Lectionary Commentaries for March 15, 2026
Fourth Sunday in Lent

“Never since the world began has it been heard that anyone opened the eyes of a person born blind” (John 9:32). 

Mixed reactions

This is a story about a healing, the Sabbath, and the interrogation it launches in the first century. The nature of the interrogation is to determine the identity of Jesus. 

The length of the chapter entails numerous conversations with an unnamed man who has been healed. The Gospel account records many different reactions to the man’s condition. Initially, the disciples wish to instigate a theological debate using the man’s disability as an object lesson (9:2–5). Following the healing, the neighbors debate the man’s identity (9:8–12). Then, after an initial conversation with the healed man, the religious leaders offer their (mixed) theological assessments of the healer (9:13–17). Eventually, the man’s parents are summoned and acknowledge the man’s identity and testify to the origins of his visual impairment but fail to stake any claim on the nature of the healing (9:18–23). During a second interrogation of the man, the Pharisees fail to accept his testimony (9:24–34).     

Within the fourth Gospel, the Pharisees are depicted as monitors of Jewish society, determining what is allowable in public life (see also 11:45–48). Today’s lectionary reading is indicative of this kind of scrutiny. Historically, the fourth Gospel overstates their influence. Public baptizing activity troubles them—whether from John the Baptist (1:24) or Jesus’s group (4:1). Sabbath activities are also part of their concern (9:13–16; see also 5:9–18). 

By chapter 7, hearing of Jesus’s positive impact on some crowds, the Pharisees seek to arrest him (7:32). They remain antagonistic when their “temple police” fail to do so, implying that none of the leaders have been convinced (7:45–48). Even so, their concerns—shared with the chief priests—extend beyond jealousy: “If we let him go on like this … the Romans will come and destroy both our holy place and our nation” (11:48). 

Their logic is evident: Jesus’s healings inspire the crowd’s trust, which, in turn, could draw Roman attention and trigger violence against Israel’s people and sacred spaces. If this is the case, the Pharisees’ concerns seem understandable. Authoritarian powers often shape local religious debates about proper public expressions of faith. By the end of chapter 11, the Pharisees have authorized a full search to arrest Jesus (11:57).

In our lectionary reading, the final scene of chapter 9 depicts a conversation between Jesus and the healed man. Although this is a second encounter between the two (see also 9:6–7), this time the unnamed man speaks, acknowledges Jesus’s divine identity, and “worships” him (9:35–38). 

When Jesus restores a man’s sight in our lectionary text, the Pharisees briefly divide (9:16) but soon reunite in opposition: “Surely, we are not blind, are we?” (9:40). In the following chapter, the Jewish leadership (= “the Jews”) will divide again over the identity of Jesus, with an allusion back to the healing of chapter 9 from a segment more favorable toward Jesus: “These are not the words of one who has a demon. Can a demon open the eyes of the blind?” (10:21).

The complex causes of suffering

This is also a story that tackles the nature and origins of illness. The view in contemporary circles that personal suffering is directly associated with the (wrong) actions of individuals has a long religious tradition. Some ancient folk—including some of Jesus’s disciples—believed suffering was linked to unholy actions (“sin”). At times, Jesus seems to share this cultural, theological assumption. For example, in an earlier episode, when he found a man he had recently healed in the temple, he told him, “Do not sin any more, so that nothing worse happens to you” (5:14). Links between “sin” and “sickness” may also be implied elsewhere in the Gospel accounts (see Mark 2:1–12; Luke 13:10–17).  

In today’s lectionary reading, however, Jesus problematizes that kind of theological thinking, offering a more complex analysis: “Neither this man nor his parents sinned.” Indeed, illnesses and infirmities may be due to other causes. Some may be due to natural causes; others, as in John 9, may be due to the possibility of divine intervention. And these interventions into our world may upset the religious constraints we—similar to the Pharisees of Jesus’s day (for example, Sabbath)—have put in place to hinder our ability to witness God’s faithful actions. 

The healed man worships Jesus

Distinct from any other character within the narrative, this man whose sight was healed “worships” Jesus during his lifetime (9:38). The Greek word for the act of worship (proskuneō) could also be translated “to kneel (out of respect)” or “to prostrate oneself on the ground.” Yet, the reverence of worship in this scene makes sense, following the man’s public acknowledgment of Jesus’s status as “Lord.” 

Earlier in the fourth Gospel, Jesus engages the unnamed Samaritan woman in a healthy, extensive conversation about “worship” (see 4:20–26). She labels Jesus a prophet (4:19), affirms her own belief in a coming Messiah (4:25), and even witnesses about this encounter to her fellow countrymen and -women (4:28–29), but never explicitly worships Jesus. That action is reserved for the healed man of chapter 9. Although several translations will utilize different English words for the Greek verb, “to worship” Jesus is a dominant theme of the Gospel of Matthew (see also 2:11; 8:2; 9:18; 14:33; 15:25; 20:20; 28:9; 28:17), but rare elsewhere among the canonical Gospels.   

Implications for preaching

So what? What are the implications of this passage for preachers?

Reading this account during Lent reminds us of the human condition and the inability to discern divine intervention among us. Lent is an ecclesial opportunity to refocus the human lens and recognize all the ways God has acted among us, faithfully drawing us to God’s self. Sin, suffering, and healing can be reframed through the intervening presence of Jesus. 

The passage directly distinguishes between spiritual needs and physical ailments individuals may have in our homes and in our communities. Our good God is not the author of these ailments but intervenes to sustain our broken, human bodies to draw us closer to God and to one another. Even those among us whose physical conditions may be failing are able to be the presence of God’s Spirit toward others in need. 

May it be so!

The text of 1 Samuel 16 begins with a question posed by the Lord to the prophet Samuel: “How long will you grieve over Saul?” (verse 16a, New Revised Standard Version Updated Edition, here and elsewhere).

It is an interesting moment—in some ways, a surprising moment. The prophet Samuel had vehemently opposed kingship. Only eight chapters back, in 1 Samuel 8, all the elders of Israel had gathered and come to Samuel to make a request of him: “Appoint for us a king to govern us” (verse 5b). Their request displeased Samuel; the Hebrew of verse 6 says literally, “The thing was evil in his eyes.” But Samuel, after consulting the Lord, acquiesces. The following chapters then narrate the story of Samuel finding Saul and anointing him as king. Saul is introduced as a handsome young man who stood head and shoulders taller than anyone else (9:2; repeated in 10:23).

In spite of this detail, the text of 1 Samuel gives no indication of the prophet’s personal disposition toward Saul. Is Samuel impressed by Saul’s appearance or awed by his military prowess? Does he experience any fondness for this man whom he anointed as the first king over Israel? The closest the narrative comes to an answer is Samuel’s introduction of Saul to the whole people of Israel. He says: “Do you see the one whom the Lord has chosen? There is no one like him among all the people” (10:24). Notably, his words pinpoint sight (“Do you see?”), the same visual register that first distinguished Saul as tall and handsome.

Saul afterward wins a military victory by the power of God’s Spirit (11:6), and Samuel, believing that the nation is now in good hands, makes a long farewell speech (chapter 12). But his retirement must be postponed. Saul quickly shows that he is out of sync with the Lord: He does not wait for Samuel to arrive but rushes into making offerings himself (13:8). Samuel has the bitter job of telling him that because of this disobedience, Saul’s kingdom will not endure (13:14). Still, even though Saul has forfeited the dynasty, the Lord is apparently willing to let him finish out his own personal reign.

Or such is the case until 1 Samuel 15. Another grave instance of disobedience ensues, and the word of the Lord comes to Samuel: “I regret that I made Saul king, for he has turned back from following me and has not carried out my commands” (verse 11a). The next line discloses Samuel’s personal reaction. “Samuel was angry”—at whom, the text does not say—“and he cried out to the Lord all night” (verse 11b).

This is a significant degree of upset, maybe even resistance. Was the prophet “crying out” in petition, asking the Lord to reverse course or forestall judgment? Later, after further drama, Samuel and Saul go their separate ways, each to their own home. The narrator lets us know: “Samuel did not see Saul again until the day of his death, but Samuel grieved over Saul” (verse 35).

Chapter 16 thus begins with the Lord’s challenge to Samuel: “How long will you grieve over Saul?” (verse  16a). The Lord has made a decision. Now it is Samuel himself who is out of step, suffering from a lag between God’s word and his own attachment. The scene that follows gauges just how far these two have diverged. Stephen Chapman writes in his 1 Samuel commentary: “God has already decided (“foreseen,” √rʾh) who will be the next king but will only tell Samuel that it is one of the sons of Jesse the Bethlehemite (16:1). God could have been more specific. Instead the situation is constructed as another test, and this time the test is for Samuel rather than Saul.”¹

It seems that Samuel initially fails the test. When the sons of Jesse first come into Samuel’s presence, the text says that “he looked on Eliab”—the eldest son—“and thought, ‘Surely his anointed is now before the Lord’” (16:6b). Why was Samuel so sure? Was it not because Saul had set his expectations, because he was still grieving? It is in this context that the Lord issues the famous admonition: “Do not look on his appearance or on the height of his stature, because I have rejected him, for the Lord does not see as mortals see; they look on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart” (16:7).

These divine words were necessary because the prophet’s investment in Saul, or a king who resembled Saul, was still lingering. Samuel had become overinvested in a kingly person or a kingly profile that God had moved on from, and the prophet’s nostalgic attachment obstructed his perception. Indeed, within 1 Samuel, this episode of finding and anointing David is, in most respects, Samuel’s last act. Samuel appears in chapter 19 but as more of a set piece than a main actor. At the very end of the book, Saul employs a medium to summon the spirit or shade of Samuel out of the earth. The ghost-prophet delivers a final prophecy of Saul’s downfall. It is a tragic scene, but also one that recuperates the special reciprocity of these two, Saul and Samuel.

For Lenten preaching, what is important about this 1 Samuel text is the challenge it offers. Even when, like Samuel, we might first have opposed some arrangement, it is possible to become attached, to suffer grief when God works change, and to let our spiritual vision become clouded such that we are unable to recognize the new thing God is doing. The example of the prophet is a caution and an invitation. May we, like the Lord, look on the heart; may we walk by faith, keeping abreast of God’s word that comes freshly, and not by sight (2 Corinthians 5:7).

Notes

1. Stephen B. Chapman, 1 Samuel as Christian Scripture: A Theological Commentary (Eerdmans, 2016), 146.

Even audiences largely unfamiliar with the Bible’s contents are likely to know phrases from Psalm 23 (though whether or not they know what they are hearing is biblical is another question!).¹

Used in countless television scenes and movie shoots, often as protagonists stumble toward their inevitable death or as mourners huddle around a graveside, the invocation of Psalm 23:4 in popular culture has led many to associate this psalm of trust with death and mourning.

From the perspective of form criticism, Psalm 23 is a “song of trust,” as are Psalms 4, 11, 16, 27, 62, and 131. Songs of trust have two things in common: a perceived calamity of some kind and trust that the calamity or disaster shall pass and all will be well. In fact, as scholars often note, in these songs of trust it is the very crisis that prompts the psalmist to cry out in trust— and not, as one might expect, in despondency or dejection. For example, in Psalm 27, trust comes even when standing in the midst of flesh-devouring evildoers and with armies encamped all around (27:1–3).

Yet, what crisis was Psalm 23 addressing? And did that crisis center on death, as is so often the case when the psalm is invoked today? Psalm 23 is quiet on the crisis that led to its composition. Rather, it reminds its audience of the relationship between God and God’s people—and perhaps most importantly, the psalm reminds readers about the beauties of living in the here-and-now, even amid the usual darkness that accompanies day-to-day life.

The psalm begins with a faithful and hopeful claim: “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.” As scholars often note, the Hebrew verb haser, translated in the New Revised Standard Version as “want,” is the same verb found in Deuteronomy 2:7: “Surely the Lord your God has blessed you in all your undertakings; he knows your going through this great wilderness. These forty years the Lord your God has been with you; you have lacked nothing” (compare Nehemiah 9:21, “Forty years you sustained them in the wildness so that they lacked nothing”).

The invocation of two passages related to the 40 years of wandering following the exodus is noteworthy: God took care of the people then as they wandered through the desert. To be sure, life wasn’t always easy—but it was life. Those 40 years might have seen a lot of grumbling and complaining, but they also saw manna free from heaven, the birth of a new generation, and eventual progress to the Promised Land. God cared for the wandering people—and they lacked nothing.

The benefits of the relationship are clear: Have faith in the God who shepherds you through the wilderness, for history tells you that this God will not let you lack what you need. This God will lead you to the Promised Land, providing you green pastures (food), still waters (drink), and a straight path (protection).

The shepherd metaphor continues, “Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I fear no evil; for you are with me; your rod and your staff—they comfort me” (Psalm 23:4). Though the King James translation—“the valley of the shadow of death”—is most famous, the more appropriate translation from the original Hebrew is likely something more akin to “darkest valley” (New Revised Standard Version) or “deepest darkness” (New Jewish Publication Society).

In fact, a number of interpreters over the years have understood the passage more in line with these recent translations, which shift the focus away from the only possible mention of death in a psalm that otherwise focuses on a shepherd sustaining the life of the flock. For example, Martin Luther noted how odd it was that the beginning of the psalm—which claims that God provides and the psalmist does not want—is followed by the well-known passage in verse 4. Nevertheless, those in the know recognize that God is shepherding them through these dark experiences, keeping them safe and guiding them (even if, per Luther, “the world cannot see this rich, splendid comfort of the Christians, that they want nothing” [Luther, Psalm 23:4]).

Despite how perplexing it might be while we stumble our way through the darkness, hope and trust are appropriate responses; they keep us moving toward life.

The final two verses of the psalm move to the second metaphor: God is a gracious host who prepares a banquet table for the psalmist (see Psalm 92:11). This table is spread “in the presence of my enemies,” who seem to watch from the sidelines as God anoints the head of the psalmist and fills the psalmist’s cup to overflowing (23:5). The psalm continues, “Surely goodness and mercy shall follow (radap) me all the days of my life.”

The Hebrew word translated in the New Revised Standard Version as “follow” is also found in a number of verses scattered throughout the larger biblical text that deal with enemies, but always as “pursue.” A few examples:

• “The enemy said, ‘I will pursue (radap), I will overtake, I will divide the spoil, my desire shall have its fill of them. I will draw my sword, my hand shall destroy them’” (Exodus 15:9).
• “then let the enemy pursue (radap) and overtake me, trample my life to the ground” (Psalm 7:5).
• “For the enemy has pursued (radap) me, crushing my life to the ground, making me sit in darkness like those long dead” (Psalm 143:3).
• “Israel has spurned the good; the enemy shall pursue (radap) him” (Hosea 8:3).

Playfully, Psalm 23:6 turns the image of an enemy who pursues—a frightening image, to be sure—into something wonderful, good, and life-affirming. Accordingly, a more accurate reading might be, “Surely goodness and mercy shall pursue me all the days of my life.”

The psalm ends with yet another nod toward life and living: “I shall dwell in the house of the Lord my whole life long.” Here, the “house of the Lord” refers to the Temple (see Psalm 27:4). Again, the psalm emphasizes life in the here-and-now, and the ways in which life in the here-and-now can be joyous and banquet-filled, especially if one trusts in the guidance and protection of the shepherd and the benevolent provider of the banquet.

Psalm 23 reminds readers that God sustains, provides, and cares for the flock not once but time and time again—fleeing from Egypt, returning from exile, and as we walk through darkness.  Psalm 23 reminds readers that goodness can pursue them as well as travails. Moreover, Psalm 23 serves as a reminder to live—even in the face of danger and misfortune, even in the shadows of darkness that might surround us—and to know that in living, we will be sustained.

Notes

1. Commentary previously published on this website for April 30, 2023.

Paul’s letters consistently address communities facing significant challenges. Some of these challenges stem from the difficulties of living within the Roman Empire as a marginalized or minority group. Less often recognized is that these communities also had to navigate their own evolving structures and social dynamics. During times of great uncertainty, both in the past and today, leaders and groups tend to use polarizing language. This rhetorical approach has the benefit of reaffirming one’s identity in the face of threatening circumstances. In this text, the author creates a strong binary between light and darkness, admonishing the audience to not be like “them” (5:7). 

Early followers of Paul’s message about Christ came from very different cultural backgrounds. This diversity naturally gave rise to moral dilemmas. Over time, these communities evolved from loosely organized groups into more structured institutions, significantly changing their internal dynamics.

From a sociological perspective, groups that are formed around charismatic leaders—such as Jesus or Paul—must establish structures to manage their internal relationships. They also need to define boundaries with the outside world to ensure long-term success. Early Christian communities were far from isolated; imperial systems heavily influenced and shaped their daily lives and practices, requiring them to negotiate boundaries and foster a sense of belonging.  

For example, the Pastoral Epistles exhibit more clearly defined norms regarding leadership, gender, and power than do other letters attributed to Paul. As communities become more visible, their behavior and customs may appear more countercultural. The outer world, consequently, views their practices with greater suspicion. 

Christian leaders become acutely aware of the potential for communities to face ostracism or persecution. The journey from being a marginalized group to being one of cultural prominence is fraught with contentious decisions. In essence, the history of Christianity reflects a continuous process of reformation—oscillating between radicalism and adaptation, accommodation and opposition.

Scholars often view Colossians and Ephesians as reflective of a transitional phase in the institutionalization of Christian doctrine and practice. As such, many Pauline specialists suggest that it was Paul’s disciple rather than the apostle himself who authored these writings. 

Ephesians 5:8–14 exhibits a dualistic framework (light/darkness; obedience/disobedience; morality/immorality). The author invites the audience to embrace a cohesive moral stance, associating each member with light and virtue while chastising those who walk in darkness and immorality. 

In verse 11, the author urges the audience to avoid involvement in the “sterile fruits of darkness” and instead to bring these practices to light. In the preceding verses, the writer identifies various vices as these detrimental fruits, including immorality, impurity, jealousy, and foolish talk. The challenge arises in interpreting some of these vices, as they are unique to this epistle, making comparative analysis difficult. Nonetheless, the letter condemns these behaviors as indicative of a life aligned with darkness.

Furthermore, the moral implications of this binary view mirror Romans 13:12, where Paul tells believers to “put on the armor of light” and to avoid works of darkness, urging them to adopt behaviors consistent with the moral meaning of light. This moral distinction between light and dark is essential for understanding the author’s call for transformation and for pursuing a lifestyle that reflects those enlightened by Christ.

It is indeed tempting to adopt this rhetorical strategy that places us in the light while categorizing others as dwelling in darkness. 

Ephesians reminds us that identifying with the light while viewing others as part of the dark helps us navigate insider and outsider roles. However, this can also hide our own flaws and the darkness within us. For the community’s sake, Christians must regularly reevaluate their dedication to Jesus’s ethical teachings. Undoubtedly, this moral stance is a key focus of the author of Ephesians, who stresses the importance of avoiding “the unfruitful works of darkness and exposing them” (5:11).

The problem with such moral dualism is the risk of claiming righteousness while adopting external moral values that appear to be Christian ethics, when they are rooted in imperial ideologies. Ephesians reminds us of such danger just a few verses after our text.  

Marginalized groups must balance their alignment with mainstream moral standards with maintaining their own identity without sacrificing either. In this context, while Ephesians advocates for righteousness, light, and morality, it dangerously leans toward imperial ethical systems. Notably, despite earlier Pauline warnings against marriage, Ephesians appears to conform to conventional marital norms: Wives are supposed to submit to their husbands (5:22), and husbands should love their wives (5:25). Likewise, slaves should obey their masters, both publicly and privately, as if obeying their true Master, the Lord. Masters, in turn, are urged to treat their slaves justly (6:9).

These instructions don’t really break new ground in terms of Christian values. In fact, they echo broader Roman guidelines for relationships between husbands and wives or masters and slaves. The author introduces these moral codes probably because some Christians were disobeying or protesting established marital relations, gender roles, and dynamics of enslavement. 

So, why does this matter? On the surface, the message seems straightforward—stay in the light, avoid the darkness. But this advice risks mystifying how complicit “we” are in “their” immorality. The author draws a clear line between light and darkness, between morality and immorality, and between obedience and disobedience. However, this black-and-white rhetoric forgets that it ultimately legitimizes a status quo that keeps the believer from discovering “what is pleasing to the Lord” (5:10).