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| Tommy Edison, movie critic and youtube sensation. |
June 7, 2015
2 Corinthians 4:13-5:1
4:13But just as we have the same spirit of faith that is in accordance with
scripture — “I believed, and so I spoke” — we also believe, and so we speak, 14because
we know that the one who raised the Lord Jesus will raise us also with Jesus,
and will bring us with you into his presence. 15Yes, everything is
for your sake, so that grace, as it extends to more and more people, may
increase thanksgiving, to the glory of God.
16So we do not lose heart. Even though our outer nature is wasting away,
our inner nature is being renewed day by day. 17For this slight
momentary affliction is preparing us for an eternal weight of glory beyond all
measure, 18because we look not at what can be seen but at what
cannot be seen; for what can be seen is temporary, but what cannot be seen is
eternal.
5:1For we know that if the earthly tent we live in is
destroyed, we have a building from God, a house not made with hands, eternal in
the heavens.
Sermon: “A Blinding Grace”
There’s a fairly famous movie
critic named Tommy Edison. He’s reviewed
everything from The Hunger Games to Fight Club to Batman movies to Swarzenegger
action flicks.
But unlike his contemporary,
Roger Ebert, Tommy does not review movies with stars. He reviews them with eyes – giving a great
film “4 out of 4 eyes opened.”
This makes sense when I tell
you that Tommy Edison was born and remains blind. With his wit and humor, his insight and
wisdom, Tommy reviews movies not based on their fancy costumes, how attractive
the stars are or their special effects.
Tommy, unable to see all that, sees instead the actual story, the heart
of the movie.
Tommy also makes YouTube videos answering all sorts of questions about blindness with humility and
joy. He does not want anyone feeling
sorry for him, nor does he pity himself.
Instead, he names the benefits of his blindness:
He goes on airplanes first.
His electric bill’s cheaper
than sighted people’s (no lights, of course).
He got out of gym all through
school.
All of his other senses –
sound, taste, touch – are heightened.
And finally, he says simply,
that he can’t see race or beauty to judge other people by. What comes out of their mouth and their
heart, that is all he has to go on. And
this is a gift.
Like the words of Paul in our
text from 2 Corinthians, he looks at “what cannot be seen.”
We sighted people have such a
hard time with that, don’t we? We’re
constantly told that image is everything.
Our worth on the inside is often decided by what we look like on the
outside. We go through life like movie
goers captivated by what’s attractive or not, by what’s dazzling or costs a lot
of money, by the “special effects” of nice homes and cars, laptops and smartphones. And, sadly, we miss the plot of it all.
Sometimes, blindness is a
gift, you see. Sometimes, we need to look, not at what can be seen, but at
what cannot be seen; for what can be seen is temporary, but what cannot be seen
is eternal. Sometimes,
we need to be blinded by the grace of God.
Like Paul was on that road to Damascus.
Paul started down that road full of hatred, lusting for
power, with violence in his heart. The
only way he would come to the other end of that road a changed person was for
God to strike him blind. To strip away
all the ugliness he saw in others, all the perfection he saw in himself, until
all he saw was one thing: grace.
Only when he was blind, could
he hear God calling to him, convicting him: “Saul, Saul, why are you
persecuting me?” God blinded him, not
with the darkness of his own soul, but with brilliant light, until he finally
saw who he was. Not the armor, not the
money in his pocket, not the strength of his muscles. He saw his heart for the bitter, scared thing
it was. And he changed.
Because that’s what grace
does – it changes things, if we let it.
Paul could have easily gotten
up from that flashy moment and said, “Well, that was weird!” and shook it
off. Instead he turned his entire life
around, giving up his bitterness and violence as best he could, knowing that he’d
always be a work in progress, prone to drawing battle lines. He believed, even when he couldn’t see it,
that grace could change him for the better.
And he wrote the conflicted church in Corinth to tell them about it.
Quoting Psalm 116, he urged
them to keep the faith, even as they faced affliction on every side, so that
grace might become superabundant, to the glory of God. He reminded them that the things we see are
only temporary, and that there is an invisible, eternal grace woven through all
of this life and the life to come.
He wrote of the outer nature
wasting away, while God renews our inner nature. So is Paul telling us that our bodies are
meaningless and we should just eat donuts and French fries all day to get to
that sweet by-and-by sooner? Well,
no. Is he telling us that we get to
escape the hardships of this life because there is a better life to come? Definitely not. Is he telling us we should ignore the real
physical needs of people’s bodies – food for the hungry, shelter for the
homeless, love for the brokenhearted?
Absolutely not.
I believe Paul is trying to
get us to realize that the only way we will see this world and ourselves
clearly is through the eyes of grace, allowing the Spirit to blind us from all
the distractions that do not matter in the end.
Allowing the Spirit to work grace in us from the inside out.
This means that we as people
of faith do not have the luxury of treating others as less than human because
of how they look, what mistakes they have made or how unworthy we think they
are. We have to look on others with
grace.
This doesn’t necessarily mean
blind forgiveness, but it certainly means refusing to hate. It means believing that, because Jesus rose
from the dead, he has the power to resurrect any of us, all of us, to a new and
better life. It means that, when we
have the chance to perpetuate gossip, we don’t, and instead pray for all
involved. It means we believe in the
power of God’s grace to change things. It
means we rise above because Christ rose above it all.
Tommy Edison, that blind
movie critic, was once asked if he could see any color at all. He laughed and said, “Well, no, because I am
blind!” “But,” he explained, “I can see
light and dark. I can enter a room and
know if the sun is shining through the windows or not. I can detect the presence or absence of
light.”
Perhaps that’s what it means
to be blinded by grace, to only see the presence or absence of light, and not
all the other distractions. Where is
there light? Places of hope, of
forgiveness, of friendship and community?
How can we lift that up and celebrate it?
Where is there darkness? Places of hatred, violence, bitterness and
greed? How can we bring light there, or
at least open the shutters a little?
This brings to mind one of my
favorite poems, one you’ve surely heard: “Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good
Night,” by Dylan Thomas. A poem that
reminds us, like Paul does, to rage against the dying of the light.
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on that sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
In the name of the Creator
who first spoke light into the world, the Redeemer who blazed beyond death
raising us with him, and the Spirit who enflames even the darkest heart with
eternal grace, Amen.
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