Fourth Sunday of Lent 2025 (Year A Readings)

 

A few years ago I went on vacation with Fr. Scott and our friend Fr. Mike, and we rented a house right across the street from the beach just north of Boston. It was a beautiful spot. 

My routine on vacation is pretty simple: I wake up early, go to Mass, and then treat myself to breakfast at this little diner overlooking the ocean. 

It’s peaceful, the food is great, and the view is unbeatable.

One morning, I was sitting at a table with a perfect view of the Atlantic—waves rolling in, seagulls flying by, all of it. I ordered my breakfast and started playing Wordle on my phone while I waited. 

You know Wordle—the word game where you try to guess a five-letter word in six tries.

That morning’s puzzle was a tough one. After three or four attempts, I was getting nowhere. 

Frustrated, I gave up and just typed in the word I had started with earlier in the puzzle. It wasn’t the right answer, but then the correct word popped up.

Would you believe it?

The answer was… “OCEAN.”
I had been looking at the ocean the whole time, sitting right in front of it. And yet I missed it.

I had a good laugh, but I also thought: isn’t that how life works sometimes? We miss what’s right in front of us—not because it’s hidden, but because we’re not really seeing.

That’s the heart of today’s Gospel. Jesus heals a man who was blind from birth. And suddenly, he sees. 

The world opens up for him. But as the story unfolds, we start to realize—this isn’t just a healing story. It’s a seeing story.

The man who was blind begins to see not only the world around him, but who Jesus really is. He goes from calling him “the man,” to “a prophet,” and finally, “Lord.” 

He’s gaining spiritual sight even as he’s gaining physical sight.

But the Pharisees—who have perfect physical vision—are blind to what’s happening right in front of them. 

A miracle takes place, and all they can see is that Jesus did it on the Sabbath. They’re too caught up in their rules and their assumptions to recognize the truth that’s staring them in the face.

This story challenges us to ask:

Where am I blind right now? What truth might God be placing right in front of me that I’m not seeing?

Sometimes it’s in the familiar—like a view we’ve seen a hundred times, or a Bible passage we think we know—yet God is trying to show us something new.

Sometimes it’s in the face of someone we’re too quick to judge.

Sometimes it’s in the quiet promptings of the Holy Spirit we’ve learned to tune out.

The first reading reminds us that God sees differently than we do. 

When Samuel goes to anoint a new king from Jesse’s sons, he thinks he knows who the right choice is—Eliab, the tall and impressive one. 

But God says: “Not as man sees does God see. Man sees the appearance, but the Lord looks into the heart.”

How often do we miss what God sees because we’re focused on appearances, or distractions, or our own narrow expectations?

And Paul, in the second reading, invites us to “Live as children of light.”

Children of light don’t just walk around with their eyes open.
They walk in truth, in goodness, in clarity.
They seek out what is pleasing to the Lord.
They see with faith.

So maybe this week, the Lord is inviting us to pause and reflect:

• Where am I missing the obvious?

• Where do I need Jesus to open my eyes again?

• What’s right in front of me—maybe even in plain sight—that God is trying to show me?

Because the truth is, even when we’re distracted or confused or stuck in our own little puzzles…

Jesus is still right there, offering light, healing, and sight.

And like the man in the Gospel, when we finally recognize Him, we too can say with joy and with faith:

 “I do believe, Lord.”