Lenten Reflection – Day 35 of the Great Lent
Samiyo Sunday – The Sunday of the Blind Man
One Thing I Know: St. John 9:1–41
“One thing I know: that though I was blind, now I see.” (9:25)
Six Sundays. Six encounters with Christ. The arc of the Great Lent has been building since the first week.
Qothine Sunday: water into wine. Abundance before anyone was healed.
Garbo Sunday: Christ touched one leper who came on his own.
Mshariyo Sunday: four friends carried a paralytic through the roof.
Knanayto Sunday: a Canaanite mother argued past every barrier.
Kfiftho Sunday: a bent woman was found and healed without being asked.
Samiyo Sunday: a man born blind receives sight he has never had.
Each Sunday has gone deeper. Each healing has revealed more. But today’s passage is different from all the others. Because the man healed on Samiyo Sunday was not sick. He was not injured. He was not oppressed by a demon. He was born blind. He had never seen anything. Not the sun. Not a face. Not the colour of water. He was born into darkness and had lived his entire life there.
Christ does not restore what was lost. He creates what never existed.
And the way He does it is unlike any other healing in the Gospels. He spits on the ground. He makes mud. He puts it on the man’s eyes. He sends him to wash in a pool called Siloam. The man obeys. He washes. He comes back seeing.
No other healing in the series involved a process. Every other miracle was instantaneous. Today the healing has steps. Mud. Walking. Washing. Seeing. And the seeing leads to something no one expected. Not just physical sight. The progressive, deepening recognition of who Jesus actually is.
Who Sinned? (vv. 1–5)
“Now as Jesus passed by, He saw a man who was blind from birth. And His disciples asked Him, saying, ‘Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?’ Jesus answered, ‘Neither this man nor his parents sinned, but that the works of God should be revealed in him. I must work the works of Him who sent Me while it is day; the night is coming when no one can work. As long as I am in the world, I am the light of the world.'” (9:1–5)
The disciples ask the question everyone was thinking. Who sinned? In the ancient world, suffering was assumed to be punishment. If you were sick, someone had sinned. If you were born blind, the sin was either yours (in some mysterious prenatal way) or your parents’. The equation was clean. Suffering equals sin. Find the sin and you explain the suffering.
Jesus demolishes the equation.
“Neither this man nor his parents sinned.”
Seven words that overturn an entire theology of suffering. The blindness was not caused by sin. Not the man’s. Not his parents’. The clean equation is broken. The system that explained suffering by blaming the sufferer is rejected by the One who has the authority to explain suffering.
“But that the works of God should be revealed in him.”
This is not a comfortable answer. It does not say the blindness was meaningless. It says the blindness had a purpose that no one could see from the outside. Not punishment. Purpose. Not a penalty for a crime. A canvas for a masterpiece. The man was not born blind as a verdict. He was born blind as an occasion. An occasion for the works of God to be made visible.
This has not appeared in the series. For thirty-four days, we have reflected on sin, repentance, forgiveness, and the struggle against the passions. The assumption underneath much of the series has been: the suffering in our lives is connected to our choices. The leper’s isolation. The paralytic’s helplessness. The rich young ruler’s bondage. The demoniac’s destruction. All of these had some connection to the human condition of sin.
Today Christ says: not always. Some suffering has no connection to personal sin at all. Some darkness was not earned. Some blindness was not caused. And the person sitting in that darkness is not being punished. He is being prepared. Prepared for the moment when the light arrives and the works of God are revealed.
St. John Chrysostom, in his Homily 56 on John, teaches that Christ’s answer to the disciples’ question is one of the most important theological statements in the Gospels. It forbids the automatic connection between specific suffering and specific sin. Chrysostom says the disciples wanted a neat explanation. They wanted cause and effect. They wanted someone to blame. Christ refused to give them one. Because sometimes suffering is not about blame. It is about what God is about to do. Chrysostom warns that the person who looks at another’s suffering and says “they must have done something to deserve this” is committing the same error as the disciples. And Christ’s answer is the same: neither. Stop looking for the sin. Start looking for God.1
“I am the light of the world.”
Christ declares His identity before performing the miracle. He does not say “I am a healer” or “I am a teacher” or “I am a prophet.” I am the light. The light of the whole world. And the proof is about to walk out of a pool called Siloam with eyes that can see for the first time.
The Mud and the Pool (vv. 6–7)
“When He had said these things, He spat on the ground and made clay with the saliva, and He anointed the eyes of the blind man with the clay. And He said to him, ‘Go, wash in the pool of Siloam’ (which is translated, Sent). So he went and washed, and came back seeing.” (9:6–7)
Mud. On the eyes.
This is the strangest healing method in the Gospels. Every other healing has been a word, a touch, or both. Today Christ spits on the ground, makes mud, and plasters it over the man’s blind eyes. He takes the man who cannot see and covers his eyes with dirt. He makes the blindness worse before He makes it better.
Why mud?
The Church Fathers saw the connection immediately. Genesis 2:7. “The LORD God formed man of the dust of the ground.” The same God who made the first human body from the dust of the earth is now remaking a part of the human body from dust and saliva. The mud is not arbitrary. It is a signature. The Creator is signing His work. The hands that formed Adam are forming new eyes from the same material.
St. Irenaeus of Lyon, in Against Heresies, develops this connection at length. He argues that by using mud, Christ was declaring that the One who made the original creation was now performing a new creation. The Gnostics claimed the Creator God was different from the Saviour God. Irenaeus says John 9 demolishes this claim. The same God who formed man from dust now forms eyes from dust. The Creator and the Redeemer are the same Person. The mud is the proof.2
“Go, wash in the pool of Siloam.”
The healing is not finished. The mud is on the eyes. But the seeing has not happened. The man must walk. Blind. With mud on his face. Through the streets of Jerusalem. To a specific pool. He must obey before he can see.
On Day 34, the man with the withered hand had to stretch before the hand was healed. The obedience and the miracle happened simultaneously. Today the obedience comes first. The man walks in darkness, trusting a voice he cannot verify, to a pool he cannot see. And the healing waits at the end of the walk.
“Which is translated, Sent.”
John pauses to translate the name. Siloam means “Sent.” The man was sent to a pool called Sent. Christ, who was sent by the Father, sends the blind man to a pool named for the sending. The theology is embedded in the geography. The healing comes through being sent.
St. Ephrem the Syrian, in his Commentary on the Diatessaron, writes that the pool of Siloam represents baptism. The blind man went down into the water unable to see and came up seeing. The old eyes were washed away. New eyes were given. Ephrem says this is exactly what happens in the baptismal font. The person enters the water in one condition and emerges in another. Not because the water has power. Because the One who sends to the water has power. The pool does not heal. Christ heals through the pool. The water does not create new eyes. Christ creates new eyes through the water.3
For Samiyo Sunday, this matters deeply. The Great Lent is a baptismal season. In the ancient Church, the forty days of Lent were the final period of preparation for catechumens who would be baptised after the Feast of Resurrection. The readings of Lent, including John 9, were chosen to prepare them for what was about to happen. You will go down into the water blind. You will come up seeing. The pool is waiting. The walk is dark. But the One who sent you there knows what He is doing.
The Progressive Recognition (vv. 8–38)
The longest section of the passage is not the healing. It is the aftermath. And the aftermath is the most remarkable part.
The healed man is questioned. First by his neighbors. Then by the Pharisees. Then by the Pharisees again. Then by his parents. Then by the Pharisees a third time. Finally by Jesus Himself.
And through this interrogation, the man’s understanding of who healed him grows. Step by step. Layer by layer. Each time he is asked, he knows more than he did before.
Stage 1: “A man called Jesus” (v. 11). The neighbors ask what happened. He answers: a man called Jesus made mud, put it on my eyes, told me to wash, and I see. That is all he knows. A man. With a name. Who did something with mud and water. No theology. No Christology. Just: a man called Jesus.
Stage 2: “He is a prophet” (v. 17). The Pharisees ask his opinion. He says: He is a prophet. He has moved from “a man” to “a prophet.” The healing has taught him something the mud could not. A man who gives sight to the born blind is not just a man. He is from God. A prophet. Someone who speaks and acts on God’s behalf.
Stage 3: “He is from God” (v. 33). The Pharisees press him. They insist Jesus is a sinner because He healed on the Sabbath. The man pushes back. “If this Man were not from God, He could do nothing.” He has moved from “a man” to “a prophet” to “from God.” His theology is growing under pressure. The interrogation that was meant to break him is building him.
Stage 4: “Lord, I believe!” (v. 38). Jesus finds him after the Pharisees have expelled him from the synagogue. Jesus asks: “Do you believe in the Son of God?” The man asks: who is He? Jesus says: “You have both seen Him and it is He who is talking with you.” The man answers: “Lord, I believe!” And he worships.
From “a man called Jesus” to “Lord, I believe.” From the lowest possible Christology to the highest. From a name heard in the dark to a face seen in the light. From a stranger who put mud on his eyes to the Lord of the universe receiving his worship.
The progression took hours. Not seconds. The man did not leap from blindness to full theological understanding in an instant. He walked. One step at a time. Through questioning, pressure, threat, expulsion, and finally encounter. And at each stage, he knew more than he did before.
St. Cyril of Alexandria, in his Commentary on the Gospel of John, teaches that the blind man’s progressive recognition is the model for every believer’s journey. No one arrives at full faith in a single moment. Faith grows. Under pressure. Through questioning. Through being challenged by people who disagree. Through loss (the man was expelled from the synagogue for his confession). The journey from “a man called Jesus” to “Lord, I believe” is the journey of every Christian life. Including the journey of the Great Lent. On Day 1, you may have known Christ as “a man called Jesus.” By Day 35, perhaps He has become Lord. And the distance between the two was covered one step at a time, through the mud and the pool and the questioning and the pressure.4
One Thing I Know (v. 25)
“He answered and said, ‘Whether He is a sinner or not I do not know. One thing I know: that though I was blind, now I see.'” (9:25)
The most powerful sentence in the passage. And possibly the most powerful testimony in the entire Gospel of John.
The Pharisees have demanded that the man denounce Jesus. They have insisted that Jesus is a sinner. They have presented their theological argument. They have the credentials. The training. The authority.
And the man says: I do not know about your theology. I know one thing. I was blind. Now I see.
He does not argue. He does not counter their exegesis with better exegesis. He does not cite authorities. He does not produce a theological treatise. He tells his story. And his story is irrefutable.
“I was blind. Now I see.”
No one can argue with that. The Pharisees can debate whether Jesus is a sinner. They can dispute whether healing on the Sabbath is lawful. They can question the man’s parents and challenge his account. But they cannot undo the fact that the man is standing in front of them, looking at them, seeing them, for the first time in his life.
On Day 30, the Gerasene demoniac was sent home with the same kind of testimony. “Tell them what great things the Lord has done for you.” Not theology. Autobiography. “I was there. Now I am here.” Today the blind man adds the definitive version. I was blind. Now I see.
This is the testimony the Great Lent produces. Not a theological argument. Not a defense of Orthodoxy. Not a systematic presentation of the faith. A simple statement. I was one thing. Now I am another. And the distance between the two is Christ.
Thirty-five days. What has changed? Can we say, honestly, in any area of our life: I was blind, now I see? Not perfectly. Not completely. Not with full theological understanding. But something. Some area where the darkness has lifted. Where the mud has been washed away. Where eyes that were closed are beginning to open.
If we can say that, we have the only testimony we need. Not for the Pharisees. For the people at home. The people at work. The people who knew us before the fast began. One thing I know. I was blind. Now I see.
The Blindness of the Seeing (vv. 39–41)
“And Jesus said, ‘For judgment I have come into this world, that those who do not see may see, and that those who see may become blind.’ Then some of the Pharisees who were with Him heard these words, and said to Him, ‘Are we blind also?’ Jesus said to them, ‘If you were blind, you would have no sin; but now you say, “We see,” therefore your sin remains.'” (9:39–41)
The final irony. The passage begins with a man who is blind and ends with men who wish they were.
The born-blind man started in physical darkness and ended in full sight, both physical and spiritual. He can see the world. And he can see God.
The Pharisees started in physical sight and ended in spiritual blindness. They can see the world. They cannot see God standing in front of them.
“Those who do not see may see.” The blind man. The person who knows he cannot see. The person who makes no claim to sight. He receives sight.
“Those who see may become blind.” The Pharisees. The people who claim to see everything. The experts. The theologians. The people who have been studying the Scriptures their entire lives and believe they understand them completely. They become blind.
“If you were blind, you would have no sin.”
This is a startling statement. If you admitted your blindness, your ignorance, your inability to see, there would be no sin. Because blindness that knows itself is blindness that can be healed. The blind man was healed because he knew he was blind. He did not pretend to see. He did not claim a sight he did not have. He sat in the darkness and waited. And when the light came, he received it.
“But now you say, ‘We see,’ therefore your sin remains.”
The Pharisees’ sin is not that they are blind. It is that they claim to see. The person who says “I see” when he is blind has closed the door to healing. Because you cannot heal a blindness the patient denies having. You cannot give sight to someone who insists he can already see.
St. Macarius the Great, in his Spiritual Homilies, teaches that the most dangerous spiritual condition is not ignorance but the illusion of knowledge. The person who knows he does not know is teachable. The person who believes he knows everything is unreachable. Macarius says the Pharisees are the permanent warning for every religious community. The community that has studied the most, debated the most, and achieved the most theologically is the community most at risk of the Pharisees’ blindness. Because competence becomes confidence. Confidence becomes certainty. And certainty closes the eyes.5
Thirty-five days of Lent. Thirty-five days of reading Scripture, hearing the Fathers, examining the heart. And the danger is that we have become experts at the fast. We know how it works. We understand the theology. We can explain the passages. We have moved from beginners to experienced practitioners.
And Christ says: be careful. The seeing can become blind. The person who says “I see” is in more danger than the person who says “I cannot see.”
The safest position in the Gospel of John is not the theologian’s chair. It is the mud-covered face of a man walking toward a pool he cannot see, trusting a voice he cannot verify, carrying a blindness he does not pretend to have conquered.
What Samiyo Sunday Means for the Fast
Six Sundays. The arc is nearly complete.
Qothine: abundance. Christ revealed His glory by transforming water to wine.
Garbo: the untouchable touched. One leper. One hand.
Mshariyo: the community carries the helpless. Four friends. One roof. One forgiveness.
Knanayto: the outsider included. A Canaanite mother. The crumbs from the table.
Kfiftho: the forgotten found. A bent woman. Eighteen years. No one asked.
Samiyo: the never-seen given for the first time. A man born blind. Mud. Water. Sight.
The arc moves from transformation (Qothine) through healing (Garbo, Mshariyo) through inclusion (Knanayto) through finding (Kfiftho) to creation (Samiyo). On Samiyo Sunday, Christ does not heal something broken. He creates something that was never there. The man was born blind. He never had sight. There was nothing to restore. Christ had to make new eyes. From mud. From dust. From the same material God used to make Adam.
This is the Sunday that points most directly toward Pascha. Because on Pascha morning, Christ will do to death what He does to blindness on Samiyo Sunday. He will not repair death. He will not modify death. He will create life where there was none. New life. Life that did not exist before. Life from the dust. From the tomb. From the place where nothing was.
The Cross is ahead. The tomb is ahead. And beyond the tomb, the eyes of the entire creation will open for the first time. Not restored. Created. New.
For Our Journey Today
Sit with the question. “Who sinned, this man or his parents?” If there is suffering in our life that does not have a neat explanation, stop looking for someone to blame. Not every darkness is a punishment. Some darkness is a canvas. The works of God may be waiting to be revealed in the very thing we have been trying to explain away. Today, stop explaining. Start watching for what God might be about to do.
Walk toward the pool. The mud is on our eyes. The healing is not complete. We cannot see yet. But we have been given a direction. Wash. Obey. Walk toward the pool even though we cannot see it. The seeing comes after the washing. Not before. The obedience precedes the sight. We are somewhere between the mud and the pool. Keep walking.
Say the one thing. We do not need to win the theological argument. We do not need to answer every question. We need one sentence. “I was blind. Now I see.” Whatever has changed during this fast, however small, however incomplete, name it. That is our testimony. Not a defense of the faith. A description of what happened to us. And no one can argue with what happened to us.
Lord Jesus Christ, Light of the world, who made mud from the dust of the ground and gave sight to a man who had never seen, open our eyes today. We have been walking through this fast with mud on our faces. We have been obeying without seeing. We have been trusting a voice we cannot verify, walking toward a pool we cannot find. And we are tired of the dark. But we keep walking. Because You said wash. And we believe that the One who sent us to the water knows what He is doing. Give us the blind man’s courage. The courage to walk in the dark toward a promise we cannot verify. The courage to sit before the Pharisees and say: I do not know everything, but one thing I know. I was blind. Now I see. And give us the blind man’s worship. When we finally see Your face, let us fall down and say: Lord, I believe. Not because we understand everything. Because we have seen enough. By the prayers of the Most Holy Theotokos, the holy Evangelist John, and all the saints, have mercy on us and save us. Amen.
A blessed Samiyo Sunday. The sixth Sunday of the Great Lent. A man born blind. Mud on his eyes. A walk in the dark. A pool called Sent. And then: sight. For the first time in his life. Not restored. Created. One thing I know. I was blind. Now I see.
Patristic References
- St. John Chrysostom (c. 349–407). Homily 56 on John, on John 9:1–5. ↩︎
- St. Irenaeus of Lyon (c. 130–202). Against Heresies (Adversus Haereses). ↩︎
- St. Ephrem the Syrian (c. 306–373). Commentary on the Diatessaron. ↩︎
- St. Cyril of Alexandria (c. 376–444). Commentary on the Gospel of John, on John 9:1–41. ↩︎
- St. Macarius the Great (c. 300–391). Spiritual Homilies (Homiliae Spirituales), particularly Homilies 7, 15, and 27. ↩︎
