O, Say Can you See?
Luke 2: 22-32
February 2, 1997
Throughout the Gospels, we come across little incidents, small vignettes, which are filled with meaning. At the same time they don’t seem to have much of a relationship to the central story line. These vignettes are a sort of story within a story. They make us pause, raise questions, and help us look at ourselves.
Let me set the stage for the vignette we’ve just heard. It was the custom, in those days, for devout families to dedicate their children to God. It was somewhat similar to our tradition of baptism. So when Jesus was at the right age, Mary and Joseph brought him to the temple. While they were going through the formal ritual of dedication, they encountered an old man Simin by name. Why he is there, we’re not told.- Was he there to say his ‘ prayers? Had he come there, like many old people, looking for companionship? Who knows. His motivations are lost in the mists of antiquity. But this much we are told. He is waiting there in the temple, and he sees the holy family and recognizes Jesus. The words from the prophet Isaiah seem to fall from his lips when he detects the Christ child: “Lord, now let thou thy servant depart in peace, for mine eyes have seen thy salvation.”
It is possible to see something time and again and fail to realize its significance. It is possible to listen to something a thousand times and still miss the meaning. Sometimes, the very familiarity of words tends to cloud our understanding. And then, sometimes, these words seem to leap out at you. I had that experience the other day, watching the beginning of the Super Bowl. As they started to sing The Star Spangled Banner, I suddenly heard as if for the first time the words, “0 say can you see.”
As the game continued, and my mind wandered, I began to think about those words. It seemed to me that “0 say can you see?” ought to be directed to all who come for a worship service.
O say can you see God as you look about? O say can you see as you go through the familiar routines and rituals? O say can you see, the way Simeon saw? O say can you see so that the words of Isaiah fall from your lips? “Lord now lettest thy servant depart in peace, for mine eyes have seen thy salvation.”
Let me share two stories of seeing and not seeing. They are offered as ways that might let us reflect on what it means to see, to discern, to recognize the Christ amongst us. The first comes from West Africa.
One day, we’re told, members of a tribe noticed that the cows were giving less and less milk. This was a puzzling situation, and a young man volunteered to stay up all night and watch the herd. In the middle of the night, a beautiful woman rode down on a moonbeam from the heavens, carrying a large pail. She milked the cows and returned with the milk to the heavens. The next night, the young man set a trap that caught her as she was milking the cows. He was dazzled by her beauty and told her he would not release her unless she agreed to marry him. “Yes, I will,” she replied, “but first let me go back to the heavens and prepare myself.”
Sure enough, she kept her promise and returned carrying a large box, which she set in their bedroom. She made her husband promise he would not open the box. Like most of us, curiosity soon got the better of him. One day, when his wife was gone, he lifted the lid. Much to his surprise, it was completely empty.
His bride, when she came back, said, “You looked, didn’t you? I can see it on your face.” The young man said, “What’s so terrible about looking at an empty box?” She replied, “I must leave you; not because you were impatient and opened the box, but because you looked and said there was nothing in it. It wasn’t empty; it was full of sky. It contained the light and the air and the smells of my home in the sky. When I went home for the last time, I filled the box with everything that was precious to me. How can I be your wife and lover if what is most precious to me is emptiness to you?”
This story is a warning to those of us who have become past masters at looking and finding nothing; at seeing but missing what lies behind the obvious.
The Gospel writers remembered many things that Jesus said, but one warning seems to stand out. In the final analysis, we will be judged by our ability to see and recognize the Christ in life. Last Sunday, in our parish meeting, Bob Cox, the new Senior Warden, quoted that wonderful passage, the passage where all humanity is brought before its source to learn how well they have done – it’s report card time, in the ultimate sense. And we are told that they are divided into two groups. Those on the right hand are blessed, while those on the left are judged inadequate. And you might recall the criteria by which the division is made. Interestingly enough, it boils down to “seeing.” The ability to recognize Christ in people. Those on the left murmur, “When did we see you?” And God replies, “That’s the tragedy. You looked, but you failed to see anything beyond the obvious person indeed.”
This brings us to the next story of seeing and not seeing. It comes from this country, from Hollywood, of all places. Not many of us remember Charlie Chaplin and his portrayal of the lovable tramp. In one picture called City Lights, the tramp is at his most vulnerable. The pathetic little bobbing tramp is helped by a rich man who is very drunk most of the time. In one of those moments of drunken comradeship, he gives the little tramp a very large sum of money. But when the man sobers up, which happens very fast in Chaplin films, he accuses the tramp of stealing the money. Fleeing for his life from the police, the tramp manages to give the money to his friend, a blind girl, who works in a flower shop. It is to be used for an operation to restore her sight. She gropes towards him, gently touching his arm and face, and thanks him for his generosity. Shortly thereafter, the tramp is arrested. Unable to give the money back, he is imprisoned.
After serving his sentence, the tramp emerges from prison, cane on his arm hat half cocked, buttons uneven, shirt tail askew, shabbier and lonelier than ever. We learn that the girl has had her eyesight restored and does not even recognize him. She had thought all along he was a handsome young man of means. Coming into the flower shop, the little tramp is ridiculed by the very one whose sight had been restored by the stolen money. Only in the final scene does she discover that this pitiful, disheveled tramp was the person who allowed her to see. She touches his face once again as she had done in her blindness. And in the moment of recognition whispers, “You.”
Throughout Scripture, we’re told that Jesus healed many people. Many of the stories were of his healing blindness. One thing we can be fairly certain of is that these healings were not simply to overcome physical illnesses. I am convinced that the healings were for a deeper reason. I believe they were performed so the blind person might recognize his or her salvation. Healing blindness was so that people could be freed to whisper, “You.”
Every time we gather to celebrate the Eucharist, we are really gathering to encounter God. That’s what our worship is all about. And every time the priest says, “Turn to one another and pass the peace,” we are really being asked to recognize the Christ in every person. At our best, we would simply turn and whisper, “You”
So remember, if you will, that you are in the temple of God. The story can be yours. You wait, you watch, and then another person turns to you. This is the moment of encounter. This is the moment of recognition. O, say can you see?
Amen