Dig Deeper into Sunday’s Gospel: Read John 9:1–41 

For centuries, on the Fourth Sunday of Lent, the Church has proclaimed the story of the blind man receiving sight from the Gospel of John (9:1–41).[1] In a particular way, the Church holds in her heart catechumens preparing for the Easter Vigil. But in truth, the blind man is all of us, caught in darkness, in desperate need of the Light of the World to illuminate our path. 

One of my favorite aspects of this passage is a detail that I suppose is obvious yet remains striking: Jesus saw the blind man first (John 9:1). Before the blind man could even cry out, before he hears Jesus, or reaches out, or hopes, Jesus sees him. Jesus finds him. Jesus goes to him. 

Our Lord must have been looking so closely at this man, gazing upon him so earnestly, that it prompts Jesus' disciples to ask, "Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?” (John 9:2). 

Of course, each of them had sinned—after all, none of us is without sin. But in this moment, Jesus untangles their assumptions and makes known that it is not sin that has caused the blindness. Rather, that the blindness occurred so "that the works of God might be made visible through him" (John 9:3). Though he is blind, this man's life and dignity matter. In fact, they matter in a way that provides purpose and meaning. For God's power, goodness, and grace will be made known through his life, specifically, his blindness.

I wonder what it would have been like to be this man. How often he must have endured people murmuring and reducing his whole identity to that of a sinner. What must it have been like to experience such acute social isolation? To be dismissed on account of his condition. To feel weak, misunderstood, and alone. I wonder if this man ever prayed for a cure, whether that prayer seemed even within the realm of possibility, or if healing felt unimaginable. I wonder how often he asked why, how much he despised his condition, whether he loathed the darkness that defined his days, and if he felt unseen. 

And yet, it would be this very condition, the thing he likely wished away, that would allow the works of God to be made manifest. This very blindness would become the pathway to sight, not only physically, but spiritually. 

In our own lives, how often do we wish away the very place God longs to reveal His glory?

I've been sitting with this passage for a while lately. I wrote about it in Desert Bloom, and in next week's episode on the Hope for Right Now podcast, Laura Phelps and I dive into it a bit more, but it was only in preparing for this blog, that the following verse stood out to me: "We have to do the works of the one who sent me while it is day. Night is coming when no one can work" (John 9:4). 

Here, Jesus underscores the urgency of doing God's work. The "day" is this present life, the window when we can respond to God and His grace, when we can allow Him to draw near to us, even when it looks messy, even if it involves spit and mud.

Every life will have a "night," a time when we can no longer respond, a time when we can no longer repent, forgive, or serve—a time when we can no longer perform works that lead others to the Light. 

But that night has not come yet. 

So, in these last few weeks of Lent, I encourage you to pause and ask the Lord to reveal your blindness—the habits you can't shake, the misaligned priorities, the sin you try to ignore, the resentment you still carry, the pride you still nurture, the despair you try to bury. Rather than wish it away or succumb to it, invite Him into that very place. Ask Him to meet you there so that His glory might be revealed through you. Allow Him to place mud and spittle on you. Then go and be cleansed in the mercy of the sacrament of Reconciliation. And, come back reborn with new sight. 

Easter morning is near, when we will celebrate the Light of the World who triumphs over the darkness. But the Paschal Mystery is not something we merely remember; it is something that is meant to unfold within us. We are called to be transformed: to let our old, sinful lives die, to be crucified with Christ, so as to rise with Him. 

Perhaps it all seems daunting, overwhelming, impossible. 

On your own, it is. 

But take heart, dear sister. Christ sees you first. He desires to draw near, to make His works manifest, to restore your sight. So that, like the blind man, when asked if we believe in the Son of Man, we too may confess, "I do believe" (John 9:35,38). 

Food for thought or journaling . . . 

Where am I experiencing blindness? What habits can't I seem to shake? What sin am I tempted to ignore or excuse? Where am I holding onto resentment, unforgiveness, pride, or despair? Can I invite Jesus here and ask Him to heal me?

Lord, You give sight to the blind and bring restoration and new life. Draw near to me and reveal the areas of my heart that are blind. Heal me, Lord, even if it’s messy, so that I may truly see.

[1] Always in Liturgical Year A, but it is an optional gospel in Liturgical Years B and C as well.