Lent 4 Year A 2017
Some years ago an American writer, Robert Putnam, did a research project into ten pin bowling. It might
sound slightly frivolous but Putnam is, in fact, a political scientist teaching at Harvard and he found
something very significant. Although ten pin bowling has always been popular in the States, indeed is
now bigger than ever, Americans are no longer competing with one another in local leagues. Nor is it an
activity primarily enjoyed by families or groups of friends. Instead, the majority of bowling is done by
individuals. And that discovery prompted him to write a famous book entitled – “Bowling alone”. He went
on to chart how bowling alone is symptomatic of a trend in western society. He writes of the loss of
communal activities; of fewer people participating in voluntary organisations; and of the breakdown of
family life creating loneliness and isolation. And all this aloneness, he says, represents a huge loss of
social capital necessary for human flourishing and happiness.
And on Mothering Sunday when the advertising industry sells us an idealised picture of maternal
love and filial devotion we can be tempted into nostalgia; to look back to a time when people seemed
more attentive to one another and communities more connected. It is assumed that previous generations
invested heavily to create the sort of social capital we have lost. But, this morning’s gospel should make
us question some of those inherited assumptions.
On the face of it the reading from John’s Gospel is an account of a miraculous healing. A man,
blind from birth, has spittle and mud spread on his eyes and Jesus heals him. But, besides the wonder of
the miracle itself what is so interesting is the reaction to this healing by the local community, by the
religious authorities and by the blind man’s family. Nothing plays out quite as we might expect.
So let’s look first at the reaction of the local community – the man’s neighbours. One of the strange
elements in this story is that once Jesus had healed the man born blind some of the neighbours didn’t
recognize him – “is this the man who used to sit and beg”, they say. Here is a man with whom they had
lived side by side; whom they had helped across the street and to whom they had given alms – yet they
didn’t recognize him once he was healed. And as I was pondering this some light was shed by reading
something in the biography of Cecily Saunders, the founder of St. Christopher’s Hospice in Sydenham.
Early on in her career she describes going to see someone at the Royal Cancer Hospital. When she
arrived at the ward she asked a nurse if she could see Mrs. Chester Fox. “Oh yes”, said the nurse, “the
one with the horrid face”. The nurse’s reaction is explained partly by the fact that Mrs Chester Fox had
cancer of the face. But, when Cecily Saunders met Mrs Chester Fox she didn’t even notice her face –
“what you did notice”, she said, “was her wonderful courtesy” and the person she was. The nurse saw
her as a case, someone with cancer, and not primarily as a person. It’s a theme mirrored into today’s OT
reading. As Samuel goes to anoint a new King he is told to look not on the outward appearance but on
the heart. And social capital is built when we see people as persons and undermined when we see them
as cases, types or objects. That’s why one Christian response to the London terror attack, in which
people were merely targets and objects of violence, is to strive to treat people as persons - persons of
worth and dignity. It was something the neighbours of the blind man didn’t seem to grasp – they saw only
an object of pity not a person who was so much more than his disability.
It was not only the neighbours, though, who had problems. When the man who had formerly been
blind was brought to the Pharisees they too were in difficulties. They were resistant to the miracle
because it conflicted with their religious narrative. For them Jesus was not a hero who had healed a man
but a heretic who worked on the Sabbath. They could not see the wonder of what Jesus had done
because they were so consumed with fear that he was undermining their tradition and the law of the
Sabbath. Their attention was so focussed on his apparent sin that they became spiritually blind – they
were unable to see the light of grace at work.
And that is a reminder to us in this Lenten season that faith heads into spiritually dangerous waters
when it becomes over obsessed with sin. That is the route to joylessness and spiritual blindness.
Wholesome Christianity is more about looking for signs of grace for which to give thanks. There is an old
Sunday school song “Count your blessings, name them one by one.” And it is that deep note of
thanksgiving that enlarges the soul and gives us eyes to see the grace of God at work in all its varied
forms including when it is revealed outside the received tradition.
Well, even if communities, secular and sacred, failed the man born blind he still had his family.
Except that the reaction of his parents does not make for easy listening on Mothering Sunday. When his
family were summoned by the religious authorities they were asked: “Is this your son? How does he now
see?” And his parents were so afraid of being excluded by those in authority that they put their own safety
before their son’s welfare – “we do not know how it is that now he sees…ask him; he is of age”. And who
can blame them? Here is a couple in old age afraid to jeopardize their place in a community on which
they may soon be dependent. What is, perhaps, more surprising is the lack of joy in their son’s healing.
But, joy can so easily be suffocated if we fear that our whole way of life is going to be damaged
irreparably.
So the local community, the religious community and the family all fail the man born blind. And in
the verses that follow today’s reading the man we are told was driven out by those communities. He is left
alone and isolated in a world where there seems to be no social capital. And the fourth gospel says this:
“Jesus heard that they had driven him out and he found him”. Everyone else forsakes the man but Jesus
finds him and stands with him in his isolation. And in a culture of isolation and loneliness Jesus stands
with us too
.
And that is the most important point about this Mothering Sunday. Whilst we rightly thank God
today for the love received from parents and families we know that parents are fallible. It is perhaps
pertinent that today’s gospel reminds us of the capacity for parents to get things so wrong that their child
is left isolated and alone. Except that we are not alone. For on this Mothering Sunday we celebrate the
hope that Jesus our mother stands with us and supports us unfailingly. The great medieval theologian,
Anselm, wrote these lovely words: “Jesus, like a mother you gather your people to you; you are gentle
with us as a mother with her children. Despair turns to hope through your sweet goodness; through your
gentleness we find comfort in fear.” That could almost be a commentary on this ninth chapter of the
Gospel of John. But notice what Anselm says: “Jesus, like a mother you gather your people to you”.
Jesus is the mother who truly creates social capital; who gathers and embraces us; who in a world of
isolation, loneliness and fear provides comfort, community and hope.
I am indebted to Deborah J. Kapp for her insights into this passage from John 9.