A Sermon, preached March 6th at St. Vincent's

I am sure that many of you have come across texts of the Holy Scriptures that touched your heart and engaged your mind in a special way. Somewhere—Bible study, private reading, public worship—a portion of God’s written Word moved your spirit. Now whenever that happens, we ought to pay careful attention. God could be trying to tell us something. But be careful! You never know when the Lord is going to use the Bible to change the course of your life.

You see, our gospel reading today—the healing of the man born blind--was just such a transformative passage for me. When I discovered that I would be preaching on John 9 this morning, I couldn’t shake the feeling that God wanted me to share with you how this particular story has affected me. So please forgive me as I wax autobiographical for a couple of minutes. I cannot resist. As the Blues Brothers might say, “I’m on a mission from God.”

Seven years ago I left Texas behind and headed north to Chicago. I was very excited. I was about to begin doctoral work in New Testament at one of the world’s finest schools, The University of Chicago. Of course, as a native Texan I knew that getting used to Chicago’s harsh winters would be a challenge. And there would no doubt be a little culture shock until I got used to big city, “Yankee” ways. But having already survived college, graduate study in European history, law school, and a masters program in theology, school was one thing about which I felt pretty confident. I anticipated no serious problems.

Boy! I was wrong about that! For one thing, I had the misfortune to arrive in Chicago just before the snowiest winter in thirty years. In January we had a blizzard. More than four feet of snow fell in twenty-four hours. And I wasn’t even remotely prepared for what wind chills of twenty below zero feel like. I would take a Texas summer over a Chicago winter any day! But as unpleasant as Chicago’s physical climate was during that first long winter, it was the spiritual climate of the University that really took its toll. To my shock, the world-famous Divinity School at U of C actually proved to be a difficult place to be a Christian. Only about half the Div School’s student body is even “nominally” Christian, and many of those Christians come from liberal denominations. The school feels nothing like a seminary, and that’s on purpose. Even in the department of New Testament the professors strive to maintain a completely secular learning environment. During my first week at the University I was publicly rebuked by one of my professors during a seminar on Paul’s Letter to the Philippians. My transgression? I had asked a question that indicated I believed Jesus Christ to be divine. “Issues of personal faith commitment are inappropriate in this academic setting, Mr. Foster.” I had just graduated from a seminary where we began most of our classes with prayer, even hymn singing. Now I was studying the Bible at a school where Christians were expected to travel undercover. I began to wonder if I had made a big mistake.

I had heard that U of C had a flourishing Episcopal campus ministry. So, seeking solace in the company of fellow believers, I decided to attend Mass there one Sunday evening. That didn’t work out very well either, I’m afraid. When I told people that I was from the diocese of Fort Worth they looked at me like I had two heads. “Oh, you’re from there? Aren't they are all really conservative down there?” I heard remarks like that a dozen times that first night. I felt like a fish out of water, and an unenlightened fish at that. And worship didn’t help things much. On Sundays our chaplain treated the Nicene Creed as optional, and frequently he chose not to use it. I subsequently learned the reason: this priest did not believe in several articles of the Nicene Creed himself. Many of his sermons, though skillfully crafted and wittily delivered, would have better suited a Unitarian church than an Anglican one. But driven by my desperate need for the comfort of the Blessed Sacrament, I tried to worship there for a while. By Christmas I had my fill of unsound preaching, lackadaisical worship, and ‘progressive’ snobbery. I gave up and skulked away.

Since I have been a Christian, I have not experienced a darker night of the soul than I did that winter. I was battered by spiritual forces of darkness on every side. My faith was being torn apart in class and there was no one to help me put it back together again. I had no church home in Chicago to offer me support in my struggles. To make matters worse, many of my fellow students routinely ridiculed the doctrines of the catholic Faith and traditional Christian moral teaching. These were considered old-fashioned, ignorant, even oppressive. In order to avoid being ostracized by my peers I adopted a policy of judicious silence on all matters relating to my personal beliefs, but deep inside I felt a burning shame at my own cowardice.

Our Lord Jesus had warned his followers that one day they would be seized, beaten, and handed over to earthly authorities for trial on account of his Holy Name. They were not to be anxious beforehand about what they should say. Instead, the Holy Spirit would tell them how to witness when the time came. Countless examples of such courageous witness may be found throughout the history of the Church, from Steven, Peter and John before the Sanhedrin, to our blessed patron Vincent of Saragossa, right on down to the modern day martyrs. The Spirit gave them wisdom and courage to stand firm and preach the Good News in the face of the torturer’s rack, fire, wild beasts and the sword. Christ’s holy martyrs shine out as lights in the darkness of our times. Their steadfast witness is among the greatest treasures of Christ’s Body, the Church.

The witness of Randall Foster at the University of Chicago, on the other hand, was clearly a failure. I had no Spirit-given wisdom about how to respond to revisionist attacks on the Scriptures and Biblical morality. Even when I did know what I supposed to say, I didn’t have the courage to speak. After all, I was still trying to get my feet under me. I couldn’t afford to lose any friends by shooting off my mouth. People might stop talking to me if I divulged the full extent of my doctrinal orthodoxy and my adherence to traditional moral values. I would be “that weird, conservative guy from Texas.” I knew that my baptismal vows obligated me to proclaim the Gospel by word and example, but I was so heavily outnumbered! Let’s face it. I was a wimp.

That is when God stepped in to help. I was reading St. John’s gospel one day and came upon today’s story of our Lord healing the man who had been born blind. I had, of course, read the story dozens of times before, but this time was different. Something in my heart told me that this story was full of meaning for me personally. I began to ponder and to pray. Then it hit me—the healed man’s testimony was what I needed to hear--and what I needed to emulate.

I had been aiming too high. The bold testimony of apostles who had seen the resurrected Savior and were specially gifted with the Holy Spirit was beyond my own meager capacities. But here was a simple man who told a simple story. A man named Jesus had opened his eyes after a lifetime in the dark. The one-time beggar, perhaps still blinking in the unfamiliar light, stood before the hostile leaders of his own people and didn’t flinch. Here, undoubtedly, was a man without education and with no social standing. He probably knew little and cared even less about the political and religious squabbles of first-century Palestine. But one thing he did know: once he had been blind but now he saw. He told the Sanhedrin what Jesus had done for him in the plainest possible terms. The healed man didn’t know the fullness of the Good News yet, but he knew with certainty that Jesus was doing the work of God and the Council was hindering it. Despite his partial knowledge and limited gifts of expression this man testified to what he knew, headless of the consequences. The gift Christ had given him was too great for him to betray its giver. On account of his steadfastness witness to the Truth he suffered expulsion from the synagogue. But being cut off from his former life proved to be a crucial step toward an even more authentic worship of the Living God. When Jesus finally did reveal his identity as Son of Man to the one whom he had healed, the former beggar placed his faith in Christ and fell on his knees before him in worship. The man’s darkness had truly been swept away by the Light of the World.

That was it! If this guy could do it, I figured I could too. I’m certainly no apostle. But like the man in our story I had been freed from a life of darkness by the power of Christ. I am an adult convert to Christianity, and I know quite well how different my life is today from what it was before I accepted Christ as Lord. The man who had been born blind did not have all the answers, and neither do I. But this much I know, I once was spiritually blind but now I see by Christ’s holy Light. I ought to be shouting my grateful praise from rooftops! I cannot let fear relegate me to silence. I resolved never again to stand by in the shadows while the Truth of God was dismissed or belittled. Unsound doctrinal or ethical teaching cannot go unchallenged, no matter who doesn’t approve of the Christian standard. The corrosive effect of such error on souls is too severe. We cannot let untruth proceed unchecked. Of course, we should endeavor always to speak politely, even gently if possible. After all, the Lord Jesus himself advised us to “be as wise as serpents and as gentle as doves.” But not speaking at all is no longer an option. Who Christ is, what he has done for us, and what his sovereign will for our world is—these things must be proclaimed. Error that leads people away from a saving relationship with Christ must be opposed. Now I will be the first too admit that I am not always effective in my witness, and sometimes I cannot quite muster the healed man’s courage. But he is my brother in the struggle for Truth and I admire him greatly. If it were not for his example, it is unlikely I would be standing here in this pulpit today.

Here at St. Vincent’s we pledge “To Make Jesus Christ Known in All That We Do.” This is a bold charge and a difficult one to keep. There are dark forces at work in the world that do not want Christ to be proclaimed. Teaching that no one comes to the Father except by the Incarnate Son of God runs strongly contrary to the spirit of our multicultural and pluralistic age. Today anyone who stands up for the “faith once delivered to the saints” runs the risk of being labeled intolerant or a “fundamentalist.” Defending traditional Christian moral standards exposes one to the charge of being narrow-minded and oppressive. It isn’t easy to stay the course when “enlightened opinion” considers you a Puritanical throwback to a bygone age. In the face of such cultural opposition, there will always be a temptation to soft pedal the Word of Truth. But we must resist that impulse, just as the man who had been born blind did not surrender to the Council’s blandishments and retreat in silence.

You and I may not be apostles, but we are men and women who have come out of the darkness and have seen the Light of the World. We have known the healing touch of the one who leads out of error into Truth, out of sin into righteousness. Twenty centuries ago the man whom Jesus healed fell on his knees before Christ in worshipful thankfulness. We will do the same in a few minutes as we adore the precious Body and Blood of our Savior. May God give us ever-thankful hearts and courageous spirits, empowering us to go forth into the world and boldly proclaim the Gospel of Christ until his coming again in glory. Amen.