Gospel according to Saint John 9:1-41
As Jesus passed by he saw a man blind from birth. His disciples asked him, “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?” Jesus answered, “Neither he nor his parents sinned; it is so that the works of God might be made visible through him. We have to do the works of the one who sent me while it is day. Night is coming when no one can work. While I am in the world, I am the light of the world.” When he had said this, he spat on the ground and made clay with the saliva, and smeared the clay on his eyes, and said to him, “Go wash in the Pool of Siloam” —which means Sent—. So he went and washed, and came back able to see.

His neighbors and those who had seen him earlier as a beggar said, “Isn’t this the one who used to sit and beg?” Some said, “It is,” but others said, “No, he just looks like him.” He said, “I am.” So they said to him, “How were your eyes opened?” He replied, “The man called Jesus made clay and anointed my eyes and told me, ‘Go to Siloam and wash.’ So I went there and washed and was able to see.” And they said to him, “Where is he?” He said, “I don’t know.”

They brought the one who was once blind to the Pharisees. Now Jesus had made clay and opened his eyes on a Sabbath. So then the Pharisees also asked him how he was able to see. He said to them, “He put clay on my eyes, and I washed, and now I can see.” So some of the Pharisees said, “This man is not from God, because he does not keep the Sabbath.” But others said, “How can a sinful man do such signs?” And there was a division among them. So they said to the blind man again, “What do you have to say about him, since he opened your eyes?” He said, “He is a prophet.”

Now the Jews did not believe that he had been blind and gained his sight until they summoned the parents of the one who had gained his sight. They asked them, “Is this your son, who you say was born blind? How does he now see?” His parents answered and said, “We know that this is our son and that he was born blind. We do not know how he sees now, nor do we know who opened his eyes. Ask him, he is of age; he can speak for himself.” His parents said this because they were afraid of the Jews, for the Jews had already agreed that if anyone acknowledged him as the Christ, he would be expelled from the synagogue. For this reason his parents said, “He is of age; question him.”

So a second time they called the man who had been blind and said to him, “Give God the praise! We know that this man is a sinner.” He replied, “If he is a sinner, I do not know. One thing I do know is that I was blind and now I see.” So they said to him, “What did he do to you? How did he open your eyes?” He answered them, “I told you already and you did not listen. Why do you want to hear it again? Do you want to become his disciples, too?” They ridiculed him and said, “You are that man’s disciple; we are disciples of Moses! We know that God spoke to Moses, but we do not know where this one is from.” The man answered and said to them, “This is what is so amazing, that you do not know where he is from, yet he opened my eyes. We know that God does not listen to sinners, but if one is devout and does his will, he listens to him. It is unheard of that anyone ever opened the eyes of a person born blind. If this man were not from God, he would not be able to do anything.” They answered and said to him, “You were born totally in sin, and are you trying to teach us?” Then they threw him out.

When Jesus heard that they had thrown him out, he found him and said, “Do you believe in the Son of Man?” He answered and said, “Who is he, sir, that I may believe in him?” Jesus said to him, “You have seen him, the one speaking with you is he.” He said, “I do believe, Lord,” and he worshiped him. Then Jesus said, “I came into this world for judgment, so that those who do not see might see, and those who do see might become blind.”

Some of the Pharisees who were with him heard this and said to him, “Surely we are not also blind, are we?” Jesus said to them, “If you were blind, you would have no sin; but now you are saying, ‘We see,’ so your sin remains.

Pain: why? …or what for?

Luis CASASUS President of the Idente Missionaries

Rome, March 15, 2026 | Fourth Sunday of Lent

1Sam 16: 1b.6-7.10-13a; Eph 5: 8-14; Jn 9: 1-41

Surely, the most surprising thing about the encounter between the man born blind and Jesus is the Master’s judgment on the man’s blindness: Neither he nor his parents sinned; it is so that the works of God may be revealed in him.

In Jesus’ time, the popular belief (and that of many theologians) was that illness or misfortune was a direct punishment for sin. This was also a belief in other religions of that time. By asking whether he or his parents had sinned, the disciples are caught up in a logic of guilt. They think: If there is suffering, someone must have done something wrong.

The “for what” instead of the “why” is the key to the phrase. While the disciples look to the past for a cause, someone to blame, Jesus looks to the future for a purpose.

Pain, although none of us can explain it, is not absurd, but can become a place of encounter. And in this case, the manifestation of God’s works is not limited to the miracle of regaining sight, but to spiritual enlightenment. The blind man ends up seeing who Jesus is (the Light of the World), while the Pharisees, who have healthy eyes, remain in darkness.

This phrase is a source of comfort for those who live in prayer when they suffer from debilitating illnesses or unjust situations: My pain is not because God is angry with me, but rather a space where He can do something new.

When I go through times of purification in my spiritual life (impotence, contrariety, apathy…), I am like that blind man: I am supposed to keep walking, but I am tired, insecure, and without the enthusiasm that at other times served as my walking stick, such as contemplating the fruits of my efforts, seeing how people understand me, or feeling confirmed by their gratitude.

It is not “my fault” either, but God decides to empty me of the confidence I had placed in my staff… so that my only consolation is knowing that I am serving Him.

This can also be seen in the biblical tradition with the narrative of the Book of Job. The protagonist, after losing everything, goes through extreme suffering. In that process, pain becomes the space where his relationship with God deepens. It is not an easy, sweet, or sentimental encounter; rather, it is a confrontation, a cry, a heart-wrenching dialogue. But precisely in that extreme experience, Job moves from an inherited faith to a lived faith: I had heard of you by the hearing of the ear, but now my eye has seen you (Job 42:5).

In reality, this also happens among human beings, especially when suffering, because it reveals shared vulnerability. In the novel Night by Elie Wiesel (1928-2016), the author recounts how, amid the horror of concentration camps, shared suffering becomes a deep bond between prisoners. Pain strips them of everything superficial—status, pride, differences—and reveals something essential: the need for each other. A piece of shared bread, a word of encouragement, or simply staying together in silence become acts of radical humanity. There, pain is transformed into a meeting place between people.

This can happen in much more everyday situations, even very simple ones.

When someone we love dies, for example in a family, pain can isolate us… but it can also bring us together deeply. Brothers who hardly spoke begin to share memories. A friend you did not know how to accompany sits with you in silence. At that moment, brilliance and speeches are not needed; presence is enough. Suffering breaks down masks. It shows us to be fragile, needy, human. And that shared vulnerability creates an authentic space for encounter.

Something similar happens when someone goes through an illness, a failure at work, or a breakup. It is often in these wounds that we discover who is really by our side, and we also learn to approach others with more compassion. Of course, if we do not fall into despair or cynicism, in those moments, prayer changes. It can no longer be routine; it becomes a cry, silence, a sincere search. Many people then discover that when they can no longer sustain themselves, they can lean on God in a more real way. Not because pain is good in itself, but because it lays bare the heart.

—ooOoo—

Certainly, we know and can imagine little of God’s plans, as today’s First Reading teaches us. Not even the great Samuel could have imagined that it would be David, the youngest son of Jesse, who would be anointed king of Israel.

Ironically, let us remember how Saul, consecrated by Samuel himself, whom we read was young and handsome; there was no one among the children of Israel more handsome than he: he was taller than the others from the shoulders up (1 Sam 9:2) … failed in his mission and was finally rejected by the Lord.

We do not have great spiritual insight. Likewise, we are not able to imagine the effect of our faults. We believe that by classifying them as “minor” or “serious,” we have an idea of their scope. But the truth is that they always cause harm; first of all, to the one who sins, but also, ALWAYS, to one’s neighbor.

Sin robs us of lasting freedom and joy. The disciples were not entirely wrong in imagining that some sin of the parents could have caused harm to the one born blind; this is indeed the case, but NOT because of divine decision or retaliatory action. Rather, it is the destructive scandal we cause with our hardness of heart or our mediocrity.

This explains Paul’s strong statement: he does not tell the Ephesians that they were once “in darkness,” but that they “were darkness,” which is capable of invading the lives of others, not only with evil deeds, but with “fruitless deeds,” that is, deeds that give no life or fruit, do not invite others to do good, and do not teach how to do so.

This dramatic situation is that of the Pharisees who do not recognize their attachment to the letter of the Law and do not accept that the Sabbath (when Jesus performs the healing) is for man. In fact, according to Jewish law at the time (Halacha), kneading clay was one of the 39 activities prohibited on the Sabbath, and Jesus did it with his saliva to show that it is always possible to do good. Hence his harsh final words to the Pharisees: If you were blind, you would have no sin; but now, because you say, ‘We see,’ your sin remains.

Even though we are not Pharisees and are not subject to such a severe law, something similar can happen to us, especially with our attachment to the way we do the most common and everyday things or our way of living and expressing our spiritual life.

I remember a polite, good-natured person who abandoned his religious consecration because her community allowed people to receive the Eucharist without kneeling and invited non-Catholics to retreats… at least those were the “reasons” she gave. He lacked the mercy to recognize the difficulties of those who had knee problems and those who wanted to learn about the teachings of the Catholic Church because they were born into Protestant families.

—ooOoo—

In today’s Gospel, Jesus proclaims himself “the Light of the world,” not only because of what he teaches with his words, but because, with his own life, he reveals to us the ultimate meaning of our existence: our identity as children of God and our purpose on this earth, which is to share His life and His love so that we may reach our final destination with Him.

The most real thing in our lives is not pain, nor satisfaction for what we have done for others, nor even some supreme effort, such as giving our lives for someone else. All of that is real and important, but what is decisive, what guides our lives like the light that reaches our eyes, is the whisper of the Holy Spirit, who, sent by the Father and the Son, murmurs like a breeze the divine will.

There are two ways of being deaf to that whisper and blind to the Light that is Christ: through our poor sensitivity or through the rebellion of our passions. The first was experienced by the blind man’s family and “neighbors”; the second by the Pharisees:

The light has come into the world, and men loved darkness rather than light, because their deeds were evil. For everyone who does evil hates the light and does not come to the light, lest his deeds should be exposed (Jn 3:19-20).

Let us not forget that pain can make us insensitive to God’s presence. We can illustrate this by recalling an excellent film.

Silence is a 2016 historical drama film directed by Martin Scorsese. Based on the novel of the same name by Shūsaku Endō (1966), it recounts the persecution of Christian missionaries in 17th-century Japan. The film stands out for its profound exploration of God’s apparent silence in the face of human suffering.

Set in 1640, the story follows two Portuguese Jesuit priests who travel to Japan to locate their missing mentor and spread Christianity in a country where the practice of faith is forbidden. Through their odyssey, the film addresses themes of faith, doubt, martyrdom, and cultural colonialism. Its contemplative and visually austere tone reflect the tension between belief and despair.

The missionaries face moral dilemmas: to appear to deny their faith in order to save lives, or to stand firm and thus put others at risk.

The film illustrates how appearances can make one believe that God is absent, but it also shows how faith matures when it passes through darkness, because God may be acting precisely where He seems to be silent.

_______________________________

In the Sacred Hearts of Jesus, Mary and Joseph,

Luis CASASUS

President