In this passage, the disciples encounter a man born blind and immediately seek an explanation. Someone must have caused this. He must deserve this. If suffering can be pinned to a reason, then the world feels a bit safer. If pain has a neat explanation, then maybe we can prevent it from happening to us.
Jesus refuses to even entertain
their question. “Neither this man nor his parents sinned.” Jesus does not say that suffering is good. Jesus simply refuses to let the disciples turn a human being into a case study.
Then Jesus does something wonderfully earthy. He spits. He makes mud. He touches the man’s eyes. It is not dignified. It is not hygienic. It is not the kind of miracle that would impress a committee. But it is personal.
Sometimes grace comes to us like that: not as an idea, but as a God who gets close, gets messy, and does not recoil from our vulnerability.
In the Ignatian Examen, we often ask God for the grace to see clearly and truthfully—to notice what is really going on in us and around us. Today, Jesus’ invitation is to notice where we are still trying to assign blame, even as love asks us to offer
presence.
Maybe this week begins with a simple shift from “Why did this happen?” to “What does love do now?”
Where do you catch yourself trying to explain someone’s pain instead of accompanying them? What would it look like today to move from blame to compassion?
