"sent..."

"who did sin,
this man, or his parents,
that he was born blind..."

it is too much
to bear
this weight of
blame

they keep asking the same question,

but it is
the one I live
with night
and day....but mostly
in the night

what did I do?

what could I have done
differently?

was it something I ate?

was it
the argument we had on the
night he was
concieved?

was it the love we made
under the stars,

the pleasure we found in
eachother's laughter
that
first day in the market when
I bought
olives from his
table....

it could not be the boy's
fault...he was
born
blind

he'd yet to have a moment
in which to
sin
before his sight was
taken from him....

it had to be someone's fault

our God is
a good God,
He is a loving God,
a God of mercy,
a God who led our people
out of
captivity in Egypt
and fed them
manna in
the wilderness...

so if it is not the boy's
sin...

it must be ours....

and if this is the case
I am shattered,
inconsolable,
broken with
sorrow and
regret....

but wait,
there is another
in the
street...

it is the one they
talk about
in the temple
the marketplace,
at the well...

he is coming,
and they are asking him the
question....

he seems
tired and frustrated...

he, too, must wonder
who we
are...that our
son
was born this way...

but,
what is that he's doing
now,
spitting on the ground
and making
mud with 
his fingers in the dust....

he is touching our
son,
touching his eyes with the
clay and
asking him to
wash in the pool called
"sent"


and he comes,
here comes our son,
and he is
seeing...

my son is
seeing...

and I see too...

it wasn't about his birth,
or being born...

but being borne...

we all believe we are being
born into this world
by random acts of
circumstance or chance,
borne on the winds of human choices
or personal decision-making,
carried along blindly on
the haunting
strains of self-interest,
determination, or
luck...

that we are
dancing,
swaying,
keening to
its
music like
marionettes on
the strings of
a
cruel
puppeteer...

I played my part...
regret,
sorrow,
blame,
guilt...

our son, accepted his role...
victim,
such a sad story,
whispered innuendo,
the son of
sinners....

but this Master has clipped the strings
and we are free...

freely moving,
we are not borne blindly

we are sent,

sent into each moment
with every opportunity
to manifest the works of
God...

never sinners,
never separated from Him...

sent,
knowingly,
willingly,
purposefully
by His
hand....

sent...

never borne blindly,
he was
always sent...

I too,
have been sent....