The young man, covered in tattered and torn clothes, sat hunched over at the gate to the city. He tilted his head up, appearing to peer in the direction of a group of men. To say he looked up would be ridiculous. He could not see. He was blind.
He leaned in a little closer, trying to catch a word or two of what they said. All his life, he hung his head, wondering why he was blind and wishing he wasn’t. He hoped that something would change, even just a little bit. However, his hope was running dry.
“Who were these men? Why were they taking notice of him? Why were they talking about him? “ he silently murmured to himself.
A dark shadow of shame hovered near. Now, he caught their words in his ears. They were talking about who was at fault for his blindness.
And then suddenly, unexpected words were heard.
No one ever spoke like this new voice did. Usually, no one took notice of him. Usually, no one considered anything other than sin being the cause of his case.
Jesus spoke. “Neither this man nor his parents sinned, but this happened so that the work of God might be displayed in his life." 1
And then a sound.
A spitting sound. A sound of mixing on the ground.
And then a touch.
He did not, could not, see it coming.
Jesus touched him.
Jesus, the Light of the world, gently touched his eye sockets, where eyeballs rested that never took in light. Jesus spread soaked, softened soil over the man’s eyes and sent him with words, to wash.
“Go, wash in the Pool of Siloam." 2
There was no hesitation in the heart of this man. With mud caked eyelids, he found his way to the pool.
He reached down in to the cool water, cupped his hands, and splashed his face.
It was a sacred splash.
The mud washed off and he was healed.
He was no longer blind.
He could see.
I wonder if every time the man went to wash his face, he remembered Jesus.
Did he remember the voice of Jesus, coming in close to his heart?
Did he remember the feeling of the Healer’s hands, gently painting the gritty mud on his eyes?
Did he remember the feeling of the cool water upon his muddy face, as he opened his eyes for the first time and saw light?
Each time he washed his face, did he remember the refreshment? The power? The miracle? The love? The splash?
And what about me?
Do I remember Jesus and what He does for me?
1 John 9:3 NIV
2 John 9:7 NIV
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