The Weight of Difference

The year is 1998, and graduation from high school swiftly approaches. Nearly all my friends and classmates have already been accepted into whatever college they hope to attend. Caps and gowns have been ordered, tassels have been carefully unwrapped from their packaging, and plans are made for the graduation ceremony to take place at the gorgeous Montreat Chapel. 

Because our small private school has only fifteen members in our senior class, there is time during the ceremony for a teacher to read the future plans of each class member as they walk across the stage to receive their diploma, a la: "So-and-so has been involved with drama and art, and has showcased his/her talent in such musicals as [name] and [name]. He/she plans to attend [designated college] in the fall," etc.

When my turn arrives, I hear my name called, and I approach the steps to the stage, listening as the teacher reads a list of my interests and hobbies. "Tamara has decided to enter the REACH program, where she will spend a year ministering to people from other parts of the world."

The decision to enter REACH has not been an easy one. The glitter of college and higher education has been attractive as I've listened to my friends discuss their plans. But this program has spoken to me. It has touched sensitive places in my spirit, and I've taken the plunge. I've done the fund-raising, attended the necessary interviews, and signed the papers. Now my road lies in a different direction from that of most of my classmates.

No one comments on the disparity between my plans and those of the rest of my class, but I can feel the weight of difference in that auditorium as the words settle over the audience. I can sense the slight divergence of my intended path from that of "the normal." I have been called to a road less traveled, and while I'm excited to walk it, I also know that parts of the road -- by the very fact that it is less common and expected -- will be lonely.

John 9:13-41 continues the story we began yesterday about the man born blind. Jesus meets him where he begs along the side of the road, and as an object lesson to His disciples, Jesus spits in some dirt, smears the resulting mud on the man's eyelids, and tells him to go wash in the Pool of Siloam. The man hurries to the Pool and Jesus continues on a different way. After the man splashes his face with water from the Pool, his vision springs to life, and he is unrecognizable even to his neighbors.

Now in verse 13, those same neighbors just can't let go the fact that this man sees. He's been blind his entire life; they have to figure this out! They simply can't accept that a miracle has occurred. That would be silly.

So they call in the Pharisees. "Pharisees," they say, "what is going on?"

The Pharisees glance at the man and they glance at the neighbors and they glance at each other. "Blind man," they say, "what is going on?"

I can hear the man's tested patience in his voice. He's already told his neighbors the story, but they haven't accepted it. Now the Pharisees are asking the same questions. Intentionally relaxing his shoulders, he answers... again: "[Jesus] put mud on my eyes, and I washed, and now I see." Simple miraculous science, guys: Stimulus --> Reaction --> Result. Mud --> Wash --> Sight.

Neighbors don't believe. So they bring it to the Pharisees. Pharisees don't believe. So they bring it to the parents of the born-blind man.

The man's parents are interesting... and a bit unsupportive. They don't deny that their son now sees -- obviously, he does. They don't deny that the man is their son -- obviously, he is. But they throw up their Do Not Enter sign and point back at their son. "Ask him. He's old enough to speak for himself." Why don't they advocate for their own son? 

Because Fear. They're afraid that they will be excommunicated, which is apparently a thing (as we see in a moment). Getting cast out of the synagogue seems like it might not be the biggest of big deals, but it would cut significantly into social life during this time when everyone attends the synagogue. It's the thing to do, culturally speaking. People don't not go to the synagogue.

So to review: Neighbors don't believe. They bring it to the Pharisees. Pharisees don't believe. They bring it to the parents of the born-blind man. Parents point back at their son. Pharisees bring it once more to the born-blind man. (They remind me of myself as a parent, standing among my three children with my hands on my hips: "Who did it?" Fingers pointing every-which-way in response).

"Seriously, dude, what happened? Just tell us."

The man heaves a deep sigh and pushes back the inevitable headache that Pharisees seem to bring. If they haven't gotten it from the first 400 iterations, they won't get it now. "I have told you already and you did not listen. Why do you want to hear it again? Do you want to become his disciples, too?" 

Side note: This born-blind man displays an incredible spiritual journey over the course of this chapter. In John 9:11, he says the person who healed him is "a man they call Jesus." In 9:17, he says the person who healed him is "a prophet." In 9:27, he says the man who healed him is a person who "has disciples." In 9:33, he says the person who healed him is "from God." And in 9:38, he worships the person who has healed him. There is an entire lifetime of growth packed into this single incident. When God calls, He calls with power.

Back to the Pharisees. They're stung by the man's retort. Like the motley crew that they are, they flinch backward and hurl insults as they retreat. "You are this fellow's disciple! We are disciples of Moses! (Can you hear the preening in their words?) We know that God spoke to Moses, but as for this fellow (Jesus), we don't even know where He comes from!"

Next comes a stellar case of de facto reasoning from the born-blind man, who has had plenty of time to sit by the road and think, reason, and deduce over the course of his life. "Now that is remarkable! (LOL! This is one of my favorite responses found in Scripture. Sarcasm for the win!) You don't know where He comes from, yet He opened my eyes." 

The man hurls the Pharisees' own statement back at them that they'd produced in 9:16. "We know that God does not listen to sinners. He listens to the godly man who does His will. Nobody has ever heard of opening the eyes of a man born blind. If this man were not from God, He could do nothing."

And because the born-blind man dares to lecture them, dares to have an opposing opinion, the Pharisees do to the man what his parents feared would be done to them... they excommunicate him.

Thank goodness that doesn't happen these days. Can you imagine -- daring to say something that doesn't line up with the cultural maxims, and getting torn apart for having a different opinion? Heh. I'm so glad we're past that.

Anyway, when this happens... when the man steps outside of the expected response, that's where Jesus meets him. When the man loses his social life... Jesus finds him and shows him life, true life, real life.

The man dares to be different, he travels a different road, and it costs him "normalcy." The man born-blind... can see, and every other seeing character in the story... are blind to who Jesus is. I love the give and take. I love the difference. 

The man makes an unpopular faith choice. He steps outside the bounds of the expected, even the expected from his own family. He finds the weight of difference, and he leans into it. 

And that's where he meets Jesus.

The year I spent in REACH post-graduation was unequivocally the most transitional year of my entire life up to the present, spiritually speaking. Not that I haven't had some incredibly growing and stretching years since then (case in point, this past year of 2020), but 1998-1999 left everything else in the dust. Jesus met me there in such a powerful way, and I have never looked back. 

I leaned into the difference, and I've never been sorry, not once.