OPEN MY EYES TO SEE YOUR LIGHT

OPEN MY EYES TO SEE YOUR LIGHT

Fr Luke Veronis

"As long as I am in the world," Jesus proclaimed, "I am the light of the world." And with those words still ringing in the air, He reaches down into the dust and gives sight to a man who has never known a single day of light.

But today's Gospel is not simply about one man's healing. It is about all of us — and our own desperate need to be healed from whatever blindness we carry. It is about the corners of our hearts that remain shuttered against the Light of Christ, not because He cannot reach them, but because we have not yet found the courage to let Him.

The blind man in today's Gospel knew he was blind. He could not see from birth. And this self-knowledge, painful as it was, became the very beginning of his healing. He had no illusions about himself.

The tragedy of the story lies elsewhere: in the religious leaders who believed they could see perfectly yet remained utterly blind to the Divine Light standing directly before them. They had studied the Scriptures their entire lives, and yet when the Author of Scripture walked among them, they turned away.

This is the more dangerous blindness - not the kind we know we have, but the kind we are convinced we do not have. And it is, if we are honest, the blindness most of us struggle with.

At every Divine Liturgy, right before the priest proclaims the Gospel, he offers a simple prayer:

"Shine within our hearts, Loving Master, the pure light of Your divine knowledge, and open the eyes of our mind that we may understand Your Gospel teachings."

What a beautiful prayer. And yet, how dangerous it truly is. Because if we ask Christ to genuinely shine within our hearts, His light will expose things we have long preferred to keep hidden.

Will we let His light expose our ignorance? Our prejudices, our resentments, our long-nursed grudges? Our pride and greed and self-centered desires? Will we let His light reveal truths we have spent years avoiding?

It is not enough to welcome His light only where it makes us comfortable. It is not enough to let His light make us feel religious but not truly transform us. It is not enough to let His light comfort us in crisis, while we guard our hypocrisy. Christ never says, "Remain just as you are." He says, "I am the Light of the world, and I want to heal your blindness."

There is a story told of a renowned portrait painter in 19th-century England who was commissioned to paint an elderly nobleman. When the finished canvas was unveiled, the man's family was visibly unsettled. The artist had painted him with complete honesty, with deep lines of age, heaviness around his eyes, the weariness that decades of pride had carved into his face.

"You have made him look old and tired," one family member protested. The artist replied quietly, "I paint what the light shows me."

The nobleman himself stood before the portrait in long silence. Then, with tears beginning to form, he said softly: "It is the first true likeness anyone has ever made of me."

From that day forward, people who knew him said something in him changed. He became gentler, more patient, more willing to listen. He later wrote in his journal: "I had spent my whole life arranging myself so others would see only what I wished to show. One honest portrait taught me that being truly seen - however uncomfortable - was the beginning of being truly free."

This is precisely the gift of Christ's light. Not condemnation. Not shame. But the gift of being truly seen, and in being truly seen, set free.

We are in the final week of the Paschal season, still basking in the light of our Lord's Resurrection. We remember how we stood in darkness, holding unlit candles, as the priest came forth crying out: "Come receive the Light from the Light that never wanes." One candle lit another. The darkness retreated. The church became radiant.

This was not merely ceremony. It is a portrait of the Christian life itself.

And yet — here is our challenge. Sometimes we prefer darkness over light, because darkness allows us to hide. In darkness, we can conceal our anger. We can cover our bad habits, our jealousies, our addictions, our bitterness, our lust, our pride.

Think of how people react when a bright light suddenly floods a dark room. We squint. We recoil. We shield our eyes. Spiritually, we do the same thing.

We avoid confession because we do not want our wounds exposed. We avoid silence and solitude because we do not want to hear our own conscience. We avoid deep prayer because, somewhere inside, we know that God may ask us to change.

Yet the purpose of Christ's light is never condemnation. It is always healing. When Christ encountered the blind man, He did not shame him. He restored him. He reveals our blindness not to diminish us, but to give us sight.

Look at the saints. The more they received Christ's light, the more honestly, and humbly, they saw themselves. They never pretended to be perfect. They did not flee from the light because of their sin. They ran toward it. They opened every door of their souls and said, "Come, Lord. Come and see everything. Show me everything."

And the light did not destroy them. It transfigured them.

This is what Christ desires for each of us. Not partial access to select, presentable rooms of our hearts. He wants to illumine the whole person. Every corner. Every hidden place.

So how do we practically open ourselves to the Light of Christ?

First, invite the light each morning in prayer. Cry out honestly: "Lord, show me what I cannot see. Reveal my blind spots. Show me where my heart has grown hard. Come, O Light, come and enlighten me."

Second, immerse yourself in the Gospel. The Word of God is itself a source of light. Sometimes it comforts us. Sometimes it challenges us. Sometimes, if we are reading honestly, it convicts us. That is the divine light working within.

Third, receive the light through Holy Confession. Confession is not designed to embarrass us. It is the Sacrament of healing. When we confess, we invite the light of Christ to shine into the very darkness of our soul, and we receive His absolution, His restoration of our sight.

Fourth, allow trusted spiritual guides to speak truth into your life. Some of our deepest blind spots are things others see with perfect clarity. We need the humility to seek their guidance.

And finally, return to repentance again and again. Repentance is not merely feeling guilty. It is turning — deliberately, willfully, continually — toward the light. It is the key that opens us to everything Christ desires to give us.

Every morning I pray: "Christ the true Light, who enlightens and sanctifies every person who comes into the world, let Your divine light shine in me, that I may see Your face and follow Your commandments." It is my prayer that He come and illumine every dark corner of my soul, that He shine brightly in the darkest crevices of my heart.

May we have the courage to pray with that same sincerity, "Shine within our hearts, Loving Master, your pure light," and then to hold still while that light reveals the places that still need healing.For only then will we cease merely talking about the light. Only then will we become what we were always meant to be: People truly illumined by the Light that never wanes.