On the Outside

A sermon for the Fourth Sunday in Lent
March 15, 2026, at St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Hot Springs, AR

Readings: 1 Samuel 16:1-13; Ephesians 5:8-14; John 9:1-41; Psalm 23

Jesus finds him on the outside. His blindness has kept him at the margins, ignored, taken for granted. Jesus finds him, rubs mud on his eyes, tells him to wash, a foreshadowing of baptism and being sent out into the world. Jesus finds him on the outside. The healing has caused a controversy and the man is driven out of the synagogue, out of society, out of the company of respectable insiders. Jesus finds him on the outside. “Do you believe in the Son of Man?” The outside is not where you want to be, but that’s where Jesus finds the man–and you. 

Our gospel reading from John 9 today has always been a moving gospel for me. The man, unnamed, is born blind. He is marked as an outsider–a sinner, even–relegated to the edges. Sickness, disease, disability do that to you. This man is born blind, not because of sin, but because some people are born blind. He is healed. But unlike elsewhere in the gospels where the healing takes centerstage, the interrogation that follows overshadows the action of Jesus. This man born on the outside is brought inside–inside the power circle–only to be questioned. They do not want to hear his testimony. They do not want to get to know him. They drive him out. There is no room for his faith in their midst. Thrown out again, he meets Jesus who asks him if he believes in the Son of Man. This is not a question of intellectual belief, but of embodied trust, a willingness to follow, a call to discipleship. The man believes and worships. 

Too often the Church sees itself as the insiders. It’s a shame, for the great irony of this episode is clear: The only one able to see who Jesus is is this man born blind. The outsider. The insiders with their so-called 20/20 vision cannot see who Jesus is. Perhaps that is why, time and time again, Jesus goes to the outsiders, to those who are hurting, to the tax collector and sinner. They are the ones who see who Jesus really is. Being on the outside gives you a vision that the inside robs you of. Being on the outside, rejected, despised, ignored, lets you see the majesty of a God who would be crucified. Insiders cannot imagine such a thing. And so Jesus invites the outsiders to life: Do you believe? 

But my favorite part of this passage is that strange part where Jesus rubs mud on the man’s eyes. If we’re honest, it seems like a rude thing to do, at the very least. But in this action, we hear echoes of Genesis where God makes humankind from the dust and mud and breathes life into them. Here, Jesus is making something new. Here, Jesus is creating something at the very place of brokenness. Here, Jesus is transforming the place of this man’s pain into the glory of God. 

I can’t speak for you, but I can say that Jesus found me on the outside. Who I am today cannot be separate from that child who underwent 25 surgeries to correct a colorectal condition. Who I am today cannot be separated from the feeling of isolation that comes with bringing a seat cushion to class, which was always accompanied by whispers and jokes. The cruelty of children is only surpassed by the cruelty of adults who told me that I wouldn’t have to have another surgery if I only had enough faith. They meant well, but what I heard was that the persistence of my sickness must have meant that I didn’t have enough faith. And yet, without that experience of sickness and separation, I do not think I would be a priest today. I do not know if I would know Jesus. I am sure I would not know how to forgive, and I would love less well, and I would be less capable of seeing the suffering around me. That crucible of brokenness, that place on the outside, transformed me. It taught me that true faith is not a magic trick to get God to do what we want, but a daily relationship with the One who said he would never leave us nor forsake us; an embodied trust in the One who calls us his own even on the outside. My woundedness is where the glory of God abides.

The outside is an uncomfortable place to be. It can feel as if there is a glass barrier between you and the world, and you’re isolated. The causes are manifold–sickness, exclusion, prejudice, on and on–but the effect is the same: separation. Driven out. Quiet whispers in the corner. But also, at least sometimes, the outside gives us glimpses into God’s heart of love. Glimpses afforded only to the broken ones who dare to follow Jesus to the cross of suffering. And we find, as the mud is applied to our woundedness, that healing begins, and transformation comes, and glory shines.

On the outside, there are glimpses, glimpses for the broken, of the love of God, of Christ crucified. They are costly glimpses where we come to see the real majesty of a God who does not shun suffering, but embraces it; a God who does not run from brokenness, but heals it. We meet a Savior who calls us by name, who transforms the place of our woundedness into the glory of God. 

The man today–we do not get to know his name. Perhaps that is because we are supposed to see ourselves in him. We are supposed to see our own brokenness in his isolation and pain. But perhaps, too, we are meant to see his healing as our own. Jesus comes to us with his mud and he begins to make something new out of us. He doesn’t avoid the place of our woundedness, but that woundedness becomes the very place where the glory of God is revealed. And he invites us to new life: Do you believe, trust, in the Son of Man? Lord, I believe. And I will follow.