Texts: 1 Samuel 16:1-13; Ephesians 5:8-14; John 9:1-141
The readings today, and especially our first lesson, are remarkably well timed for me as I have spent a lot of time over the last few days working with others to select a new manager for Koputai Lodge. It's a difficult process, not made any easier for us by the high quality of the applicants. I found myself in a position similar to Samuel's: as each candidate appeared before us, I began to think to myself, 'Ah, surely, this is the right one'!
When we had completed the process, we met together as a panel and tried to reach a decision. Who should it be? And, as a first step, on what basis were we to make our decision? We agreed that as far as possible we should tackle the matter as if unsuccessful candidates had a right of appeal. They don't, but it meant that we had to be able to justify our decision to ourselves on the sort of grounds that would stand up to independent review.
So what did we have before us? First of all, we had their CV's, summarising their qualifications, experience, and matters of that kind. Obviously, all that's important in determining the relative merits of the candidates for us. Then we had their referees' reports. These always have to be viewed with some caution because the referees are chosen by the candidates, and are likely to have been chosen carefully, shall we say. Nevertheless, they are another source of information, which needs to be taken into account and followed up. This week's scare story from Wanganui Hospital was a good reminder for us there.
So far so good. But the third leg of the trifecta is the interview. What is the purpose of that? Apart from checking any details in the written material, or clarifying any point that wasn't clear, inevitable what we are doing in the course of an interview is trying to get a feel for the person before us. And it's hard to avoid the word 'judging'. What sort of a person is this? What sort of personality has this applicant got? And all the while we have to bear in mind that the interview process is artificial and stressful. It's not a social function: we might be making small talk, but a lot is riding on the outcome, for the applicant and for us.
How will this person relate to the residents and other persons to whom Koputai provides services? How will he or she relate to our present staff, and they to him or her? Is this person one with whom the Board will be able to get along easily, or are we about to make a rod for our own backs? What all this is about, we might want to call personal chemistry, but that doesn't mean that it is in any way scientific. Things like intuition – or do we mean gut feeling? – or do we mean instinct? – or do we mean irrational dislike? – start coming into play. Should they? Could we justify not appointing someone because one member of the panel 'felt uneasy' about that person? How could we justify that to an independent reviewer?
Should we take into account their appearance, or their mannerisms, and so on, and so on? In other words, just like Samuel, we found the task very difficult, because, in a way, we were trying to do what only God is able to do. We were trying to look into the hearts of the applicants, whereas our eyes are good only for looking at appearances.
But another word of caution is required here, according to today's readings. Sometimes we can make the opposite mistake. Appearances can be deceptive but they are not always. Sometimes we need to believe our own eyes. We see a bit of this in this story of Samuel trying to pick the next King of Israel from 8 possible 'candidates'. Having been told that we should not judge by appearances, we're told this about the favoured choice, David: He was ruddy, with a fine appearance and handsome features. Bite your tongue, Samuel!
But it's in this marvellous gospel story that we see this issue played out in all its comic intensity. It is a very funny story, at least in the way St John has chosen to tell it. As I have suggested in the notes, he sets it up almost like a Shakespearean drama, with the man born blind playing the role of the fool or jester. At its core, this is a very simple story. A man who was born blind is healed of his blindness by Jesus, and different people react in different ways to this event. But look how John plays it.
First of all, the disciples are with Jesus when he first encounters this man. Far from any expression of compassion or sadness at the man's condition, they treat him as a theological problem. Blindness, they assume, is a punishment for sin. If this man was born blind, then how could he have sinned to deserve blindness? Perhaps he has been punished for his parents' sin?
Jesus responds by telling them they are on the wrong track. And then he launches into a bizarre and detailed piece of alternative medicine, otherwise known as quackery. He could have simply spoken the word, and the blindness would have been healed. But on this occasion he performed this curious exercise, perhaps to make it absolutely clear that he was healing the man; or perhaps St John wanted to present this part of the story in this way to advance the plotline later. How did this man heal you? Well, he took…
Now comes the reaction. First of all, the neutrals in the story – that is, those who are not members of Jesus' team or with his opponents – rather naturally express amazement at what has happened. It all seems so unlikely that they begin to doubt the evidence of their own eyes. Perhaps it's a case of mistaken identity? He certainly looks like the guy who used to sit and beg, but perhaps it isn't really him?
And then come the Pharisees – and what marvellous modern-day trial lawyers they would have made! There first point is that whatever happened shouldn't have happened because it was the Sabbath. Therefore, if Jesus did heal the man, he is no man of God because he broke God's law. But that was quickly shot down: who but a man of God could have performed such a miracle.
Okay, then the second point is that nothing actually happened. This man claiming to have been healed of blindness was not born blind. It's all a con or a mistake. So they summoned the parents of the man and asked them what was going on. They stick to the basics. We know he is our son, they say, and we know he was born blind. That's all we can say. How it is that he can now see, we don't know. Ask him. So they do, but first they attempt to discredit Jesus. Give glory to God, they insist, not to Jesus who is a simmer. But this simple man, this Shakespearean fool, has the perfect answer. He's not into theology. All he knows is that he was blind and now he can see.
And that's the crunch of this story. We can be so blinded by what we think we know, that we fail to see the evidence to the contrary before our eyes. And it may well be as true about our faith as about anything else. The Pharisees believed that God's law forbade healing the sick on a Sunday. Therefore this miracle could not have occurred at all, or, if it did, it could not have been done through God. The simple truth of a man born blind and now able to see was not enough to open their eyes to the truth.
All of us have preconceived ideas sometimes, about other people, and about God. Samuel thought it most likely that the eldest son would be the chosen candidate for the job, particularly when he saw that he was physically imposing. Each one of us on the interviewing panel probably had in mind the 'sort of person' we were looking for in a manager. The Pharisees thought they knew what God did and did not allow on the Sabbath
But, as Fr Gerard Hughes famously said, we worship a God of surprises. He did not look much like God when hanging on the cross on Good Friday – at least, not if we assume that God gets his way through overwhelming power. But if we look for a God who knows human suffering from the inside, who knows how to suffer with us, then the cross is the right place to look.
Particularly as we journey through Lent.
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