I Only Know That…

There’s an old song from the 80s by Boxcar Willie.  Born as Lecil Travis Martin, one day sitting at a railroad crossing he saw a boxcar go by and in the door was a fellow who looked like his loading master in the Air Force.  Willie Wilson became the inspiration for a second career as Boxcar Willie.  And for many years during the Korean War, he had a full-time gig with the Air force, retiring as a Master Sargant.

One of his signature hits was “Hey Mister Can You Spare a Dime.”  Like many of his songs, this one showed great empathy for the down-and-out – the hobos cast adrift.

During times of adversity and social dislocation, many families were splintered, often as the men went looking for work in far-away places, or sometimes out of guilt they felt their families would be better off without them.  They didn’t want to be a burden, or were too ashamed to stick around.  Or they became stuck in the bottle. 

These days, it is often addiction that shreds families.  Or mental illness.  Sometimes, it’s losing or being priced out of housing.  Or the loss of a job.  Right now, so many Americans are living on the margin.  One little unexpected expense throws many families into financial chaos.

In John’s gospel we encounter a barrage of dysfunction occasioned by the completely unexpected.

Jesus encounters a blind man on the side of the road.  The disciples first instinct is to cast blame.  “Who sinned, this man or his parents?”  Who’s to blame?  Often, it’s blame the victim.  That’s how racism works.

When Jesus dismisses such scapegoating, he then proceeds to heal the man with spit and mud.  Then tells him to wash in the pool of Siloam. 

The man, to his astonishment, sees.  The unexpected, the unexplained.

The man’s neighbors who had only known the fellow as a beggar, now begin to argue among themselves.  The blind do NOT see.  Their fellow villager could not possibly be now seeing.  They refuse to accept what their own eyes see – this guy now seeing must have just looked like the beggar they had know at the side of the road. 

When the man explained how it was that Jesus had healed him, he can’t rightly explain where that man presently was.

And since this was done on the Sabbath, the religious authorities are now involved in this community-wide imbroglio.  This Jesus must be a sinner since he had done the deed on the Day of Rest, the Sabbath. 

But no one who is a sinner, one group argued, could have done such a deed.  Yet most of the pious folks cannot believe this man.  They ask him to explain again and again what had actually happened.

They now call the man’s parents.  Out of fear they mumble, ask our son.  He is of age.  Yes, even the man’s parents deny him.

When the formerly blind man is again hauled before the righteous religious leaders, they now tell the man to give Glory to God, not Jesus – for he is a sinner.

All the seeing man can say is, “I only know that …  I only know that I once was blind but now I see.” 

In the Gospel of John, this event was considered much more than a healing miracle.  It is a sign – a sign that in Jesus and his work, God is in this place.  It as a sign of the Divine Will for redemption and salvation.  Indeed, God is working God’s purpose out step by step as our Lord trods the sacrificial path to Jerusalem.  Step by step with wonders along the way.

And we, when the most astonishing things transpire, can only say… in open-mouthed amazement — can only say, “Thanks be to God.”

What exactly happened, and how it happened we cannot rightly say.  As my Methodist friends would say, “My heart was strangely warmed.”

In response, we with warm hearts respond as best we can and thank God we have breath and life, and capacity to make some meaningful response.

My friend Dick came upon a fellow just by chance, or maybe not by chance.  Who knows, he can only say that… he can only say that this man was a gift of God as he lay on his cot.

Over the months Dick got to know Tom and his little dog.  Dick helped Tom find a living situation that would accept his little dog.  When the shelter demanded that the dog be licensed and given his shots, Dick hit me up to help foot the bill.  In that way I got to know Tom and his dog.

No, the dog was not blind but now sees.  But he was licensed and vaccinated.  And for Tom, that was miracle enough.  Tom had been on his own, no known family but that little dog.  And the people who rallied around the two to keep them safe, housed and fed.  Miracle enough for Tom.

Did God direct Dick to Tom in that first shelter?  I only know that…  a mystery.  And a blessing to all involved.

Ohers would have blamed him for his shabby circumstances.  Or have run Tom out of their communities.  Many of our communities would not have behaved any better towards Tom and the other homeless on our city streets than had that beggar’s village regarded him.  Sweep them off the streets.  They’re a big inconvenience.  Bad for business.

But as debilitated as he was, Tom was doing the best he able to do with his mental health issues.  In and through friends of the Jesus Movement healing happened in some small way for Tom and his dog.

Such healing, call them miracles if you will, is wrought through human agency and the real stuff of creation – even spit, mud and water.  Through the solid voice of compassion and encouragement.

How often have you felt that gentle nudge, that silent voice propelling you as an agent of mystery, of compassion?

During the Great Depression on many nights my grandma who lived in Lodi, CA, would set some of the supper she had made for the family out on the back porch with a ladle and paper bowls.  This was for the vagrants who came through her’s and grandpa’s back alley at night hunting for any sustenance, anything useful that might have been thrown away.

She was well aware, since her husband was the postmaster of Lodi, that they were going to be okay.  Unlike the many who trod that back alley.

Her hands and bowls of supper on her back porch were signs that in some small way God was in this place.  You may be down-and-out, but a kind, gentle woman has remembered you.  Sacrament of God’s Remembrance.  A sign that in some small way God was in this place.

Under the tyranny of the ruling religious leaders and the pressure of the Roman empire, we have the story of an entire community fractured – a family, a village, a faith community.

And the only fully functioning person in this melodrama is the beggar, the one considered of no account.  He speaks the truth, “All I know is that…that I once was blind but now I see.”  A sign of God’s will for the healing and restoration of all creation – into a community of love. 

Amid all the chaos and incompetence, the horror of masked goons dragging Americans and others off the streets.  Killing with impunity on our nation’s city streets, I cannot blame those who are totally bummed out and would rather withdraw in a warm cocoon. Thankfully, we have those amongst us who are opening the eyes of an electorate gone blind.

One of these healing persons is the United Methodist Bishop, Grant Hagiya.   Bishop Hagiya, now retired, is presently the president of Claremont School of Theology – my alma mater. The bishop, in his episcopal letter, gives us sound instruction on how to survive the next three years.  With our souls intact.

1.  Focus only on that which we have control over in our lives.  We can’t personally stop this insane war.  We can’t stop the predations of the grifters around this president.  But we can support candidates we believe in.  We can make sure our friends and family vote in November.  Save the date – November 3^rd.

• We can take our baptismal vows seriously.  Resist evil, and when you fall into the sin of complacency and accommodation, repent.  Rely on the One who empowers you to resist evil and oppression.
• Speak the truth to the erasure of our history by Trump.  Have the moral courage to embrace the total American journey, its glorious people of all races and nationalities that have made their contributions.  Have the courage to accept open-eyed the worst we have done and been.  Speak that truth to those who would whitewash our errors.

• Take time to enjoy the ordinary activities of the day, whether washing dishes, playing cards with you kids or reading them a book.  Take time to enjoy a lunch with a cherished friend or making dinner.  Delight in these pieces of our lives.

The bishop’s letter draws on the wisdom of a Zen monk who counsels us to look at the day’s activities as a string of beads.  Some large, some small.  Some eye-catching, others dull.  From the broad perspective of time, all beads are equally important.  They’re all pieces of our lives.  Rejoice and be glad that they are given to your hands and heart.  The appropriate response here is, “Thanks be to God.”

This is clear-eyed wisdom for getting through the next three years with equanimity and graciousness.  And your sanity.

The Serenity Prayer is a fitting close here.

God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.”

With this calming of mind, like that ancient beggar, we can rightly say, I only know that…that God is in this place.  A sign indeed!  Amen

March 15, 2026
Lent 4 – Mothering Sunday
  “I Only Know That…”

The Rev. Dr. John C. Forney
1Samuel 16:1-13; Psalm 23;
Ephesians 5:8-14; John 9:1-41