Leaning into "I Don't Know"
The reading for this week’s sermon is available at https://bible.oremus.org/?ql=513061530
photo by Chris Yang
Whenever we see something that isn’t as we think it should be, there’s a tendency to ask…where did things go wrong? How does this happen? Who is responsible?
Are we still stuck in the cycles of this pandemic because of individual choices or governmental inadequacies?
Is the earth hurt more by exploitative commerce or our plastic straws?
Did they get sick because they took risks or was it their genetics?
Is the church at large struggling because of poor leadership or cultural shifts?
Sometimes the question can help guide us toward justice.
Sometimes these questions can help us form the wisdom to learn and grow.
But sometimes it becomes a loop that doesn’t lead us to much of anywhere.
Sometimes, I think, this is our way of standing in judgment over anything that doesn’t fit our concepts of good or pretty or perfect…
Sometimes, I think, it becomes a convenient way for us to keep the weight of whatever it is over there, at arm’s length from us, because it is just so darn heavy.
We live in a world that often prefers to find fault rather than restoration. It’s tidier that way. It gives us a sense of things being resolved so we can put messiness behind us.
But Jesus doesn’t seem to be as interested in tidy resolutions or keeping their hands free of muck or scars. Jesus enters into this story not to close the book but to open. Jesus says, “I’m not here to go in these same circles that lead nowhere of consequence. We’re going somewhere and doing something much bigger than that.”
Jesus responds by taking dirt and water, getting his hands dirty, and using the messiness to create anew. The scripture tells us that this person they’ve encountered didn’t become blind, but it’s part of who they’ve always been. The gospel writer wants to be clear that Jesus is not fixing something that is broken, but transforming us into something altogether new, something that would otherwise seem impossible. It’s not that God creates opportunities to show off, but CAN and most often DOES use all the things that we have come to understand as dirty, flawed, or beyond saving as the very means by which God’s uncontainable goodness is revealed. Accountability is important where applicable, but Jesus is far less concerned with blame as he is with loving and blessing.
Still, it’s pretty incredible to witness the lengths we’ll go to to deny what’s right in front of us to try and maintain some stability. Even the people who have known this person born blind his entire life say, “nah, can’t be him.” They would rather invent an impossible soap-opera style secret twin than believe that the transformation right in front of them is real . A few verses later they even drag the man’s parents in to testify to his identity.
How did this happen, they ask him. There’s no easy or clear answer. All he can explain is what he experienced and what has followed. Was the newness in the mud? Or the washing? Or some place in between? I don’t know. All I can say is that it happened, and I’m here, and all of it has the hallmark of being holy.
Where has this miracle worker gone now? I don’t know, but I do know that I am changed because of them.
There is so much I don’t know about the world right now, or Godself, or what to say about either.
But I do know that I’ve experienced the quiet presence of God when I’ve felt lost, scattered, or alone. I’ve seen the movement of a restorative and impossibly generous God in my community and beyond. When I was talking to a Pastor-friend about this story this week, they said, “I can’t tell you why I keep coming back to church...I’ve tried to walk away…but here I am.”
Six years ago I didn’t know if this community of faith would ever be anything other than a group of folks gathered in a park or a coffee shop, with more questions than answers about how to engage and reflect the divine. I still don’t know if that has really changed much and often I don’t know how we sustain such a mish mash ministry, but I do know that I see God reflected in the ways you all make sure everyone’s candle is lit when we gather. I know God has done and is doing something here when uncertain plans and leftover chicken cutlets are transformed into laughter in the kitchen and full bellies. I know God has been through here when folks are in crises and don’t know who will help them and somehow we find each other and a balm for the soul.
I don’t always know what to do with a world where transgender children of God, created in the divine image, are cruelly used as political pawns and harmed in our own neighborhoods; where tyrants lie and attack the people of Ukraine for greed and ego.
I don’t know how to resolve or navigate this world that is home to the heartache of bombs and the happiness of birthdays, the tangled knots of injustice and the beauty of burgeoning spring. But I do know that I don’t have to have to have it all figured out in order for God to be in the midst of it with us.
This sacred story shows us that you don’t have to know hard and fast answers in order to know God, or experience God, or embody God. This man has no clear confession of belief and that clearly isn’t a prerequisite for God’s transformation. He doesn’t know the in’s and out’s of how or why, he doesn’t quote scripture or whisper special prayers, but he has his very identity as a witness to God’s work in the world.
When others question him, he kept saying, “I am that same man.” “I am the one.” “I am the one who was, and is, and continues on.” “I am.” The same phrasing God uses for divine identity. The reflection of the divine, the Good News of transformation amidst the mud lives within his very self. Jesus abides in the simple rhythms of his breathing in and out, in nothing more than his very existence yet amplified by his insistence on being seen and known and his witness being shared.
May we, on this day and every day, recognize and insist on God’s reflection in our own being and in those the world would deem impossible. May we let loose our certainties to better dwell within God’s mystery. And may we tell our stories of holy wrestling and wonder and perhaps in doing so, free up others to share their own. May we, this fledgling community of faith, and this whole world be transformed by God’s mixture of mud and possibility. Amen.