Whether we are overcome by happiness on the mountaintop or overwhelmed by sorrow in the valley, our vision can be our greatest handicap.
When I was in my early teens, a firework exploded in my face. It burned my eyes and blackened them with powder. I thought I was blind. I was afraid that I would never again see my mom and dad, mountains and sunsets, fast cars and beautiful women. The millions of sights that cross before our eyes would vanish. I would see darkness alone.
When I was in my mid-thirties, a different explosion rocked my world, one that I set off. It transformed my life into a pile of rubble. Everything by which I had defined myself was obliterated. I could still see, but I wanted to be blind, for all I beheld was loss and heartache, anger and regret, fear and hopelessness.
To see Jesus alone is not to be blind to everything else, but to see it through him.
Sometimes all we can see is what we don’t want to see. Before our eyes is a collage of sadness. We see a past riddled with stupid, unfixable mistakes. We see a present full of people we have let down. We see a future bankrupt of hope. We see a million sights, and none of them are pleasing to the eye.
Sometimes we see too much.
When Peter, James, and John were on the Mount of Transfiguration, they saw many things. They saw a bright cloud enveloping Jesus. They saw Moses and Elijah. They saw wonders no one had ever seen. And they saw the dirt as they fell on their faces and trembled in fear.
Our Lord then walked over to them, touched them, and said, “Arise, do not be afraid.” And lifting their eyes, they saw no one, except Jesus alone.
In his empty tomb is fullness of hope for our future yet unlived.
Sometimes we see too much. When our lives are going well, we see so many good things that we are blind to the Giver. When our lives are falling apart, we see so many bad things that we are blind to the Sustainer. Whether we are overcome by happiness on the mountaintop or overwhelmed by sorrow in the valley, our vision can be our greatest handicap.
To see Jesus alone is not to be blind to everything else, but to see it through him.
We see that he is the forgiver of our past. He not only erases our long list of sins, but writes in their place his lifetime of good deeds. His love transfigures our past by making our past his own.
He is the companion of our present. He wakes us every morning with the words, “I am with you. You are baptized. Nothing that happens to you today will alter my devotion to you.”
He is the hope of our tomorrow. The thundering storm on the horizon he will quiet with his grace. Whatever will happen cannot change what has happened: in the fires of his love he has welded you to his own flesh. He and you are inseparable. Before you take another step, live another day, Christ has already lived it. His resurrection molds our future. In his empty tomb is fullness of hope for our future yet unlived. No matter what the future holds, Christ will hold us fast.
To see no one, except Jesus alone, is not to see too much, but to see everything aright.
