“To God Be the Glory”
March 15, 2026
Rev. Rebecca Migliore
This Lent some of us have been immersing ourselves in Monica Guzman’s book, “I Never Thought of It That Way.” She wrote it to try to help us think about how we might bridge the gaps that have deepened and widened in our society (and maybe in our world). And she talks about, in a secular way, something that I find very familiar in a religious setting. She talks about having an open enough mindset that you can be curious about things—and have INTOIT moments—“I Never Thought of It That Way.”
Her framework, that all humans are mysteries and beautiful in their own way; the insistence on listening, focusing on another’s story without trying to insist on one’s own way; the desire for “bridging the divide,” for finding commonality instead of difference; all reminds me of themes from our Bible. Take for instance the story of Cain—the first murderer. Cain, in jealousy, murders his brother Abel. He is outcast, having to leave his family and all he knew to wander into other lands. We might expect God to “throw him into the outer darkness, where there is gnashing of teeth.” But no, God “marks” Cain—not as punishment, but as protection. God says, even this one is mine—do not harm him.
I constantly find “I Never Thought of It That Way” moments when I read the Scriptures. It’s what allows me to craft sermons year after year after year, on the same texts. And so, this year, as I was reading our text from John, I had a thought that seemed very familiar—but I also had another thought that seemed to be “I Never Thought of It That Way.”
The familiar thought was that we humans seem to like to blame someone, or something, for anything that goes differently than normal. There was a man born blind—something didn’t go the way it usually goes in the gestation period of this man. And he was born without being able to see.
Now we only read the very beginning of this story, but if you go and read the rest of John 9, you find that seeing and being blind are not just being talked about literally, but also symbolically. In fact, at the end of the story, after much conversation—between Jesus and the man, between the man and his neighbors, between the Pharisees and the man, between Pharisees and the parents, between Jesus and the man, and between Jesus and the Pharisees—there is this exchange: “Jesus said, “I came into this world for judgment, so that those who do not see may see and those who do see may become blind.” Some of the Pharisees who were with him heard this and said to him, “Surely we are not blind, are we?” (John 9:39-40)
Being blind and seeing becomes one of those conversation pieces that has layers upon layers upon layers (like being born again, and living water). Let me get back to my original point—the familiar thing about our reading. The disciples see this man born blind—and what do they do? Do they ask Jesus to heal him? No. Do they try to make sure that this man is provided for? No. Do they talk to the man, asking about what life is like for him, treating him as if he were someone to learn from? No. They ask, “Who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?” The Blame Game.
And Jesus answers that neither he nor his parents sinned—that wasn’t why he was born blind. But so that God’s works might be revealed in him. And he spits on mud (reminded us of the very first verses of creation, a rebirth) and spreads the mud on the man’s eyes, and asks him to go and wash (water, water, everywhere) and he does and comes back able to see.
Now I have always been a little mad at Jesus for saying “this man was born blind so that God’s works might be revealed in him.” Is Jesus suggesting that God makes things go wrong with us physically, mentally, spiritually, so that God can work a miracle and reveal God’s glory? That seems like a very needy God—who needs to show everyone who God is. Who doesn’t care how much pain and suffering someone else goes through as long as the end point is that God’s works are revealed. It’s all about God—and we specks of dust are just that—something to be trampled upon.
But here is where I had this glimpse, this wondering, this “What if Jesus meant…”—in other words, “I Never Thought of It That Way Before” moment. What if everything that is—what we see and what we don’t see, what seems usual to us and what seems unusual—is all to God’s Glory? What if we are invited to “see” with God’s eyes? “See” what is usual as extraordinary. “See” what is unusual as beloved. “See” that it doesn’t make a difference in God’s sight whether we are usual or unusual—we are created in God’s image and thus are good, thus are smiled upon, thus are swept up in the arms of a loving God.
What if that man born blind was already perfect in God’s eyes—but Jesus knew that we needed to see that? What if that man born blind already could see more than most of us? He is the one who in the telling of the story, again and again and again, goes from not knowing what to say about Jesus, to proclaiming him a prophet, to actively discussing theology with the Pharisees because “If this man [Jesus] were not from God, he could do nothing [and yet he opened my eyes]”, to saying “Lord, I believe.” What if Jesus’ healing had nothing to do with making this man “right” in God’s eyes, but everything to do with pointing to the deeper truth that we both see and are blind to many things?
Lent is a time for introspection—a time, for some, to give things up—a time, for some, to try something new. We, as the church, imposed these “seasons” to try to break up the rush of our daily grind. And so we journey, from Advent to Christmas to Epiphany and from Lent to Easter to Pentecost—all while acknowledging that so much of our time feels “ordinary.” And yet, whether it is ordinary or extraordinary, it is all in the palm of God’s hand. If we see that, if we know that (even dimly), we can only exclaim, “To God Be the Glory.” For all the beauty there is, all the frailty of human life, all the warmth of touch, all the grace that is bestowed.
So much of our time, we are in the midst of the push and pull of dealing with other people, and dealing with world events, and dealing with the things that weigh us down, in body, mind and spirit. But is that really what is important? Is that really what we should be seeing? Or is all that stuff just blinding us to the reality of God’s truth?
My Dad was a professor. He spent much of his time thinking lofty thoughts—and he wrote books about theology, trying to help others see God in deeper and wider terms. But he knew that often God speaks in the mundane, in the unexpected, in new ways. I remember him telling me about an experience he had when he was working with a kids summer program in Trenton. Trenton was in dire straights, and this church was not in a “good” neighborhood. There were abandoned lots and beat up cars and all that inner city life spawns.
It seems that they were focusing on the story of Noah and how after the flood, God put a rainbow in the sky, as a promise that God would never again try to destroy the world. The story, as I remember it, was that Dad was having a conversation with a young person and asked if they had ever seen a rainbow. “Yes” was the answer. “Where?” Dad queried. “At the church.” “Really, where did you see a rainbow at the church?” “In the parking lot after a rain.” Looking up Dad said, “It must have been hard to see among all the buildings around here.” “No, silly” the child answered. “You’re looking the wrong way!” “The rainbow was down here, in the puddles. It was so pretty.” And my father realized that what she was talking about was the oil sheen from leaking cars captured in the water that had pooled in the church parking lot.
At first, Dad was sad. That this child had only seen a rainbow in something as sullied as an oil spill. At that point of telling the story, he would pause. And then he would say, “and then I realized that she might have seen God’s promise more closely than I ever had.” Isn’t an inner city parking lot exactly where God’s rainbow is needed? Isn’t a world where there is war and greed and hatred and hunger and all manner of “not seeing” one another exactly where God’s rainbow is needed? Should we be surprised that the rainbow can be seen in oil on water, or in broken fragments of glass?
Everywhere we look, we can see, if we open our eyes, the reflection of God. Everywhere—not just in the beautiful mountains, but also in the dusty plains. Everywhere—not just in people whose lives are supposed going great, but also in the least of these, my brothers and sisters. Everywhere—not just in the stories of long ago, but also in our encounters today and tomorrow.
That is what “To God be the Glory” means. That we can see God in all there is, and try to reflect God in all we are.
If we are truthful with ourselves, we know we often do not see. It’s so much easier. But Jesus doesn’t call us to the easy path. Jesus calls us to take the mud from his hands, to wipe it on our eyes, and go and wash, and come back able to see. Maybe just a little bit more than before.
And maybe knowing that we don’t always see what God sees, reminds us to be open to things we might have missed, to be curious about those mysterious other people in our lives, and to be willing to follow the one who always invites us to be reborn, through water and spirit, so we might truly see.
May it be so, Amen and Amen.