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Nice Work, When You Can Get It.

March 15, 2026

1 Samuel 16:1-13 | Ephesians 5:8-14 | John 9:1-41 | Psalm 23

Today’s lectionary reechoes a theme: God providing mortals with vision, and the revealing of God’s work. The Lord gives Samuel prophetic vision to identify the shepherd David as God’s anointed king, saying “the Lord does not see as mortals see…the Lord looks on the heart”. The Epistle implores us to live as children of light, to make all things visible. In the Gospel, as Jesus heals a man who was blind from birth, he says “Neither this man nor his parents sinned; he was born blind so that God’s works might be revealed in him”

But here I pause. “Born blind so that God’s works might be revealed in him”? How did this poor man draw God’s short straw? His understanding of the world, his relationships, his skills, his contributions to his community, were formed without eyesight, in a sight-oriented world. I wish I could ask, “After the initial awe of gaining a whole new sense, did he struggle? Was he suspended between society’s expectations of a blind man, and the “not yet acquired” role of a seeing man? Did seeing the suffering of others sadden him? Did he grieve in retrospect – a trade he never had the opportunity to learn, a young love he lost whose family wanted her to marry into greater means, or children he might have hoped for but couldn’t support in a patriarchal society?

Many of us have parallels in our own lives – circumstances that have forced us to live differently than those around us: an inherited disability, an injury, a crisis that consumes a life’s savings, an unanticipated caregiver role that demands many years… And some of us enter a “different life”, later on. Looking back, the lives we lived seem to stand in stark contrast to those of our neighbors or friends. We carry a context unknown to those outside looking in. I imagine the odd picture of a man who used to be blind, walking down the street tapping at curbs with a white cane, and someone who knows him as a seeing man asks him “why do you do that?”. He replies “Well you see I used to be blind, and I recognize some routes more easily this way.” Imagine saying that on Main Street!

So how do I manage what God reveals to me, as I journey into the later parts and second chances of a mortal life? Do I run toward it with excitement and wonder? Do I see fresh opportunity? Or do I think of my mortal life as 60%, or 75%, spent? Do I grieve the relationships and opportunities taken from me by circumstance, to the detriment of those I have now? Do I think “if only I were young enough to really make something of what I finally can see?”

I remember reading a quote from the author Julia Cameron, who said her adult students often claimed they were just too far through life to learn new skills they felt called to, saying “do you know how old I would be by the time I accomplished this?” Her answer was, “The same age you would be if you didn’t”.

Do we follow God’s calls to shorter, later, chapters of insight, or choose more years of familiar blindness?

At some point, in an uncertain moment, I began praying what I have continued to pray most days since. “Lord I have prepared all I can. Please show me what I need to see, so I can do the work you have sent me here for”. Oh, what a dangerous prayer it has been. So often it seems God says “Well since you asked, let me show you my children who are sick, who are hungry. Here are the lonely, the sorrowful, the confused, the victims of violence, the misguided, the lost…” Frequently, the magnitude of suffering seems entirely overwhelming.

Yet, In better hours, God also seems to say “look deeper”, “See my image in each and every one; see the potential I have placed in them” “See the skill of builders, the vision of teachers, the beauty of artists’ work, the compassion of healers. Marvel at what my mortal children can do when they do it together, led by my spirit. Watch them share each other’s stories, protect each other, share resources, write history and pass on knowledge. Listen as they play music in magnificent harmony. Admire how many times a mere mortal can stand up after falling, what a marriage looks like when people really get it right, the strength of reunited family members who forgive each other. Join in the laughter of children. Dance to every new rhythm my drummers drum. Stand in awe of how marvelously, they all, are made.” This too, is often overwhelming. It’s like trying to see the whole sunrise without looking into the sun.

As I read today’s lectionary I was struck by how different another familiar piece of scripture, from Matthew, chapter 11, sounds to me now: “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”

Perhaps God implores us to set our old burdens down, because until we do we cannot use the capacity required for God’s work to be revealed in us. Perhaps “easy” means God’s yoke is free to choose, not tied on, that God readily lets us set it down, in Gods hands, (which so often come in the form of our neighbors’) when we must rest. Perhaps the yoke is “easable”, because the work can be exhausting. God’s work is olympic-level effort, prepared and executed in thousands of tiny increments. It requires picking the yoke back up each day, through prayer, discernment, ongoing training, and teamwork. Some days it requires being dragged to our knees and being humble enough to be lifted back up. It’s the kind of work no logical mortal would sign up for. So why would we willingly shoulder such a burden? Why would God ask us to? In the doses we can tolerate, God opens our eyes, and we are compelled, by the sheer awe of the view we are given. Like children with mouths agape tugging at each other’s sleeves and pointing as if to say “You have to see this. Run with me!”, we are compelled to share that view. Christ’s burden, is Light. The Light of Christ. The love of a gracious God. Nice work when we can get it, carrying that light.

Sarah Curtis

P.S., my title is a nod to the amazing poetry of Ira Gershwin’s lyrics. If it doesn’t immediately bring back memories, you can listen to one of my favorite covers of the song here: Nice Work If You Can Get It