All I Know is This...
Reflecting on the Blind Beggar in John 9
I spent part of my morning sitting with Jesus in John 9—it’s the story where Jesus healed the man born blind—and I couldn’t shake one particular moment.
Let me set the stage.
In the story, the blind man is healed by Jesus and immediately thrown into a theological interrogation.
The religious ruling class, the Pharisees, question him repeatedly:
How did Jesus heal you?
What do you think of him?
Are you lying about your condition?
It’s not curiosity, it’s cross-examination. They are not searching for truth—they’re trying to control and manage a “situation.”
Eventually, the healed blind man, likely poor, uneducated, and overlooked by society, ends up teaching the religious elite about the nature of Jesus’ salvation.
The healed blind man delivers a line that has echoed through church history:
“Whether or not he (Jesus) is a sinner, I don’t know. One thing I do know: I was blind, and now I can see.”1
I love the simplicity of this moment.
He doesn’t have precise theology.
He doesn’t win the argument.
He doesn’t fully understand the mystery of Jesus.
But he knows what grace is. He knows what mercy is. He knows what healing is. Ultimately, he knows what it means to encounter Christ and leave different.
Meanwhile, the Pharisees—the educated, respected, powerful religious leaders—completely miss what God is doing in front of them because they are spiritually blind.
Why are they blind? Pride.
Pride made them blind to God’s mercy and healing. Their physical eyes could see, their brains could think, their hands did good works — but their souls were blind. They couldn’t see that God was at work.
Earlier in this chapter, Jesus had already declared: “While I am in the world, I am the light of the world.”2
The light of the world was shining in the darkness. Jesus was taking the broken things of the world and remaking them. A blind man could literally see again. But these religious leaders didn’t care. They wanted to get to God on their own terms, so they didn’t get him at all. Pride blinded them.
Pride is like a child trying to tie their shoes while refusing their parent’s help.
This just happened in my household with my boys, Abel & August. They wanted to learn to tie their shoes on their own. We’ve tried before, but never had the patience to fully learn. But they wanted to try again.
My wife Steph pulled up a YouTube video and tried to help them learn. They watched carefully. Then they tried. They struggled. The laces were tangled. They got angry, then they cried. All within 2 minutes.
I knelt down and said, “Let me show you.”
And August immediately responded: ‘I know how to do it, Dad.’
He didn’t.
A child can only insist on independence for so long. Until they get to a point of desperation and neediness, and they finally say: “Okay, Dad. Okay, Mom. Can you help?”
Pride is the kid saying, “I know.” Humility is them admitting they need someone else. They need an encounter with mom, or dad, or a teacher to grow and be changed.
Pride is expected when you're a kid, but it’s tragic when you’re an adult and doing the same thing with God.
The Pharisees continually rejected Jesus, which means they continually rejected the salvation of God. In a way, they were saying, ‘We can do this ourselves.’
If I’m honest, I relate to the Pharisees more than I’d like to admit. There have been seasons of my life when I’ve pursued intellectual enrichment rather than a personal encounter with the living God. I’ve confused knowing about God with knowing God. I’ve studied God without enjoying him. Read about him without speaking to him. Wanted his healing while resisting his help.
This type of Spiritual pride is especially dangerous because it allows us to know about God while remaining distant from him.
It keeps us informed but untouched. Aware but untransformed. Religious but relationally distant. That’s the tragedy of pride—it doesn’t just make us arrogant; it makes us unreachable. Grace, healing, and salvation are gifts to be received. Pride clenches our fists. Humility opens our hands.
The Pharisees stood in front of the Son of God with closed fists. The blind man stood before Jesus with empty hands. Only one walked away changed, healed, different.
And God has always worked this way. His active work in our life begins with our surrender, our neediness, our dependence.
That is why the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus’ most extensive teaching, begins with this one singular phrase:
“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.”3
Jesus is telling us that life with God begins with our need for him. Blessed are the spiritually needy, blessed are those dependent on God, theirs is the kingdom.
Jesus and his gospel don’t make sense to those who have all the answers, to those who aren’t needy, poor, broken, or sick. The gospel has always made more sense to people who know they need saving.
To the poor in spirit.
To the grieving.
To the sinful.
To the tired.
To the anxious.
To anyone honest enough to admit they cannot heal themselves.
That’s why Augustine of Hippo wrote:
“The way of Jesus is first humility, second humility, third humility, and however often you should ask me I would say the same…”4
Open hands, humility, and spiritual neediness are not just the start of the Christian life—they are the oxygen of the Christian life. We encounter Jesus by the Spirit and experience real life-changing healing when we humble ourselves every day, every single day, and say, “I need you, Jesus.”
In Scripture, throughout history, and even now, Jesus meets people in the place of surrender. In the honest prayers. In sickness. In pain. In confession. In weakness. In dependency.
Maybe spiritual maturity begins when we stop trying to explain, manage, and control everything with our own wisdom, power, and influence—and simply admit our daily need for God.
Later in John 9, the healed blind man is kicked out of the synagogue by the religious elites, and Jesus finds him once again. He encounters Jesus a second time. And this is what happens:
35 When he (Jesus) found him (the healed blind man), he asked, “Do you believe in the Son of Man?”
36 “Who is he, Sir, that I may believe in him?” he asked.
37 Jesus answered, “You have seen him; in fact, he is the one speaking with you.”
38 “I believe, Lord!” he said, and he worshiped him.5
The blind beggar understood what the Pharisees missed: need is not an obstacle to God. It is often the place where we finally meet him. And, meeting Jesus in our needs leads us to a place of complete devotion, surrender, and worship.
Ideas do not save us. Knowledge does not heal us. Data cannot change us. Encountering Jesus does.
So, all I know is this…I was blind, but now I see.
Jesus came close to me. Jesus healed me. Jesus loved me. Jesus changed me.
He has been faithful to me my whole life. He brought me to his Father when I was fatherless. He provided for me when I was poor. He was the light in my darkness; he exposed my sin and gave me freedom. He was my peace in the middle of my panic attacks.
He delights in me, and I delight in him. He is my joy in the mundane. He is my shepherd in the wilderness. He is my friend in the hard times and in the good. He still challenges and convicts me, but he is always cheering me on. He is my greatest encourager.
He has saved me, is saving me, and will keep saving me
For all my days, I’ll keep proclaiming: “I was blind...but now I see.”
John 9:25
John 9:5
Matthew 5:3
St. Augustine, Letter 118. New Advent.
John 9:35-38