Shocked amazement rapidly turned to exhilaration as they looked into the eyes of their son. Bright eyes. Clear eyes. Intelligent eyes. Eyes overflowing with joy, excitement, and laughter. Tears poured down all of their faces. Their overflowing hearts nearly burst with emotion. Their son, the one everyone knew had been born blind, the one who regularly sat on the street corner begging, the one every doctor said would never see, could now see! Blue sky. Green grass. Bright flowers. Dark earth. His stare was no longer blank. He needed no one to guide him as he walked. Although they hadn’t been there to witness the miracle, the proof stood before them. Their son, born blind, could now see. They were beyond grateful.
They were also afraid. Not without reason. Before they had time to absorb the initial shock, the couple found themselves unceremoniously summoned before the religious leaders to give an account of their son’s healing. It was an impossible ask. They hadn’t witnessed the event. They didn’t know the details. They had only their son’s explanation. They had no reason to disbelieve him. They knew his diagnosis. They had seen the results of his encounter. They knew what he said was true. It didn’t mean they wanted to repeat the story. Especially not to the men who could eject them from the temple. Permanently. Make them outcasts. They knew the men would find the account impossible to believe. They had found it nearly impossible themselves. Except they had seen the evidence. It spoke for itself. Their son was blind. Now he wasn’t. It was a miracle.
Fear had the words sticking in their throats. They didn’t want to be outcasts. To be expelled from the temple would be an enormous blight on their character. They would lose friends, social status, religious affiliation. Business associates would turn their backs. Neighbors would ignore them. Relatives may alienate them. Their earthly lives would be shattered if they promoted the truth of Jesus’ miraculous work. It was all they could think about.
Choosing their words carefully, the parents sought to separate themselves from the miracle. They agreed the man was their son. They admitted he had been born blind. It was obvious he could now see. But they hadn’t been there to witness the event. They didn’t know who had done what. They weren’t certain anyone had done anything. They had no idea who or what or how he had received his sight. And they absolutely couldn’t speak for him. Wouldn’t speak for him. If the religious leaders wanted to know how their son had been healed, they would have to ask him. He was an adult. He could speak for himself, risk his own temple admission, endanger his own social future. That was a choice he would have to make for himself. And he did.
Standing before the religious leaders for the second time, the man retold the events of his fantastic account. He was sitting in his normal spot, minding his own business, holding out his cup in hopes of coins from the passersby, when Jesus’ disciples decided to stop and ask questions. About him. Why was he blind? Had his parents sinned? Had he sinned? In a voice brimming with confidence, Jesus answered. No one had sinned. Not mom. Not dad. Not him. The affliction wasn’t a punishment. At all. They were not inherently bad people whose son was suffering for their sin. No. It was better than that. The affliction had a purpose. God’s purpose. There was a plan behind his blindness. God’s plan. For that day. That moment. It was through his blindness that Jesus would reveal God to everyone. And He did.
Declaring Himself to be the light of the world, Jesus spit in the dirt, mixed up some mud, slathered it on his eyes, and sent him to wash his face in the pool of Siloam. There were likely closer places to wash his face. Surely some nearby home or establishment had a pitcher of water. Maybe he was tempted to stop at a well or spring along the way to speed up the process. He didn’t. In total trust and absolute obedience, the blind man left the mud to dry on his face and walked to the exact place Jesus told him to wash. Once there, he dipped his face and scrubbed with his hands until every grit of dirt was gone. Standing up, with water dripping from his chin, he looked around. The darkness was gone. The light was shining. He could see!
Comprehending who, exactly, had touched his eyes, the man returned to the scene of his miracle only to be disappointed. Jesus had moved on. He had wanted to thank Him. Follow Him. Learn from Him. He couldn’t. But he could testify about Him. And he did. He didn’t really have a choice. A crowd engulfed him upon his arrival. They knew him. They remembered him. They recognized his face, if not his eyes. They struggled to believe his version of events. He was healed. Blind for half a lifetime, he could now see. He could walk without a guide. He could find a job. Make a living. Find a bride. Build a family. They could barely believe their eyes, but when they asked, he confirmed it. He was that guy. The blind guy. Jesus had given him sight.
Standing before the religious leaders, the man’s exuberant story never changed. Not the first time, nor the second. He had been blind. Now he could see. Jesus had done it. He couldn’t explain it better than that. He didn’t have medical knowledge or miraculous explanations. He knew only that one thing. He was blind. Now he wasn’t. Because Jesus touched him. That was his story. He was sticking to it. No matter the outcome.
His parents were a different story. Standing before the religious leaders, being interrogated about their son’s miraculous healing, like witnesses before a court, they completely missed their moment. Their moment to choose. Stand up and be counted for Jesus, or shrug their shoulders and slink away into the crowd. Weighing the options, they decided the earthly reward of social acceptance and religious approval was more important than following Jesus. By shifting the focus and claiming ignorance, they could keep from being shunned. They could still worship at the temple, offer sacrifices, be purified from their sins. Their social circles wouldn’t change. They would be included in celebrations. Their son would still be healed. From where they were standing, it looked like an enormous win for them. They gained everything and sacrificed nothing. Until the religious leaders they sought to please excommunicated their son.
Hating the words he spoke about Jesus and the gospel he inadvertently preached, the religious leaders threw the now sighted man out of the temple. He couldn’t come back. Ever. He was an outcast. A pariah. He wasn’t welcome in their community. No one could do business with him. No one was to associate with him. Not his friends. Not his neighbors. Not his parents. They had no one to blame but themselves.
It was their own fault they had chosen not to stand up for their son and back his miraculous story. No one had forced them to look truth in the face and choose lies because it was easier. Safer. Less difficult. It was their own decision to choose their social group, their religious traditions, their personal comfort over Jesus. It was their personal choice to decide that something, anything, was worth more than Jesus. It was them alone who chose to deny Him. Because that is what they did. It is the worst part of the whole account. When given the opportunity to stand up for Jesus, to be His people and claim Him as their God, in fear for their social amenities, the parents crumpled like a wet paper towel. Unfortunately, it feels very familiar. (John 9:1-34)
In our world, where we are pressured on every side to align ourselves, our beliefs, our standards, our morals with things that do not align with God’s Word, we have the opportunity to stand up and be counted for Jesus or slink away and melt into the crowd. It is so easy to do the latter. Hide our beliefs. Soft sell sin. Short sell God. Pretend His Word is negotiable, His laws are bendable. It isn’t. They aren’t. God didn’t waste words or make rules He didn’t intend to enforce. He hasn’t rewritten the guidelines to fit our culture, our society, our day, our age. God doesn’t change. Neither do His requirements. His people can’t, either. You can’t pick and choose which parts of His Word you want to support and which you prefer to leave behind. God didn’t call you to be His editorial staff. He called you to follow Him. Blind faith. Absolute obedience. Unwavering devotion. No matter the outcome. (I John 2:15; Isaiah 40:8; Psalm 111:8; 119:89; Malachi 3:6; II Corinthians 5:7; Acts 5:29; John 12:26; Matthew 16:24)
Fear calls you to do the opposite. It tells you to second-guess your decision to follow Jesus. It promises you short-term consolations. Public praise. Social acceptance. Surface friendships. Fleeting relationships. Flawed networks. Fear says you should compromise your beliefs. Just a little at first. Then a lot. It encourages you to distort the truth of God’s deity with definitions of humanity. Eliminations. Substitutions. Limitations. Fear boxes you in and makes you live in bondage to public opinion when God wants to give you freedom. Freedom to stand on the truth of His word in the face of threats, taunts, and persecution. Freedom to live in Him, walk with Him, trust in Him. No matter the outcome. (II Timothy 1:7; Proverbs 29:25; Galatians 5:1; Romans 8:15; I Peter 2:16; Ephesians 3:12; Psalm 119:45)