John 9,1-7
8th Sunday after Trinity
Pastorin Kornelia Schauf
The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, the love of God, and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with us all. Amen.
John 9,1-7
1 And as Jesus passed by, he saw a man who had been born blind.
2 And his disciples asked him, saying, "Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?"
3 Jesus answered, "Neither this man nor his parents sinned, but the works of God were to be revealed in him.
4 We must do the work of Him who sent me while it is day; night is coming, when no one can work.
5 As long as I am in the world, I am the light of the world."
6 When he had said this, he spat on the ground, made mud from it, and spread the mud on the blind man's eyes,
7 and said to him, "Go to the Pool of Siloam" – Siloam means ‘sent’ (water being sent from a source/spring to the pool) – “and wash yourself." So, he went and washed and came back seeing.
Dear congregation,
First, a note on how we understand stories: this Bible story holds more than is immediately visible. It can be read and heard in different ways. On one level, it speaks to what lies on the surface—what everyone sees and judges. On another, it draws us deeper.
What do I mean?
I brought a picture to show this: in the foreground is a woman, and each person can decide whether they like her or not.
In the background, you see the sea, which each person may also view differently. Then the two elements come together, revealing more to discover, to question and to understand.
Many Bible stories work in the same way. They speak on two levels, and John invites us to see them together. Only then does their deeper meaning become clear.
Now, let us turn to the foreground of today’s story.
On the surface, it is about the healing of a blind man.
His fate: he was blind from birth. This man knows no other reality; he cannot see anything with his eyes. His perception of the world is limited.
We then hear—on the surface of the narrative—that Jesus heals this man through miraculous words and deeds.
This surface-level aspect raises questions, both then and now: back then, the initial question was, "Who is to blame for this man’s blindness?"
That is the question the disciples ask. There must surely be a reason for this man’s suffering and his physical limitations. Interestingly, this is not a medical question, but rather one concerning the connection between body and soul.
Questions also arise today when we hear this story on the surface: An American theologian—who lives with a disability herself (not blindness, but an amputated leg)—raised the most striking objection: for anyone who is not healthy, such miracle stories are a nightmare. These stories should be removed from the Bible.
So, here is someone entirely preoccupied with the foreground—and solely with herself. I do not wish to dismiss such strong reactions; yet, for my part, I interpret them as a sign that the person remains entirely focused on the foreground.
However, to understand the foreground as John recounts it, we must also perceive the background: the background is the first century following Jesus’s time, a period when Jews, Christians, and Greeks were attempting to make sense of God and their world.
On one hand, there is the question of illness and disability. Jesus takes a clear stance: no one is to blame—neither the parents nor the man himself. In doing so, he addresses ideas that were widespread at the time—ideas rooted in his own Jewish faith: that God punishes down to the third and fourth generation, and that God is the cause of suffering. That was one explanation.
Jesus contradicts this explanation. No one is to blame.
I wonder what this must have meant for the blind man. Perhaps it was the first time in his life that someone didn’t explain to him why he was blind. Didn’t ask who was at fault. Didn’t talk about him. But simply looked athim. How liberating that must have been: someone standing before me who doesn’t reduce me to my fate. Someone who sees a human being in me. I believe that is exactly how healing begins.
In doing so, Jesus helps the man’s faith. He sets his listeners free: just because something has long been interpreted and thought of in such a “wrong” way, doesn’t mean we have to continue doing so.
I discover something here that remains important to this day: Jesus breaks away from a traditional interpretation of suffering. For me, this also holds the freedom not to play faith and new insights off against each other.
John goes even deeper. It is not merely a matter of saying: "This is not what God is like; God is not a punishing God." Rather, John also seeks to convey how God is present in the world and how he—John—understands God and Jesus Christ.
For all that the story concerns this man’s individual fate, much more is revealed through him and the way Jesus encounters him.
This man, born blind and unable to fully perceive the world, represents us all: John uses the man’s blindness as an image for the fact that we humans do not initially recognize God’s reality. We all see only in part.
A common thread runs through John’s Gospel: a world that is dark and fails to recognize God—and, within it, a God who is light and shines forth. In the heart of the Gospel, John encapsulates this in the well-known words: "Jesus Christ says: 'I am the light of the world; whoever follows me will no longer walk in darkness but will have the light of life.'"
And now, let us return to our story—which I am attempting to explain today through both foreground and background imagery—in order to reveal something to you.
For there are some very interesting details here that carry profound significance.
After Jesus has clearly stated his position—that God is not a punishing God—he moves beyond merely speaking about God; instead, he demonstrates how he, Jesus, experiences and understands God.
Then comes the act that some might find rather repulsive: the mixing of spittle and earth.
To the readers of that time, however, there was nothing repulsive about this. Far from it.
Back then, those standing nearby understood immediately: creation is repeating itself here. What Jesus does, recalls the creation of man as described in the second chapter of Genesis: God took a handful of earth and breathed His spirit into it.
In antiquity, it was believed that a person’s life force resided in their spittle—their saliva. All bodily fluids were thought to transmit spirit and power. Here, Jesus gives of himself. He sees himself as following in the footsteps of the Creator. In Jesus—so John tells us—the world is being created anew. Once again, darkness and light are separated; day and night are distinguished from one another.
Part of this "night"—this obscuring of God—is the mindset that views God as the cause of personal suffering.
Jesus says: No one is to blame. That is the liberating message. The following sentence has been translated and interpreted in various ways. One might think God willed this man’s blindness to demonstrate His power later on. Yet John tells the story differently. It is not the suffering that reveals God, but Jesus’s turning toward this person. Wherever Jesus acts, God’s creative love becomes visible.
Thus, we need one further piece of information: deeply rooted in Jewish thought is the idea that what happens to one person happens to us all. When one person gains sight, we all see.
This, in turn, is meant metaphorically.
What do we all perceive because this man can see? It is a miracle! The personal encounter between God and man—the recognition of God—remains a miracle that occurs without any doing of our own. That is grace.
The encounter with God remains a miracle. Wherever His creative Spirit is at work, our view of the world changes. We gain a new understanding of what is light and what is darkness.
I consider another fragment of this scene: "Go to the Pool of Siloam" (Siloah means ‘sent’) "and wash yourself."
The healing originates with Jesus: our faith, our trust, is and remains a gift—a gift that sets things in motion.
The Pool of Siloam was known as a source of "living water"—a theme that runs throughout the Gospel of John. Jesus is not only the Light of the World; in John 7, He declares: "If anyone thirsts for life, let him come to Me and drink. As the Scripture says: out of his heart shall flow rivers of living water."
This is what is happening here: Jesus gives of Himself—of His very life-force—and the ancient tradition of the living spring is not abolished but renewed.
The man is not merely healed and granted sight on a superficial level; he becomes an emissary—a messenger of God.
Our human perspective is often limited by our preoccupation with the superficial—with the things we deem significant, yet which also make life so difficult for us. How easily we become trapped in the superficial—in the world where we are merely guests. Perhaps we know such moments: times when we focus solely on our worries, on medical diagnoses, on conflicts, or on our failures. Our vision narrows; we see nothing but the surface. Yet sometimes, a single person, a word, or an experience is enough to make something else suddenly visible. Not because all problems have vanished, but because we realize: God has been there all along. It is like a beam of light cutting through a dark room.
How wonderful, then, is the story of the person whose eyes and heart are opened to the spiritual realm—who perceives connections in a new light, who recognizes God’s work within the superficial, and who thereby learns deep trust. Not merely learning trust but discovering their true calling: to be an emissary in the world.
Just think about what would change in your life if the most important thing defining you was this: you are a healed person, because you are one with God—healed and sent out into the world. Wherever you are, God’s light shines forth through you! It becomes evident that we are not at the mercy of darkness or our own limited vision.
We live and act in the world as God’s envoys—praying and working in a world that has lost its sight and rejoicing in every moment when God’s beauty shines forth and His healing and creative power is at work.
No, I do not want to remove this story from the Bible. I want to read it again and again and grow through its contradictions and the questions it raises.
May the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, guard our hearts and minds in Christ Jesus. Amen.