From Darkness to Light: A Journey of Spiritual Awakening
From Darkness to Light: A Journey of Spiritual Awakening
There's something profound about living in darkness without knowing it. Imagine being born blind—never seeing a sunrise, never watching leaves dance in the wind, never witnessing the colors that paint our world. This physical reality mirrors a deeper spiritual truth: we all begin our journey in spiritual darkness, groping around for meaning, purpose, and truth.
The Reality of Our Blindness
In John chapter 9, we encounter a man born blind from birth. His condition wasn't the result of his sin or his parents' sin, but rather an opportunity for God's work to be revealed. This story isn't just about physical blindness—it's a mirror held up to our own spiritual condition.
Before encountering the light of Christ, we stumble through life like someone feeling their way through a dark room. We bump into furniture, stub our toes, and convince ourselves we know where we're going. We develop our own ideas about God, spirituality, and truth. We create bargains with the divine, trying to prove His existence on our terms.
The apostle Paul describes this condition vividly: "Satan, the god of this world, blinds the minds of those who do not yet believe the gospel." We're not just naturally blind—there's an adversary actively working to keep us in darkness, leading us away from the light that could save us.
The Offense of the Gospel
Here's where things get uncomfortable: the cure for our blindness is often offensive to us.
When Jesus healed the blind man, He did something unusual—He spit on the ground, made mud, and rubbed it into the man's eyes. In Jewish culture, spit was considered unclean. The very act was degrading and offensive. Yet this offensive method became the pathway to sight.
The cross of Christ operates the same way. To the religious leaders of Jesus' day, crucifixion was more than shameful—it was a visible sign of divine rejection. The law stated that anyone hung on a tree was cursed by God. The cross involved blood, body fluids, and public humiliation—everything ritually defiling under Jewish purity laws.
The message of the cross remains offensive today. It tells us we're not good enough on our own. It demands humility. It requires us to admit we're lost and need a Savior. Pride cannot coexist with salvation. We must bow before the cross, acknowledging that Jesus took all our sin upon His shoulders and died in shame for us.
As the old hymn declares: "On a hill far away stood an old rugged cross, the emblem of suffering and shame... Its shame and reproach gladly bear."
The Irritation That Leads to Salvation
The mud in the blind man's eyes would have been intensely irritating. Eyes are among the most sensitive organs in the body. Even a tiny speck of dust can stop us in our tracks. Imagine having thick mud rubbed into your eyeballs.
This irritation mirrors what happens when the gospel begins working in a darkened heart. The Holy Spirit—often called the Hound of Heaven—pursues relentlessly. He agitates, irritates, and disturbs our comfortable darkness.
Suddenly, nothing feels right anymore. The things that once brought pleasure lose their appeal. Food doesn't taste the same. Entertainment doesn't satisfy. Sleep becomes restless. There's a constant sense of conviction, an inner voice saying, "You know that's wrong. You know that isn't right."
This divine irritation isn't meant to torture us—it's meant to wake us up. We don't seek rescue from a comfortable prison. Only when we become sufficiently uncomfortable in our darkness do we cry out for light. Acts 2:37 describes people who heard the gospel as being "cut to the heart"—a powerful image of this spiritual irritation.
The Call to Obedience
After applying the mud, Jesus gave the blind man a simple instruction: "Go wash in the pool of Siloam." The man had to act. He had to obey. Faith without action is dead.
The pool's name means "sent," which is significant. We're sent to respond to God's invitation. Salvation comes through faith, not works—but genuine faith produces obedience. The first act of obedience for a new believer is water baptism, a public declaration of faith in Jesus Christ.
The blind man went, washed, and came back seeing. His obedience demonstrated his faith and resulted in transformation.
A Story to Tell
After his healing, the formerly blind man couldn't explain all the theological intricacies of who Jesus was. When questioned, he simply declared: "Whether he is a sinner or not, I do not know. One thing I know: that though I was blind, now I see."
He wasn't a theologian. He couldn't debate eschatology or explain the mysteries of Scripture. But he had a story—a powerful, undeniable testimony of transformation. He knew what his life was like before Jesus and what it became after.
That's the beauty of encountering Christ. You don't need a seminary degree to share your story. You simply need to be honest about three things:
The Invitation
The Christmas season reminds us that the light came into the world. God loved us so much that He sent His Son—not to a palace, but to a manger. Not to live in comfort, but to die on a cross. Not to condemn the world, but to save it.
If you're reading this and recognize yourself living in spiritual darkness, know that the irritation you feel is actually grace. It's God pursuing you, drawing you toward the light. The discomfort with your current path isn't punishment—it's an invitation.
Jesus doesn't demand perfection before He'll accept you. He meets you in your darkness, in your mess, in your brokenness. His arms are wide open. Your past doesn't disqualify you—it's exactly why He came.
The question isn't whether you deserve salvation (none of us do). The question is whether you're ready to step out of darkness into light, to exchange blindness for sight, to receive the gift of grace freely offered.
As the carol proclaims: "O holy night, the stars are brightly shining. It is the night of our dear Savior's birth." The light has come. The only question remaining is: will you walk toward it?
One thing we can all say with certainty: though we were blind, now we see. And what a glorious sight it is.
There's something profound about living in darkness without knowing it. Imagine being born blind—never seeing a sunrise, never watching leaves dance in the wind, never witnessing the colors that paint our world. This physical reality mirrors a deeper spiritual truth: we all begin our journey in spiritual darkness, groping around for meaning, purpose, and truth.
The Reality of Our Blindness
In John chapter 9, we encounter a man born blind from birth. His condition wasn't the result of his sin or his parents' sin, but rather an opportunity for God's work to be revealed. This story isn't just about physical blindness—it's a mirror held up to our own spiritual condition.
Before encountering the light of Christ, we stumble through life like someone feeling their way through a dark room. We bump into furniture, stub our toes, and convince ourselves we know where we're going. We develop our own ideas about God, spirituality, and truth. We create bargains with the divine, trying to prove His existence on our terms.
The apostle Paul describes this condition vividly: "Satan, the god of this world, blinds the minds of those who do not yet believe the gospel." We're not just naturally blind—there's an adversary actively working to keep us in darkness, leading us away from the light that could save us.
The Offense of the Gospel
Here's where things get uncomfortable: the cure for our blindness is often offensive to us.
When Jesus healed the blind man, He did something unusual—He spit on the ground, made mud, and rubbed it into the man's eyes. In Jewish culture, spit was considered unclean. The very act was degrading and offensive. Yet this offensive method became the pathway to sight.
The cross of Christ operates the same way. To the religious leaders of Jesus' day, crucifixion was more than shameful—it was a visible sign of divine rejection. The law stated that anyone hung on a tree was cursed by God. The cross involved blood, body fluids, and public humiliation—everything ritually defiling under Jewish purity laws.
The message of the cross remains offensive today. It tells us we're not good enough on our own. It demands humility. It requires us to admit we're lost and need a Savior. Pride cannot coexist with salvation. We must bow before the cross, acknowledging that Jesus took all our sin upon His shoulders and died in shame for us.
As the old hymn declares: "On a hill far away stood an old rugged cross, the emblem of suffering and shame... Its shame and reproach gladly bear."
The Irritation That Leads to Salvation
The mud in the blind man's eyes would have been intensely irritating. Eyes are among the most sensitive organs in the body. Even a tiny speck of dust can stop us in our tracks. Imagine having thick mud rubbed into your eyeballs.
This irritation mirrors what happens when the gospel begins working in a darkened heart. The Holy Spirit—often called the Hound of Heaven—pursues relentlessly. He agitates, irritates, and disturbs our comfortable darkness.
Suddenly, nothing feels right anymore. The things that once brought pleasure lose their appeal. Food doesn't taste the same. Entertainment doesn't satisfy. Sleep becomes restless. There's a constant sense of conviction, an inner voice saying, "You know that's wrong. You know that isn't right."
This divine irritation isn't meant to torture us—it's meant to wake us up. We don't seek rescue from a comfortable prison. Only when we become sufficiently uncomfortable in our darkness do we cry out for light. Acts 2:37 describes people who heard the gospel as being "cut to the heart"—a powerful image of this spiritual irritation.
The Call to Obedience
After applying the mud, Jesus gave the blind man a simple instruction: "Go wash in the pool of Siloam." The man had to act. He had to obey. Faith without action is dead.
The pool's name means "sent," which is significant. We're sent to respond to God's invitation. Salvation comes through faith, not works—but genuine faith produces obedience. The first act of obedience for a new believer is water baptism, a public declaration of faith in Jesus Christ.
The blind man went, washed, and came back seeing. His obedience demonstrated his faith and resulted in transformation.
A Story to Tell
After his healing, the formerly blind man couldn't explain all the theological intricacies of who Jesus was. When questioned, he simply declared: "Whether he is a sinner or not, I do not know. One thing I know: that though I was blind, now I see."
He wasn't a theologian. He couldn't debate eschatology or explain the mysteries of Scripture. But he had a story—a powerful, undeniable testimony of transformation. He knew what his life was like before Jesus and what it became after.
That's the beauty of encountering Christ. You don't need a seminary degree to share your story. You simply need to be honest about three things:
- What your life was like in darkness - the fear, confusion, and emptiness
- How you encountered Jesus - that moment when light broke through
- The difference Jesus has made - the transformation that continues
The Invitation
The Christmas season reminds us that the light came into the world. God loved us so much that He sent His Son—not to a palace, but to a manger. Not to live in comfort, but to die on a cross. Not to condemn the world, but to save it.
If you're reading this and recognize yourself living in spiritual darkness, know that the irritation you feel is actually grace. It's God pursuing you, drawing you toward the light. The discomfort with your current path isn't punishment—it's an invitation.
Jesus doesn't demand perfection before He'll accept you. He meets you in your darkness, in your mess, in your brokenness. His arms are wide open. Your past doesn't disqualify you—it's exactly why He came.
The question isn't whether you deserve salvation (none of us do). The question is whether you're ready to step out of darkness into light, to exchange blindness for sight, to receive the gift of grace freely offered.
As the carol proclaims: "O holy night, the stars are brightly shining. It is the night of our dear Savior's birth." The light has come. The only question remaining is: will you walk toward it?
One thing we can all say with certainty: though we were blind, now we see. And what a glorious sight it is.
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