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Learning to See Again
There is a line in this Sunday’s Gospel that has been lingering with me all week.
A man who had been blind since birth, after being questioned and doubted and investigated by everyone around him, finally says the simplest thing imaginable:
“I was blind. Now I see.”
That simple truth unsettles everyone around him.
The neighbors argue about whether he is even the same person.
The religious leaders interrogate him.
His parents are afraid to say too much.
Why? Because his healing forces people to reconsider what they thought they already knew.
The deeper message of this story is not just about eyesight. It is about spiritual vision.
All three of our readings this Sunday circle around that theme.
In the first reading from First Samuel, the prophet Samuel believes he knows what the next king of Israel should look like. He assumes strength, stature, and outward appearance must signal God’s choice. But God gently corrects him with words that echo across the centuries:
“The Lord does not see as mortals see; they look on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart.”
The one God chooses is David, the youngest son, the one no one even thought to invite to the gathering.
Again and again in scripture, God sees what human beings miss.
In the letter to the Ephesians, Paul writes, “Once you were darkness, but now in the Lord you are light. Live as children of light.” Then he offers what many scholars believe was an early Christian hymn: “Sleeper, awake. Rise from the dead, and Christ will shine on you.”
Faith, in other words, is not just about belief. It is about awakening. It is about learning to see the world with new eyes.
And then comes the Gospel story of the man born blind.
What makes this story so remarkable is that the man who could not see physically becomes the one who sees most clearly. As the story unfolds, his understanding of Jesus deepens step by step. At first he calls him “the man called Jesus.” Then he calls him “a prophet.” Eventually he recognizes him as someone sent from God. Finally he kneels and says, “Lord, I believe.”
Meanwhile, the religious leaders, who are certain they understand everything, become more and more entrenched in their blindness.
It is a striking reversal.
Those who admit they cannot see clearly are the ones who receive sight. Those who are convinced they already see everything become unable to recognize the grace unfolding before them.
There is something deeply human about that.
We all carry assumptions. We all have ways of seeing the world that feel certain and familiar. But the Gospel keeps inviting us into something more spacious, more humble, more open to surprise.
Perhaps that is part of the spiritual work of Lent.
Lent is a season of clearing away the things that cloud our vision. It is a time to step back, to listen more carefully, and to allow Christ to open our eyes in ways we may not expect.
Sometimes that means seeing another person with compassion where we once saw only difference. Sometimes it means recognizing dignity where we once overlooked someone entirely. Sometimes it means discovering that God is already at work in places we had not thought to look.
The miracle in this Sunday’s Gospel is not only that a man’s eyes were healed.
The deeper miracle is that a human being came to see the truth: that he was known, loved, and noticed by God all along.
That same light continues to shine in our world today.
The question for us is simple, though not always easy:
Are we willing to let Christ open our eyes?
May this Lenten season gently awaken our hearts, soften our assumptions, and help us learn again how to see the world the way God sees it.
With mercy.
With compassion.
With love.
With love and steady hope in Christ,
Mo. Allison+
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