offices of Re-build Joplin is this picture wall of homeowners waiting to come home.  A couple of the members of the group worked at the home of a family who has been living in a FEMA trailer since the tornado struck.   Thanks to the efforts of many volunteers who worked alongside them, they moved home today!  As one of the members of our group put it, even with the challenges, being here is worth it.

Blessings,
Cheryl

Up, Up, and Away!  We arrived in Joplin after a beautiful drive through Kansas and Missouri autumn countryside.  We were amused at a rest stop, when we observed a couple of goats being 'walked' in the parking lot.



Soon after our arrival at First Presbyterian Church of Joplin, this hot air balloon floated by.

We are encouraged to see signs of progress here.  Lots of new businesses are under construction; some lots have now been cleared of debris. On the other hand, we saw at least one restaurant that was open last spring, now closed.  The recovery process is not without its setbacks.

After hearing the story of the blind beggar Bartimaeus (Mark 10:46-52) in church this morning, we listened to the story again this evening, this time listening from the perspective of displaced homeowners in Joplin, volunteers who come to this community to help, and the organizations (like Re-Build Joplin) who are here for the long-haul, overseeing the process.  Just as we were settling down for our discussion, there was a knock at the door.  I went to open it and found a young man who was, along with his wife, stranded without shelter, looking for help.  Faced with our very own Bartimaeus, we listened to his story and gave him some food.  He seemed to have an idea about where they could spend the night, so he departed.  We were struck, once again, by the irony that we came to this place to serve the people of Joplin without knowing how we would be asked to serve.  As we continued our reflection on the story of Bartimaeus, someone noticed the alliterative similarity between Jericho (where Bartimaeus called out for mercy from Jesus) and Joplin (where displaced homeowners are, likewise, crying out for mercy).  We observed that we, too, are asked to throw off the cloak of security in order to follow Jesus.  We were struck by the question Jesus asked Bartimaeus, "What would you like me to do for you?"  We picked prayer partners and talked with one another about how we might answer this question, if Jesus asked it of us.

Bright and early tomorrow morning, we'll receive our work assignments from Re-Build Joplin.  Blessings, Cheryl and Team Joplin!

Welcome Home

When we arrived at our new home on Welton Grove Circle, I noticed the previous owners had left behind not one, but many welcome mats. At every point of entry we encountered the word, scripted in beautiful colors coordinated with the home’s architectural style.

Welcome, welcome, welcome the message repeated itself and wove its way into our lives….not only in the mosaic of mats strategically placed in our home, but also in the words and actions of the many strangers, soon to become friends, who have come to our door. We have been welcomed with tasty packages of food, with flowers, with meals, and with gracious words, “We’re so glad you’re here.”

We have been welcomed by church members with strong arms and a truck, who transported my books and files to my office at the church. We have been welcomed in worship, by friendly faces, gleaming stained glass, soaring music, inspiring Scripture, proclamation and prayer. In the swapping of stories we are already building connections between and among us. And, we have been welcomed by a church staff, eager to orient us to this place. Even nature has joined in manifold witness (as the old hymn goes). We’ve been welcomed by the beauty of a summer sunset beckoning us westward as we drove into town, by the evensong of the cicadas, by the crackle of lightening, rumble of thunder and nourishing rains that have watered the parched, dry earth. The sounds of the city have welcomed us, too. From our screened–in porch we can hear the steady hum of traffic on the interstate, the wail of emergency sirens, the whistle of trains and the roar of planes flying low on their way to and from Forbes AirField.

Welcome, welcome, welcome. The word is an invitation to practice hospitality. In their book “radical hospitality,” Father Daniel Homan and Lonni Collins Pratt write, “It is a courageous thing to keep getting up every day, and it is a much more courageous thing to rouse your heart and incline it to love. To care for each other, to open the door to the stranger, to open your heart to the stranger, lifts you into the great dance of life…What matters is that we stretch our hearts open and draw near to each other. It is the way of hospitality, the way of life, and it is, in this remote place where we have awakened to find ourselves, the only way home.”

Blessings,

Cheryl

Yard Sale-ing

This weekend we had what was, for us, an unusual experience....a yard sale. Actually, it's a moving sale since we are getting ready for our move to Topeka. For the past couple weeks we've been sorting, cleaning, and pricing the stuff we no longer use and don't want to haul half-way across the country. Our children have begun to pack up their child-hood mementoes. We've tossed and turned on what to take with us and what to leave behind...what we 'treasure' and what is just more stuff, taking up space. It's quite a process.

Our day dawned bright and early as we hauled out our offerings, posted our sign, and waited for customers. Although yard sale-ing is unusual for us, around here there are folks who make a sport of it. All season long they hop from sale to sale, looking for bargains. Some save up $1.00 bills just for this purpose. Some arrive as soon as you're open for business. Others drive by slowly, just scoping things out. One guy strode up the driveway and asked, "how much for it all?" Now that would be a deal. He did snag quite a number of items. By the time he was done, it was clear that he was working a well-honed system.

I was interested in what sold. Like many, we had an assortment of odds and ends from the kitchen, ramdom office supplies, a few books, some linens, a couple of appliances, a few pieces of furniture, and some trinkets from the kids' younger years. Some of this went, but much remains. Instead, we quickly sold a glockenspiel that our son used in high school band. A couple of needlework pieces that once were in Jack's family, but more recently have sat un-noticed in our basement went to a woman who owns a B&B. A pouch with a dozen tiny perfume bottles were purchased by a woman who has a bottle collection. And the lava lamp went to a little boy who was absolutely delighted with it.

We were also been fascinated with the people who stopped by. Everyone wanted to know, "where are you moving?" They were surprised to hear, "Topeka, Kansas," but then the small world connections began. We met a man grew up in a little town outside Wichita. Another was wearing a t-shirt from a bird sanctuary we visited during our PA years. Neighbors we hadn't seen in quite some time, stopped by to wish us well.

At the end of the day, we still had quite a bit of stuff we don't need, but we agreed it was a pretty good day. It was a gorgeous day to be outside. We met some interesting people. And now, we'll pack up the remains to donate. The hard work of sorting and deciding what to do with the accumulation is behind us...at least for now.

What to do with the past is a question we'll continue to ponder, as we say our good-byes and move through the transition from Ontario to Topeka. What to leave behind? What to recycle? What to take with us? Questions not only of the household, but also of the heart.

Blessings,

Cheryl

Stepping IN

Some babies are not easily comforted, when they become anxious. They will NOT take a bottle. They will NOT take a pacifier. They will NOT take to anybody other than mommy and daddy, even well-meaning grandparents. From the time we enter this world, we need to be comforted, especially when life is too much for us: when we are anxious or afraid, when we are tired or irritable, when we are confused or uncertain, when we are depressed or disappointed or sad, we need to be comforted. Sometimes, that means reaching beyond our own resources, connecting with someone, something or some place that somehow calms us, helps us feel safe, secure, okay. Sometimes it means knowing how to access resources within ourselves.

This is my blessing bowl. I made it at a gathering of our church's College Moms group, so it holds all of the love and energy of a group of women who are special to me. My blessing bowl contains brightly colored slips of paper...post-it notes on which I have written words that represent some of the concerns of my life....the names of those I am holding close to my heart, the uncertainties I face in life, the things that are beyond my control, situations that bring anxiety to my soul. My hopes, dreams, and longings are here, too.

The blessing bowl becomes a source of comfort as I sit with it, opening each slip of paper and lifting its contents to God, in prayer. It is comforting when the needs and realities of my life change, and I can take a slip of paper out of the bowl or add another. I am comforted by the awareness of God's activity in my life, whether I always notice it, or not. As I hold the bowl to my heart, lift it up, then set it down, I find it helps me ground my day in the love of Jesus, for me and those I love. This is one source of comfort for me.....what's yours?

With this question, the sanctuary was abuzz this morning, as people moved into triads and shared with one another, what brings comfort to them. We listened to the story of a man born blind, who Jesus healed (John 9:1-41) by making a paste of dirt and spittle, applying it to the man's eyes and telling him to wash in a pool of water. Not a very comforting picture. The healing touched off a controversy among virtually all who witnessed it. No comfort there, either. Comfort comes when there is a shift, an awareness, from within or beyond, that enlarges the blind man's soul so he able to confess, "Lord, I believe." Crossing from 'once I was blind' to 'now I see,' the blind man finds comfort when he is awakened to the love and light of God, in this gift of healing.

Comfort is not the end, but the beginning of his transformation, and mine. Stepping in to comfort, my soul is enlarged and awakened, so that the healing love and soothing light of Christ I experience may flow from my life, with God's healing, for the world.

Stepping in,

Cheryl