An Outward and Visible Sign of an Inward and Spiritual Grace

March 13, 2026

An Outward and Visible Sign of an Inward and Spiritual Grace

The Fourth Sunday in Lent | March 15, 2026

Opening Thought

We rely so heavily on what we can see, and in our modern world, that surface-level vision is constantly amplified. We live so much of our lives through other people's eyes. We scroll through the curated highlight reels of Facebook, Instagram, and TikTok, letting a feed of carefully edited moments determine our own self-worth. We are constantly haunted by the fear of missing out—anxiously measuring our real, messy lives against the impossible, filtered illusions of everyone else.

And this relentless influence doesn't just cause us to judge ourselves; it causes us to judge others unjustly, too. Based on a single post or a fleeting image, we make snap assumptions about who people are, what they value, and what they are worth.

But the truth is, none of that actually matters. It is just our human nature getting stuck on the surface.

This Sunday, the halfway point of our Lenten journey, the liturgy completely upends how we view the world. In the Old Testament, the prophet Samuel is sure he knows what a king should look like, but God gently corrects him: mortals look at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart. In the Gospel, the disciples look at a man born blind and immediately see a theological puzzle, asking, "Who sinned?". The Pharisees look at Jesus and see only a rule-breaker who heals on the Sabbath.

But Jesus looks at the blind man and sees a beloved child of God waiting to be brought into the light.

We are all, in our own ways, stumbling through the dark. We carry blind spots about our own belovedness, our neighbors, and our purpose. But the grace of this Fourth Sunday in Lent is the promise that we don't have to stay in the dark. We have a Shepherd who is willing to step into the mess and the mud of our lives to open our eyes, reminding us that we are already seen, already known, and already enough.

Engaging the Word

Our readings today center on the contrast between outward appearances and inward truth, and the radical shift from darkness to light.

1 Samuel (16:1-13) brings us to the anointing of David. Samuel travels to Bethlehem to find the next king among Jesse's sons. When he sees the oldest, Eliab, he assumes this tall, impressive man is the one. But God passes over the seven older brothers. Instead, the choice falls to the youngest—the one who was out keeping the sheep. It is a powerful reminder that God’s call rarely aligns with human expectations.

Psalm 23 is arguably the most famous and comforting poetry in all of scripture. Written by the shepherd-king David, it speaks of God leading us beside still waters and through the valley of the shadow of death. It shifts our perspective from fear to profound trust: "I will fear no evil: for thou art with me".

Ephesians (5:8-14) contains a direct, urgent call. Paul writes, "Once you were darkness, but now in the Lord you are light". He doesn't just say we walked in darkness; he says we were darkness. But grace changes our very nature. The passage ends with an early Christian baptismal hymn: "Sleeper, awake! Rise from the dead, and Christ will shine on you".

John (9:1-41) is a masterful, dramatic narrative about a man born blind. Jesus heals him by making mud with saliva, rubbing it on his eyes, and sending him to wash in the pool of Siloam. What follows is a tragicomedy of the religious elite refusing to see the truth right in front of them, interrogating the man and his parents out of fear. The healed man, however, isn't interested in their complex theological debates. He offers the simplest, most unshakable testimony: "One thing I do know, that though I was blind, now I see".

A Journey in Song: Our Musical Guides

This Sunday, our music perfectly intertwines the twin themes of the day: spiritual sight and the guiding hand of the Good Shepherd.

Opening Voluntary: We begin with J.S. Bach's O Mensch, bewein dein Sünde groß (BWV 622). Translated as "O man, bewail thy grievous sin," this highly ornamented, deeply expressive chorale prelude invites us into a space of penitence, preparing our hearts for the illuminating light of Christ's grace.

Entrance Hymn: We stand to sing "Christ, whose glory fills the skies" (#7). This text immediately establishes the theme of the day, calling upon the "Sun of Righteousness" to chase away the dark and fill our inward souls with light.

Sequence Hymn: There is no hymn more perfect for today's Gospel than "Amazing grace! how sweet the sound" (#671). As we prepare to hear the story of the blind man, we sing his exact testimony: "I once was lost but now am found, was blind but now I see".

Offertory Anthem: The choir offers Gordon Jacob's stunning arrangement of "Brother James' Air". This beloved, pastoral setting of Psalm 23 wraps the ancient words of the shepherd-king David in a warm, lyrical melody that perfectly reflects the peace of lying down in green pastures.

Communion Hymn: We draw near to the altar singing "The King of Love my shepherd is" (#645), continuing our meditation on Christ as the one who guides us through the dark valleys.

Post-Communion Hymn: We close with the ancient Irish prayer, "Be thou my vision" (#488). It is a humble request that God remain the primary focus of our sight as we go back out into the world.

Closing Voluntary: We conclude with the majestic "Fuga" from Felix Mendelssohn's Sonata in D minor. Mendelssohn, who famously championed the revival of Bach's music, gives us a fugue where complex, overlapping lines eventually resolve into structured clarity—much like the messy, confusing process of our own eyes being opened to the truth.

A Closing Note on our Journey

When the Pharisees cornered the man who had been blind, they demanded theological explanations. They wanted to know exactly how Jesus did it, where he came from, and why he dared to do it on the Sabbath. They were so obsessed with protecting their religious framework that they completely missed the miracle standing right in front of them. The healed man didn't have a theology degree or the "right" answers. All he had was his lived experience: "One thing I do know, that though I was blind, now I see".

For that man, the physical reality of Jesus was right in front of him. He could feel the mud on his eyes and hear the voice instructing him to go and wash. But for us, two millennia later, the journey often looks a little different.

There is a profound hymn by Henry Alford that we aren’t actually singing this Sunday, but its truth echoes perfectly through our Lenten walk:

"We walk by faith, and not by sight; no gracious words we hear from him who spoke as none e'er spoke; but we believe him near."

We do not get to physically touch his hands or follow where he literally trod. And because of that, faith can be incredibly difficult. In the midst of our own blindness and the curated noise of the world, we often have to humbly pray the words of the third stanza: "Help then, O Lord, our unbelief; and may our faith abound."

Faith is exactly that simple, and exactly that challenging. You don't need a perfect explanation for how God works, and you don't need a flawless spiritual resume. All you need is the willingness to ask for light, trusting the promise that when our journey is done, we will finally behold Him "with full and endless sight."

A Prayer for the Week Ahead

As we move closer to the cross, let us pray to the God who sees our hearts and opens our eyes.

For the Church, that we may not be blinded by our own certainty or traditions, but always remain open to the surprising, illuminating work of your Spirit.