In the law of Moses there is ample scope for the legal minded to come to virtually any conclusion. The Jews of Jesus’ day had reached the conclusion that if a person was sick, it was because he had sinned. Moses said, “If thou wilt not observe to do all the words of this law that are written in this book, that thou mayest fear this glorious and fearful name, Yahweh thy Elohim; then the Lord will make thy plagues wonderful, and the plagues of thy seed, even great plagues, and of long continuance, and sore sicknesses, and of long continuance. Moreover He will bring upon thee all the diseases of Egypt, which thou was afraid of; and they shall cleave unto thee. Also every sickness, and every plague, which is not written in the book of this law, them will the Lord bring upon thee, until thou be destroyed.” (Deut. 28:58-61 etc.) In the light of this specific statement, what other conclusion should a man draw, who is guided by Moses’ law, than that sin brings sickness?
Of course sin does bring sickness—in general. But that a particular sin gives rise to a particular sickness, or, conversely, that a particular sickness is the result of a particular sin is false. Moses’ statement was directed at the nation as a whole, not the individual sinner within it. Like virtually every twisted view of any of God’s Truths, the Jewish view led to horrendous philosophical difficulties: “Master, who did sin, this man, or his parents, that he was born blind?” (John 9:2) Observe the legal argument, and the philosophical problem: Fact: — The man is blind. Deduction:—Since blindness is a disease, it is directly related to a particular sin. Thus far, the legal argument. Now the philosophical problem:—If the man was born blind, then clearly the sin which led to the blindness happened before his birth. But can a child sin in its mother’s womb ? Some would say yes, and invent all kinds of complicated and unlikely models to explain the mechanism. Others would say no, and transfer the blame to the parents. But is this really what the law meant when it talked about visiting the sins of the parents on the children? And if that is so, where is the justice of God as exemplification for instance in Ezekiel’s masterly discussion of this very issue (Ezek. 18), and in many other places ?
Jesus cut the Gordian knot. “Neither hath this man sinned, nor his parents: but that the works of God should be made manifest in him.” (vs. 3) There are several remarkable things here. First, that the Jews, for all their thought, and all their legalism, should fail to realize that there were, logically, two other positions that could be taken over this question than the two that they argued.” We can become so involved in taking sides over issues that we stop seeing them clearly. This is a mistake, and one which we all fall into from time to time. Then, once again, we are staggered at the clear sight of the Lord, who, Jewish though he was, should have been able to so stand aside from the arguments that raged about him (on all sorts of matters) and take an altogether different position. But what of the incredible implication of Jesus’ solution? Had that man, of what age we cannot say, except that he was “of age” (vs. 21), really endured the misery of the life of a blind beggar merely that “the works of God should be made manifest in him”? This is almost a bigger problem to contemplate than the philosophical knots generated by the Jews out of his miserable condition, for it opens to us a whole new view of the meaning of our lives, and the significance of suffering. If Jesus’ view is correct (and of course it is), then we may no longer feel disadvantaged when some dreadful calamity strikes. Rather, we should expect that we are in some way favored because it presents an opportunity for the works of God to be manifest in us. This view is, as we well know, a common scriptural one. Remember Peter and John rejoicing over the beating they received for their faith, and Paul’s patient acceptance of his thorn in the flesh, as well as the various exhortations, as being manifestations of God’s will in us.
The issue of the blind man rose naturally from what had taken place the day before when Jesus had proclaimed himself, in effect, to be the Water of Life. That issue had been unresolved. The protagonists had gone home to their beds, Jesus to the mount of Olives probably to pray (John 7:53, 8:1). Early in the morning he was back in the temple, teaching the people. There he was confronted by the contrived case of the woman taken in adultery—another legal issue with, as the Jews thought, only two possible solutions, one of which he was bound to accept. Once again we stand in awe as the Master resolves that question by demonstrating God’s method of salvation for us, mercy and truth, met together. When the people had recovered from their shock and come creeping back, he put the real issue before them: “I am the light of the world: he that followeth me shall not walk in darkness, but shall have the light of life.” (John 8:12). Once again an argument arose about Jesus’ credentials, culminating in their picking up stones to throw at him. “But Jesus hid himself, and went out of the temple, going through the midst of them, and so passed by.” (John 8:59). Thus, in a figure, the leading lights of the Jewish system were unable to see the one who claimed to be the light of the world, even though he was in their midst! The irony is unmistakable.
But the situation was not ironic. It was imperative that the issues be resolved, for the salvation of the people. So Jesus set out to prove that his words were true. There are three unresolved issues. Firstly, that Jesus has the authority that he claims since he has actually been sent from God. Second, that he really does have, as he claims, authority over the water of life; and third, that his claim to be the light of the world is true. All three issues are settled, once and for all, in the man born blind so that the “works of God should be made manifest in him.”
What Jesus did was simple, what his actions implied was profund. Without asking the man’s consent, or even, apparently, consulting him in any way (thus is salvation provided without our awareness of its availability, or our need) Jesus covered his eyes with mud. Why? Was there something special about the dust that Jesus made into mud, or the saliva with which he made it? Of course not. Like the nation of which he was a part, the man had grown up blind —he to the light of the world in one sense, they to the light of the world in a different sense. But blindness can be cured, if the blind man sees that he is blind and acknowledges it. The blind man is a figure for the nation. With mud on his eyes it can be seen that he is blind. But more than that, the mud stands for the preoccupation with the “earthly” things which, so close to our eyes, prevent us from seeing the light of the world. Then, openly declaring his blindness (proclaimed by the mud), the blind man was sent, by the light of the world sent by God, to wash in the waters of Shiloah sent out of the spring through the rock cleft by Hezekiah, as a figure for Jesus and his work. And this play on words is required by scripture for here is the only comment in the Word on the meaning of Siloam (John 9:7).
There is kind of mathematical rigidity about the outcome. “He went his way therefore, and washed, and came seeing.” (vs. 7) But there was nothing inevitable about the result. It depended on something the man had seen, that no-one else could see. He could see the light of the world in the waters of Shiloah that go softly. So he went, apparently without question or comment, to wash in Siloam, and came seeing. Yesterday morning he had quite possibly stood to one side, unable to participate, as the joyful procession from the temple, the same one that we would have been pleasd to join, had taken very probably the selfsame route as the one along which he now carefully picked his way, but with what a difference. Whereas they had taken that route eight times this year, and from time immemorial, and would continue to do so indefinitely, blind to the significance of the water that they carried so triumphantly, he need only go once to the same figurative source, for he had seen the light of the world.
Oh yes, he had certainly seen it, blind as he may have been. When Jesus “had found him, he said unto him, Dost thou believe on the Son of God ? He answered and said, Who is he, Lord, that I might believe on him? And Jesus said unto him, thou hast both seen him, and it is he that talketh with thee. And he said, Lord, I believe. And he worshiped him.” (verses 35-38.) Once again Jesus’ words and claims are vindicated. He summarizes the whole situation, “For judgement I am come into this world, that they which see not might see; and that they that see might be made blind.” There can be no argument against this statement. Those who thought they could see had been unable to see Jesus as he passed through their midst. He who knew he was blind had been able to see and respond to the light of the world. But there was a question, asked by the Pharisees, “Are we blind also?” We should do our best not to be mere bystanders when such questions are asked, but realize that the Pharisees had many problems of point of view with which we would be sympathetic, had we been there. And so the answer should be felt and not merely heard, as we listen to Jesus’ reply, and the challenge of his words should be absorbed and faced, as he places before us the very same issues that Isaiah placed before Ahaz on the same ground.
The question is, do we follow the example of the blind man by turning to and trusting the Son of God as he offers us the waters of Shiloah that go softly and thus have our eyes opened by the light of the world ? Or are we to live by sight as the waters of the river, great and many, gradually rise to engulf us? “If ye were blind, ye should have no sin; but now ye say, We see; therefore your sin remaineth.” Is this to be the last word, for us?
*Given that there are only two parties to the question of responsibility for the sin, there are, logically, four, and only four, possible views: (a) That the man sinned. (b) That his parents sinned. (c) That both sinned. (d) That neither sinned. The Jews overlooked (c) and (d). Thus Jesus diverged from their thought process in proposing (d).
The Origin of the Organic World – Part One