The Light of the World stands in the midst of the crowd, but there is confusion. As His light passes through the myriad hearts as though through a prism, people see different things. Some see the Prophet, Elijah. Others see more clearly that He is the Christ. Others question what their neighbors see: “The Christ will not come from Galilee, will he?” Some recall the prophecy that He will come from Bethlehem, but there is no evidence to the eye that would suggest He was, indeed, born there. Division ensues; some want to arrest Jesus “…but no one laid hands on him.” Later, when the guards return to the chief priests and Pharisees they are scolded for not bringing Jesus in for questioning and discipline, with the Pharisees saying “Have you also been deceived?” For the Pharisees the possibility that Jesus could be the Christ is a phantasm, a mirage: an illusion. Yet they are willfully blind to the truth: for example since they are certain Jesus comes from Galilee He cannot possibly be the Christ, as the Christ will come from Bethlehem.
Notice none of them bothers to ask Jesus where He is from, or ask anyone else who would know. Notice no one goes to the Romans to review the census data. The Pharisees are so certain of how they see Jesus they cannot imagine any other possibility. Plans and conspiracies to seize Jesus and even kill Him have already begun to form, so certain are they that He cannot be the Christ, so pained are they by the brightness of His light. In the end, we read that “…each went to his own house,” which might remind us of the ominous end of the Book of Judges: “In those days there was no king in Israel; everyone did what was right in their own sight,” (Judges 21:25). Who is it who has been deceived, then: the Pharisees, or the guards?
How often we are guilty of the same blindness! Who is Jesus for us: a wise teacher? A friend? An interest? A belief? Perhaps one, some, or all; perhaps others. But if He is not Lord and King, then are we truly following Him, or are we merely doing what is right in our own sight? Ought we not consider, rather, doing what is right in His? Did not the Pharisees, blind to the Truth of Jesus, charge Him with the crime of claiming kingship, rather than accept Him as King? Pilate led a beaten, bloody, thorn-crowned Jesus out to them, saying, “Behold, your king!” to which they cried, “Crucify him!” Pilate asked, “Shall I crucify your king?” and they declared with bone-chilling pride “We have no king but Caesar!” (John 19:14-15).
If our eyes could be opened such that we could see how often we crown some worldly thing as our Caesar, and crucify our King! How often our Church says “Behold your King!” and we turn our hearts from Him, refusing to see! We kneel before taking our pew, but we know not why; do you not know that genuflection was a courtesy shown to kings in days of old? You kneel to Christ the King in the tabernacle, there before you, robed in Mystery such that our eyes of flesh cannot see Him, but only the eyes of our hearts illuminated by faith. Do you dare to look, to see?
In our Gospel Nicodemus dared. Earlier in the third chapter of St. John’s Gospel he meets with Jesus at night, and his eyes begin to open to the Truth. He dares, among the Pharisees and chief priests, to question their plan of action, their condemnation of Jesus who, to him, is far more than meets the eye. The eyes of his heart are squinting, adjusting to the Light, scrutinizing Jesus to see if, perhaps, He truly is the Christ. Would that we would examine our own hearts so carefully; would that we would focus so deeply upon Jesus!