"The Day You Stop Believing"

Pastor Nagle
03/06/2005

“The Day You Stop Believing” John 9:1-41 The Fourth Sunday in Lent March 6, 2005
Every week, during our worship services, we pray for a whole list of people. Sometimes we read their names out loud, sometimes not. Some of those people you know; most you do not. But just because their names are listed, you figure something important is going on in their life. Sometimes it’s something happy; more often, it’s something sad or scary or frustrating. Week after week we pray for those people, whether they like it or not. And sometimes, the people about whom we pray don’t like it at all.
If you’ve read anything other than the sports page this past week, you know that an awful serial killer has been arrested in Kansas. He had terrorized a community there by his continued violence that earned him the nickname, BTK—bind, torture and kill. Which is precisely what he did to one man’s family. That he killed four members of the same family. It may be obvious or maybe it’s hard to say, but how would you react if you came home one day and someone you love had been murdered. Shocked, sickened, sad, angry? The four murders in one family happened some years ago, but last Sunday I watched an interview with one of the surviving members of that family who said—when my family was killed, that was the day I stopped believing in God. Because after an awful thing like that, I couldn’t believe that there is a God, and if there is, I don’t want to be around a God who would allow something like that to happen. The man who made that statement said that he used to go to church, had been an altar boy, had been raised to believe, but at the time of his family’s grisly death, he asked where God was.
Which is close enough to part of this morning’s gospel story. It was a long story, that story of a man who was born blind. I figure it’s a rough thing to face life like that. Different from everybody else. Not able to do what everybody else does. Maybe living with anger and frustration. And with no answers too. Isn’t it a part of our life that we like answers? More than one person listed in our prayers has asked that question, “how come.” There’s even a special word that describes that question. It’s called theodicy— the justice of God. If there is a God and if God supposedly loves his people, why do bad things happen? More than that, why do bad things happen to good people? It’s not fair. And it’s not. So that people have forever asked questions, trying to get to the bottom of it. In today’s gospel, people asked Jesus, How come this man is blind? Where should we put the blame? Did he do something wrong, or did his parents do something wrong? (The assumption was that somebody must have done something wrong, because bad things don’t just happen.) But Jesus turned the matter away from finger-pointing and used the blind man as an example of healing. Remember that Jesus touched the man’s eyes and said, Because I am the light of the world, you don’t have to live in darkness any more. And right away the man was able to see. But what does that have to do with the man in Kansas who gave up believing in God?
He’s living in a kind of darkness too, isn’t he? Not saying something wrong, not scolding him, but just assuming that as hurt as he is, as angry as he is, as frustrated as he is, until now not having answers about that crime, even he admits his life has been changed. And surely not changed for the better. Whenever you ask the question, How come, and get no answer, there’s a kind of blindness, isn’t there? If the answer were obvious, you could say, Now I see. But sometimes, we don’t see, can’t see, or else what we do see is almost too painful to bear. Have you ever asked, God, where are you? If it hasn’t happened yet, the day will surely come.
It may come when the thing you most loved is taken away from you. It may come when your dreams are smashed. It may come during a time of pain that only gets worse. It may come when your own name is on our prayer list, or would be, if you’d let anyone know about the pain you’re facing. Even while you’re part of the church. Some people keep on keeping on with the church, even though they have these deep and troubling questions. And the deepest of them all is, Where is God? Didn’t he make a promise to be around? Don’t I deserve better than this?
The question is tied up with an assumption some people have—that everything that happens in life is part of some grand plan that God has. But I say, be careful when you believe that, because some of the things that happen in life happen in spite of God. Not that he can’t change them, but that he allows people to do what we want—even to do the hurtful things we want. So that murder isn’t part of God’s plan. Nor is blindness. But God can use the awful things of our life and turn them into something else. If we’ll let it happen. But that’s a big if, because if we let ourselves get changed, get healed, we set ourselves up for a lot of hard work.
Consider the blind man. He’d been blind forever. His parents didn’t like it that way; the man himself didn’t like it that way. It caused discomfort and upset and frustration for everybody, but it had gone on so long that the blind man and his parents had gotten used to it. Didn’t like it, but had gotten used to it. Had fallen into the routine of it all. And you’d think that the blind man would have been overjoyed at being given the gift of sight. And in the gospel lesson, he was. Would you be pleased? Sure—because you’d be able to see again. But if you’d made your living by begging as a blind man, now you’d have to find work as a sighted man. And if your blindness kept you from seeing awful things, with sight you’d have to deal with what’s in front of you. And if people paid attention to you before, maybe now they’d ignore you. So it happens that we’re not always glad about something that changes life. Especially if, all of a sudden, the change means you have to start believing again.
Remember the man in Kansas. When his family was murdered, he gave up believing in God. What should he say, now that the killer has been caught? I believe in God again? I’ll bet he won’t say that. Maybe he couldn’t say that, because he’s gotten so used to living life one way, anything that changes his life may prove too heavy a load. And yet, there’s some logic, isn’t there? That if God is blamed for making things bad, he should be praised for making things good? That’s logic, but when your life is blind, you can’t always see logic. But fortunately, God doesn’t base his love on the way we respond.
Or at least, that’s what I say—that God doesn’t base his love on the way we respond. Although a lot of people whom you know say just the opposite—that God loves only those who do respond. You know, God loves believers, does not love unbelievers. God loves people who obey the commandments, does not love people who break the rules. God loves those who love other people, does not love those who hate those around them. But what should we say about the relationship between God and the bitter Kansan. That because he gave up on God, God should or has or will give up on him? If that’s what we believe, we have to be the saddest people of all. For in truth, it’s when we give up on God most, that he comes to us best. And that’s not logic, but it is the proclamation of the church. That the day you give up believing in God is the day God most comes to you. And we could see that, if we weren’t blind.
Today is set aside here as a time for healing. Even though scripture tells us that Jesus was a healer, the church doesn’t do much with healing, because we don’t always take it very seriously. Except for some strange television preachers whom we sometimes regard as fake, we just don’t think that any significant healing can take place. And as an example, we use the most difficult stories we can. If a person has a missing arm, no amount of healing prayers this morning is going to grow a new arm back. And if a person’s broken leg is in a cast, we don’t really believe that the right words this morning will allow that person to go skiing again. And if someone has died, even has been murdered, we don’t see that anything will bring those people back to life. And they can’t be brought back to life. But if we can’t see that kind of healing, is there something else we should see? Is the one and only prayer we ought to make this morning, Lord, help us see? Lord, take away our blindness, and make us see?
How about these prayers at a time of blindness: Make us see what is right and what is wrong. Make us see what can and cannot be changed. Make us see how we can be involved in change. Make us see how life would be different if we would change and be changed. All of which is easier said than done. If you’re missing an arm, our prayers today won’t restore it. But our prayers today might cause you to see yourself less with a handicap and more with an opportunity. Living less with anger at what you do not have, and more with what you could be. And someone says, That’s a crock. That’s not healing at all; it’s attitude adjustment. And maybe it is. But would you reject the cure because someone uses a different name to describe it? The blind man from the gospel lesson had his sight restored. I have no reason to believe that anyone that blind will suddenly see here today. But there are lots of people around us right now who need to see better and deeper. And who can. Who need to see better and deeper and to look in a different direction. Not giving up on God, but depending on God whose promises are still sure. That he who created the whole world, and us, continues to watch over the whole world, and us, even when we and the whole world are in turmoil.
And that’s part of what a healing service is all about—that we take seriously the fact that this whole world is in turmoil. The man in Kansas isn’t the only person who ever gave up on God. He’s not the only person today who is angry and sad and frustrated. Angry, sad and frustrated by an injury that has come about. Angry, sad and frustrated by a marriage that hasn’t worked out. Angry, sad and frustrated about dreams that haven’t come true. Angry, sad and frustrated at the meanness people show and the meanness we show back. Angry, sad and frustrated by the pains that bother our heads and our stomachs, our backs and our bowels. Not just that smiling a lot and saying that we love God will quiet our bowels or strengthen our backs, but that the way we have lived doesn’t seem to be doing much. Would rejoicing in being a child of God help?
What about that man in Kansas? Would it help him to know that he’s still a child of God? He doesn’t think so, because he doesn’t believe in God any more. But just because we don’t believe in God doesn’t mean that God doesn’t care for us. And is that healing— to ask that we and everyone here, those whose names are in the bulletin and in everyone’s hearts, will give up whatever blindness there has been, in favor of seeing another way, God’s way, to get through it all. Not that the conditions of awful life have been changed, but that we have changed how we handle the awful conditions of life.
Jesus said to the blind man, “I am the light of the world. If you want to see better and deeper and stronger, go and wash your eyes.” And he did. And he was changed. May that be the story that gives you hope today.