Sermon: ‘A gracious disruption’
Gospel John 9:1-41, sermon by Pastor Rev. Andy Willis
Faith in the God we know in Jesus means to keep us always on our toes, ready for the disruption of new life.
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Introduction to the Gospel, text by Yanis Eberhart: Man born blind
It’s another workday in Geneva. Nearby the Cirque tram stop, the usual liveliness unfolds: a steady stream of traffic driving down the avenue du Mail and up the boulevard Georges-Favon, framing the large diamond-shaped Plaine de plainpalais. Swarms of people in suits are heading to work. Sirens wail as ambulances rush to and from the HUG. Ravens crowing, dogs barking—you get the idea.
And then, there’s me. A homeless man, whose name nobody knows, a fixture on the sidewalk in front of the pharmacy. Those who walk regularly along this sidewalk know me, or, I should say, they recognize me. Some of them make timid eye contact, before quickly averting their gaze—I guess my presence causes them too much discomfort. Now and again, a generous soul offers me food, or a coin. But mostly, people walk past me, staunchly ignoring my existence, much like one tries to ignore a headache and push through the day.
I remember, as a kid, they used to talk about equality. Equality of education, equality of opportunities, equality in access to services. Today, I realize that I grew up in a precarious setting. How can you talk about equality to a kid when he isn’t even sure when his next meal is? Or whether his parents will be there in the evening to take care of him? Of course, for me, that was the norm. I didn’t understand how disadvantaged I was until much later.
After a brief and difficult primary education, I started working odd jobs, dirty work that nobody wanted to do. That’s where I really learned that I was less than, that nothing I could ever do would be deemed worthy by society.
So I gave up.
Of course I sometimes dream of having a cozy life, of being warm during winter and being able to go on fancy vacations during the summer. I guess, if I really wanted to, I could leave. No one would notice, probably. But getting back into a job, I highly doubt I could do that. It’s been too long since I’ve been out here. Whatever work aptitudes I once had have long gone to waste. And besides, who wants to hire a homeless man?
I see the people walking past me—they think I’m a waste, like I’m cursed and I deserve to be out here. Maybe they’re right.
Yet, they see, and they know: they’re just a few steps away from ending up like me. In a world in upheaval, it doesn’t take much for droves of people to end up without livelihoods.
But what do I know? I’m just a homeless man, whose name no one knows, loitering next to the Cirque tram stop.