Mud
Stories
Lightly Goes the Good News
Scripture Stories For Reflection
"Mud! He put mud in my eyes. Mud, mud, mud. Do you understand?" Avie had reached the limit of his patience. So many people had asked him why he was able to see. At first he was just a little annoyed. However, as time went on the questions really got to him. Strangers routinely came up to him and invariably the conversations went as follows.
"Just how did this man make mud?"
"He put spit in it."
"He put what in it?"
"Spit. S-P-I-T!"
"But that's unhealthy."
"If it's so unhealthy, why am I seeing?"
"But...."
"Look, I'm thinking about writing a book about it. Read about it when it comes out."
Of course Avie had no intention of writing a book. He simply wanted to be left alone. He pined for the days when his life had been his own, and when his only worries were scrounging for food or locating shelter for the night.
Yes, he craved anonymity so much that he took to wearing disguises! He sported a new white tunic and draped his head in a black and white checkered shawl. Never did he appear on the streets anymore without sunglasses even if the sun weren't shining or it was nighttime. Needless to say, he looked considerably different from the scraggly bearded man who only a week ago had loitered about street corners begging for food in a tattered Jerusalem gunny sack. But try as he would, the disguises never quite worked.
One morning, emerging from an alley where he had readjusted his shawl to cover even more of his face, someone spied him from across the street. She cupped her hands like a megaphone and yelled so shrilly that all the people on the sidewalk stared at Avie. "I've seen you before. Aren't you the fellow who used to stand on the corner and ask for handouts?"
Avie tried disguising his voice and squeaked, "No, not me. You must have me mistaken for someone else."
"Wait a minute. Yes, you're the one. You were blind and the man they called Jesus spit in your eyes, didn't he? Then you washed your eyes at the pool and now you can see. Isn't that right?"
Avie's passion for privacy was equaled only by his compulsion to get the record straight. "He put mud mixed with spit in my eyes; he did not spit in them. Is that clear? Mud, not spit!" Avie was quite clear. Unfortunately such public clarifications didn't enhance his possibilities for privacy. Moreover, soon his relationship with Jesus became as much a matter of public controversy as the healing itself.
But Avie knew next to nothing about Jesus other than the fact that he had taken him aside and healed him. He was grateful, but beyond this he felt no special closeness to him, just as he had never felt particularly close to anyone else. Circumstances soon changed that, however.
"Mud. I've said it over and over. Maybe it would be a good idea to paint the word in big letters on the back and front of my tunic. After all...."
"We don't care how you answer others; just tell us what we want to know." Three men had approached Avie on the street as he feigned a pronounced limp which he hoped would throw any future inquirers off the trail. It did not. In fact, if these three men were any indication, it seemed to attract some very mean people. "Jesus healed you on the Sabbath, didn't he?" one of the men asked sternly. "Why...." "And that is sinful!"
Avie soon realized that mud was no longer the issue. Mudslinging, however, was. "Now wait a minute," Avie held up his hand. "He is a prophet!" Avie clammed up suddenly. What had he said? "A prophet?" he thought. "I said, 'A prophet'?" He wasn't sure why he had said it, but now that he had he wouldn't be moved and repeated more strongly than before, "A prophet, yes, a prophet!"
The three men glowered silently. Then one of them, the meanest, spoke slowly and deliberately. "You were never blind at all, were you? This is just a game you're playing."
"A game!" Avie was dumbfounded. "A game? I am not playing any ga...." His voice trailed off as he saw his reflection in a store window immediately behind the men. Sunglasses, white tunic, checkered shawl, a limp! Slowly Avie removed his sunglasses and the checkered shawl. "Perhaps I have been playing a game, but not the kind you're suggesting," Avie said reflectively. "I'm finished talking with you. If you don't believe I was blind, then go and see my parents. They will tell you."
Without a word the three men turned on their heels and departed. Avie studied his reflection in the store window. Those men were obviously interested in nailing this Jesus who gave him his sight while he had only been interested in protecting his privacy. How could he continue this charade while others were determined to muddy the reputation of this prophet? Starting down the street, he discarded his shawl and sunglasses. He stopped the first persons coming his way and with a note of defiance in his voice said, "Mud. Jesus gave me my sight by smearing my eyes with mud. What do you think of that?"
"Mud?" The shopper puzzled.
"Yes, mud." Avie smiled. "And don't let anyone tell you that this man is anybody less than a prophet. Whoever says that is a liar!" Avie left the bewildered shopper and quickened his pace, now minus the limp, as he marched down the street. He began to feel an attachment to this man Jesus that the had never experienced before, not even on the day he had been healed.
Just how strong that attachment was became evident the following day when the three men who confronted him on the street sent a messenger demanding his presence in their office. Avie knew he had no choice but to go. These men were powerful members of the Pharisaic party. He felt weak in his knees and his stomach fluttered. He automatically reached for the sunglasses, and checkered shawl but caught himself and simply murmured, "No." He motioned the messenger to lead the way, and followed him directly to their office.
Like ravenous barracudas, the three men circled Avie and made their attack. "Give glory to God! First of all, we know this man is a sinner."
Avie started out softly. "I do not know whether he is a sinner or not. I know this much: I was blind before. Now I can see."
"Just what did he do to you? How did he open your eyes?" they shot back.
Looking directly into their eyes, Avie's voice was now tinged with sarcasm. "I have told you once, but you would not listen to me. Why do you want to hear it all over again? Don't tell me you want to become his disciples too?"
One of the men, his face reddened with anger, shouted, "You are the one who is that man's disciple. We are disciples of Moses. We know that God spoke to Moses, but we have no idea where this man comes from."
Disciple! Avie had been given an identity by Jesus' enemies. "Disciple? Why not?" he thought. "Well, this is news! You don't know where he comes from, yet he opened my eyes. We know that God doesn't hear sinners, but that if someone is devout and obeys his will, he listens to him. It is unheard of that anyone ever gave sight to a person blind from birth. If this man were not from God, he could never have done such a thing."
"What?" one of the men asked angrily as he grabbed Avie by the shoulder. "You are steeped in sin from your birth, and you are giving us lectures?" Before he knew it, Avie had been thrown out of their office bodily.
"MUD. It was MUD. He did it with MUD. And don't you ever forget it," Avie said loudly and clearly as he straightened out his tunic. "Because I'll never forget it. I'm a disciple, you know." Avie strode down the street and marveled how he had come to regard this Jesus. He marveled both because he had never felt so strongly about someone before and because he had discovered how much Jesus meant to him only in his confrontations with these men. Given what had happened in the last couple of days, Avie wondered what else could happen to him. How much more would he come to discover about this man and his relationship to him? He didn't know. He laughed to himself as the thought entered his mind that it was all clear as mud! Well, mud had brought him this far and he was relying on this mud to bring him further.
It was only a matter of time before the mud would settle out and he would find the answer to his questions.
Reflection
Getting involved, standing up and being counted, coming out of the closet, speaking out, and not remaining silent any longer are expressions which suggest the emergence of the public figure from the private. Not an easy transition as when someone casually decides to do some good deed. No. Going public is the result of soul searching and apprehension over the consequences of going public, e.g., possible loss of job or friends or prestige and in any case a certain loss of anonymity.
In some instances there seems to be an inevitability in going public. Avie would like to preserve his anonymity but can't. He is almost forced to answer questions wherever he goes. Gradually, his protest against self-disclosure becomes a protest on behalf of the truth. Obviously, what he didn't "see" he could ignore. But once he gained his sight he saw; and in seeing, he could no longer ignore without losing his integrity.
Can we say there is a point in our own lives when our standing up or our coming out is necessary because we have seen enough and because then the failure to stand up would mean the loss of our integrity? Do we reach a point where we see ourselves wearing disguises? And is this the moment when the private persona must be transformed into the public one lest it conceal rather than reveal the one who wears it. Can we also say once we have gone public there is no turning back?
Seeing cannot be followed by a real return to blindness but only to pretending not to see -- like the Levite and the priest who saw the wounded man but pretended not to notice. And it is this pretense which is worse than the initial ignorance. Maybe we have a dim awareness that insight leads to behavioral changes in our lives which we'd prefer not take place; so we resist the opportunities to see! But that resistance already indicates some kind of seeing and consequently we can no longer hide behind our "ignorance." We do so at the peril of our soul.
"Just how did this man make mud?"
"He put spit in it."
"He put what in it?"
"Spit. S-P-I-T!"
"But that's unhealthy."
"If it's so unhealthy, why am I seeing?"
"But...."
"Look, I'm thinking about writing a book about it. Read about it when it comes out."
Of course Avie had no intention of writing a book. He simply wanted to be left alone. He pined for the days when his life had been his own, and when his only worries were scrounging for food or locating shelter for the night.
Yes, he craved anonymity so much that he took to wearing disguises! He sported a new white tunic and draped his head in a black and white checkered shawl. Never did he appear on the streets anymore without sunglasses even if the sun weren't shining or it was nighttime. Needless to say, he looked considerably different from the scraggly bearded man who only a week ago had loitered about street corners begging for food in a tattered Jerusalem gunny sack. But try as he would, the disguises never quite worked.
One morning, emerging from an alley where he had readjusted his shawl to cover even more of his face, someone spied him from across the street. She cupped her hands like a megaphone and yelled so shrilly that all the people on the sidewalk stared at Avie. "I've seen you before. Aren't you the fellow who used to stand on the corner and ask for handouts?"
Avie tried disguising his voice and squeaked, "No, not me. You must have me mistaken for someone else."
"Wait a minute. Yes, you're the one. You were blind and the man they called Jesus spit in your eyes, didn't he? Then you washed your eyes at the pool and now you can see. Isn't that right?"
Avie's passion for privacy was equaled only by his compulsion to get the record straight. "He put mud mixed with spit in my eyes; he did not spit in them. Is that clear? Mud, not spit!" Avie was quite clear. Unfortunately such public clarifications didn't enhance his possibilities for privacy. Moreover, soon his relationship with Jesus became as much a matter of public controversy as the healing itself.
But Avie knew next to nothing about Jesus other than the fact that he had taken him aside and healed him. He was grateful, but beyond this he felt no special closeness to him, just as he had never felt particularly close to anyone else. Circumstances soon changed that, however.
"Mud. I've said it over and over. Maybe it would be a good idea to paint the word in big letters on the back and front of my tunic. After all...."
"We don't care how you answer others; just tell us what we want to know." Three men had approached Avie on the street as he feigned a pronounced limp which he hoped would throw any future inquirers off the trail. It did not. In fact, if these three men were any indication, it seemed to attract some very mean people. "Jesus healed you on the Sabbath, didn't he?" one of the men asked sternly. "Why...." "And that is sinful!"
Avie soon realized that mud was no longer the issue. Mudslinging, however, was. "Now wait a minute," Avie held up his hand. "He is a prophet!" Avie clammed up suddenly. What had he said? "A prophet?" he thought. "I said, 'A prophet'?" He wasn't sure why he had said it, but now that he had he wouldn't be moved and repeated more strongly than before, "A prophet, yes, a prophet!"
The three men glowered silently. Then one of them, the meanest, spoke slowly and deliberately. "You were never blind at all, were you? This is just a game you're playing."
"A game!" Avie was dumbfounded. "A game? I am not playing any ga...." His voice trailed off as he saw his reflection in a store window immediately behind the men. Sunglasses, white tunic, checkered shawl, a limp! Slowly Avie removed his sunglasses and the checkered shawl. "Perhaps I have been playing a game, but not the kind you're suggesting," Avie said reflectively. "I'm finished talking with you. If you don't believe I was blind, then go and see my parents. They will tell you."
Without a word the three men turned on their heels and departed. Avie studied his reflection in the store window. Those men were obviously interested in nailing this Jesus who gave him his sight while he had only been interested in protecting his privacy. How could he continue this charade while others were determined to muddy the reputation of this prophet? Starting down the street, he discarded his shawl and sunglasses. He stopped the first persons coming his way and with a note of defiance in his voice said, "Mud. Jesus gave me my sight by smearing my eyes with mud. What do you think of that?"
"Mud?" The shopper puzzled.
"Yes, mud." Avie smiled. "And don't let anyone tell you that this man is anybody less than a prophet. Whoever says that is a liar!" Avie left the bewildered shopper and quickened his pace, now minus the limp, as he marched down the street. He began to feel an attachment to this man Jesus that the had never experienced before, not even on the day he had been healed.
Just how strong that attachment was became evident the following day when the three men who confronted him on the street sent a messenger demanding his presence in their office. Avie knew he had no choice but to go. These men were powerful members of the Pharisaic party. He felt weak in his knees and his stomach fluttered. He automatically reached for the sunglasses, and checkered shawl but caught himself and simply murmured, "No." He motioned the messenger to lead the way, and followed him directly to their office.
Like ravenous barracudas, the three men circled Avie and made their attack. "Give glory to God! First of all, we know this man is a sinner."
Avie started out softly. "I do not know whether he is a sinner or not. I know this much: I was blind before. Now I can see."
"Just what did he do to you? How did he open your eyes?" they shot back.
Looking directly into their eyes, Avie's voice was now tinged with sarcasm. "I have told you once, but you would not listen to me. Why do you want to hear it all over again? Don't tell me you want to become his disciples too?"
One of the men, his face reddened with anger, shouted, "You are the one who is that man's disciple. We are disciples of Moses. We know that God spoke to Moses, but we have no idea where this man comes from."
Disciple! Avie had been given an identity by Jesus' enemies. "Disciple? Why not?" he thought. "Well, this is news! You don't know where he comes from, yet he opened my eyes. We know that God doesn't hear sinners, but that if someone is devout and obeys his will, he listens to him. It is unheard of that anyone ever gave sight to a person blind from birth. If this man were not from God, he could never have done such a thing."
"What?" one of the men asked angrily as he grabbed Avie by the shoulder. "You are steeped in sin from your birth, and you are giving us lectures?" Before he knew it, Avie had been thrown out of their office bodily.
"MUD. It was MUD. He did it with MUD. And don't you ever forget it," Avie said loudly and clearly as he straightened out his tunic. "Because I'll never forget it. I'm a disciple, you know." Avie strode down the street and marveled how he had come to regard this Jesus. He marveled both because he had never felt so strongly about someone before and because he had discovered how much Jesus meant to him only in his confrontations with these men. Given what had happened in the last couple of days, Avie wondered what else could happen to him. How much more would he come to discover about this man and his relationship to him? He didn't know. He laughed to himself as the thought entered his mind that it was all clear as mud! Well, mud had brought him this far and he was relying on this mud to bring him further.
It was only a matter of time before the mud would settle out and he would find the answer to his questions.
Reflection
Getting involved, standing up and being counted, coming out of the closet, speaking out, and not remaining silent any longer are expressions which suggest the emergence of the public figure from the private. Not an easy transition as when someone casually decides to do some good deed. No. Going public is the result of soul searching and apprehension over the consequences of going public, e.g., possible loss of job or friends or prestige and in any case a certain loss of anonymity.
In some instances there seems to be an inevitability in going public. Avie would like to preserve his anonymity but can't. He is almost forced to answer questions wherever he goes. Gradually, his protest against self-disclosure becomes a protest on behalf of the truth. Obviously, what he didn't "see" he could ignore. But once he gained his sight he saw; and in seeing, he could no longer ignore without losing his integrity.
Can we say there is a point in our own lives when our standing up or our coming out is necessary because we have seen enough and because then the failure to stand up would mean the loss of our integrity? Do we reach a point where we see ourselves wearing disguises? And is this the moment when the private persona must be transformed into the public one lest it conceal rather than reveal the one who wears it. Can we also say once we have gone public there is no turning back?
Seeing cannot be followed by a real return to blindness but only to pretending not to see -- like the Levite and the priest who saw the wounded man but pretended not to notice. And it is this pretense which is worse than the initial ignorance. Maybe we have a dim awareness that insight leads to behavioral changes in our lives which we'd prefer not take place; so we resist the opportunities to see! But that resistance already indicates some kind of seeing and consequently we can no longer hide behind our "ignorance." We do so at the peril of our soul.
