He is a glorious sight to behold

When she was nineteen months old, Helen Keller suffered what was most likely Scarlet Fever, which left her blind. She wrote in her autobiography, The Story of My Life, “In the dreary month of February, came the illness which closed my eyes and ears. The doctor thought I could not live. Early one morning, however, the fever left me as suddenly and mysteriously as it had come. There was great rejoicing in the family that morning, but no one, not even the doctor, knew that I should never see or hear again.

“I still have confused recollections of that illness. I especially remember the tenderness with which my mother tried to soothe me in my waking hours of fret and pain, and the agony and bewilderment with which I awoke after a tossing, halfsleep, and turned my eyes, so dry and hot, to the wall, away from the once-loved light, which came to me dim and yet more dim each day. But, except for these fleeting memories, if, indeed, they be memories, it all seems very unreal, like a nightmare.”

Then Helen shares this solemn observation, “Gradually I got used to the silence and darkness that surrounded me and forgot that it had ever been different . . .”

This, too, is blindness: becoming so used to dark aspects of life that we assume this is the way life has been and always will be! Becoming used to failure, worry, disappointment, disagreement and depression. Growing accustomed to isolation, temptation, unforgiveness or addiction.

We are usually unaware that our sight has diminished till we go to the eye doctor, and she says, “Please read the letters on the sign,” and we have to ask, “What sign?” We gradually cease to pray, and before long we are blind to its benefits, its peace, its power. We gradually cease to read the Bible, till we are blind to its treasures, its wisdom, its comfort— perhaps even blind to where we placed it in the house. We gradually cease to worship, attending church less frequently, till, as Helen, we forget that it has ever been different.

I would like to return to her autobiography for the entirety of her quote: “Gradually I got used to the silence and darkness that surrounded me and forgot that it had ever been different, until my teacher came— who was to set my spirit free.” There is nothing so glorious as having our eyes open to Jesus himself, unless it is to have our eyes opened again.

A woman, who had worked as a waitress for years when younger, and who was beloved in her town, lost her sight in an accident. She lived blind for ten years before the possibility of an eye transplant became available. With financial help from her town, she traveled to the Kentucky Eye Institute. Her doctor’s voice was strong and confident. She asked him what he looked like, and he assured her by saying, “You will see soon enough.”

The surgery and recovery lasted more than a month. When she finally returned to her town, she happily lived out her days as a waitress.

Customers who came into that diner would forever hear about her regained sight. She would tell them of the institute, its lovely grounds with gardens and hedges, the gleaming marble of the buildings, the gorgeous artwork that decorated the halls. And always, she would end her descriptions by repeating, “But you should have seen the doctor.”

If your spiritual vision has dimmed, perhaps you will come to the Christ who opens eyes. You may come to find he is a glorious sight to behold.