This month marks the 100th anniversary of the beginning of Albert Einstein’s annus mirabilis … his year of miracles. Beginning in March of 1905 – one hundred years ago this month – Albert Einstein published papers which convinced doubters that atoms exist, that described special relativity, and that introduced the photoelectric effect. He persuaded the world that light travels faster than anything else, and that space and time are not distinct, but a continuum. His papers and their consequences bombarded the world as a fusillade of ideas.Because of Einstein, 1905 was, arguably the single most important year in the history of the human mind. That is why physicists call 1905 Einstein’s annus mirabilis, Latin for “year of miracles.” In celebration of the anniversary of Einstein’s achievements, the United Nations has declared 2005 the International Year of Physics.
Remarkably, Einstein was only twenty-six years old and working as a lowly patent clerk when he changed the way we see the world. Physicists describe his achievement as the ability to see things no one else saw at the time.
Jesus was nearly the exact same age as Einstein when he, too, inaugurated a period of remarkable achievement … unlike any the world had known. His, however, was not so much an achievement of the mind (although one would not be wrong to describe it in that way). It was more an achievement the heart and of the spirit. His work cannot be quantified; it cannot be explained mathematically. Or can it? If you were able to calculate the number of lives touched as a result of Jesus and his teachings, perhaps it is, after all, measurable and quantifiable.
I am not suggesting that Jesus and Einstein are comparable, yet they both shed light on things that had previously been mired in darkness. They opened our eyes and, in Jesus’ case, our hearts as well. They each provided a viewpoint and perspective from which the world can never look the same and from which there can be no retreat.
In the story we heard this morning from John’s Gospel, we join Jesus and his disciples as they are walking through Jerusalem. They see a man who was blind from birth. The disciples ask Jesus, “Who sinned, this man or his parents that he was born blind?”
Perhaps it takes the contrast of Einstein’s achievements of only 100 years ago to give perspective to the achievements Jesus wrought over 2000 years ago. Two thousand years ago blindness – and other human ailments: physical, emotional and mental – were universally regarded as the result of human sin. Who sinned, his disciples ask, that this man was born blind? In the first century, the equation between sin and suffering was absolute, incontrovertible.
Yet, without a pause Jesus dismisses this flawed equation. Without equivocation he declares that no one sinned! The man’s ailment is not caused by human sin … God’s world is not so cruelly laid out as that. And then he makes a remarkable claim: As long as I am in the world, I am the light of the world.
As Jesus speaks, I see a pool of light encircling this street beggar, this wretched nobody. I see the light encompassing him, embracing him as, for the first time in his life, he hears that his blindness is not his fault – it is not the result of his sin, or the result of his parents’ sin.
As Jesus speaks, I see another pool of light bathing the household and family from which this man has come. I see his family letting go of years of tortured anguish and guilt over whose fault it was that their son was blind.In my mind’s eye I see yet another pool of light. This one disperses the shadowy, furtive conversations between neighbors as they speculate as to whose fault it was that this child was blind.
A simple question is asked of a first century, itinerant preacher: Whose fault is it that this man is born blind? Is it his fault or his parents? By stating that no one sinned, Jesus gives us brand new eyes with which to see into human suffering. Jesus sheds the light and warmth of God into the darkness and coldness of human ignorance. He exposes thoughtless assumptions as the basest cruelty. He relieves human suffering and takes a heavy burden of guilt and shame away from this man, and thousands, no millions, like him.
I am the light of the world, he says. And so he is. If you don’t believe it, ask the man born blind who then could see. Ask his family, his mother and his father.
But Jesus also said: “As long as I am in the world, I am the light of the world.” It has been up to his followers ever since to make certain that he remains in this world, so that his light continues to illuminate the world where suffering and human sin bring so much darkness. Jesus later made this even clearer by saying to his followers, “You are the light of the world.” “You,” he is saying to us – to those of us here at Old South, to Christians in the 21st century – “you are the light of the world.” I am not sure that most of us feel like we are the light of the world.
But then I think of thousands and thousands of institutions founded over the last two millennia in the name of this first century, itinerant preacher. I think of orphanages and homes for widows, of hospitals and hospice care, of nursing homes and shelters; I think of prison chaplaincies and AIDS ministries; I think of those who fought to end slavery; I think of those who work in Developing countries bringing light to the lives of the world’s poorest people. Then I begin to understand that, yes, indeed, Jesus’ followers have brought light, and have reflected Christ’s light into the world.
I have also seen from a distance, and in these past weeks up close, how this congregation has, and does, reflect Christ’s light. You reflected his light when you stood in solidarity with the janitors in Boston, exposing their plight to the light of day and advocating justice on their behalf. You reflected Christ’s light when you hosted Let Justice Roll, an event held during the Democratic National Convention to try to focus politicians and policy on hunger and poverty. You reflect Christ’s light each Sunday as you extend a warm and non-judgmental welcome to people who are gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender. You reflect Christ’s light when you serve meals to the hungry and homeless, build houses for those who could not afford to buy them, support Rosie’s Place, visit and provide care for the ill, the elderly and those who grieve.
Two weeks ago, I saw with my own eyes as one of the ministers of this church reflected Christ’s light to a man who was so distraught and depressed that he wanted to kill himself. The minister met with him, listened to him, responded to him, and told him about God’s love. After a while the man agreed to check himself into a hospital. The minister called the ambulance and the man was carried, by ambulance but also by prayer, to a place of healing.
When I think about how a first century, itinerant peasant has forever altered the human heart, I marvel at how he managed to affect so many lives and to change the course of human history.
When I read and hear again this story from John’s gospel, I see Jesus as a kind of bricoleur. Bricoleur is a French term, which roughly translated, means jack-of-all-trades. I think of Jesus as a first century bricoleur, because he was handy at many things. He was a teacher, a preacher, and a healer. He was also a carpenter and a story teller and a miracle worker. He was a fisherman who worked without a net and a feminist who promoted 1st century women to leadership positions. He was a philosopher, a theologian, a social revolutionary. The Gospel writers inform us that he could also prepare meals at the drop of a hat with virtually no ingredients. And, for many of us, he is, God’s Son and Savior.
A bricoleur employs (to use another French term) bricolage. Bricolage is what the bricoleur does, namely getting a job done with whatever is at hand: scrap lumber, paper clips, chewing gum, rubber bands, coat-hanger wire, and, of course, that indispensable item - duct tape.
In this story from John’s gospel, Jesus brings about a healing. He has none of the usual instruments or supplies that we take for granted in the twenty-first century … or even those things that a healer would take for granted in the first century. So he makes do with what he has. He looks around him and, with an eye for what is handy, he scoops dirt from the ground and mixes it with his own spit to make a clay-like mixture – a paste – a bricolage of mud and saliva. He applies this to the man’s eyes and tells him to go and wash in the pool of Siloam.
Scholars have suggested three possible explanations for how the man is cured of his blindness. The first explanation is that it is what it purports to be: a miracle. A second explanation is that Jesus employs the placebo effect – auto-suggestion so powerful that the man is enabled to see. The third explanation is that the paste, the bricolage, removes the man’s loose cataracts. But the explanation really does not matter. The point is that Jesus makes do with what he has: light, sight, spit, mud and saliva; and the man born blind can see.
In bringing the light of Christ to our 21st century world, we face the challenge of employing bricolage … of using whatever is at hand, and using everything at hand – everything we can think of – to bring Christ’s light into the darkness of our world.
We have our standard Christian bricolage: water, bread, cup, Word, prayer, music, and stained glass. But we are more and more recognizing the need
to add to and experiment with a wider variety of bricolage: advertisements, invitations, art exhibitions, theatre productions, book groups, alternative worship, mission trips, support groups, public policy advocacy, and partnerships with civic, corporate, and legislative leaders to reflect Christ’s light, his healing, his hope to places of darkness and to people who sit in despair and misery.Albert Einstein saw what no one else had seen. He did it by using his natural gifts to concentrate on looking until light broke forth and he saw.
Jesus met a man born blind, crippled by doubts and guilt. Jesus used bricolage – whatever was at hand – spit, mud and saliva – to bring light and sight.
I wonder: are your mind and heart imagining new ways we could use whatever is at hand to reflect the light of Christ to those who are experiencing darkness?Can we help others see with the heart of God as they have never seen before?
Scripture Reading
John 9.1-12As Jesus walked along, he saw a man blind from birth. His disciples asked him, “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?” Jesus answered, “Neither this man nor his parents sinned; he was born blind so that God’s works might be revealed in him. We must work the works of him who sent me while it is day; night is coming when no one can work. As long as I am in the world, I am the light of the world.” When he had said this, he spat on the ground and made mud with the saliva and spread the mud on the man’s eyes, saying to him, “Go, wash in the pool of Siloam” (which means Sent). Then he went and washed and came back able to see. The neighbors and those who had seen him before as a beggar began to ask, “Is this not the man who used to sit and beg?” Some were saying, “It is he.” Others were saying, “No, but it is someone like him.” He kept saying, “I am the man.” But they kept asking him, “Then how were your eyes opened?” He answered, “The man called Jesus made mud, spread it on my eyes, and said to me, ‘Go to Siloam and wash.’ Then I went and washed and received my sight.” They said to him, “Where is he?” He said, “I do not know.”
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