To the source of light

 

Prophetic reflection on inner blindness and the journey towards light

Paolo Cugini

 

 

Then Jesus stopped and ordered the man to be brought to him. When he came near, Jesus asked him, ‘What do you want me to do for you?’ He replied, ‘Lord, let me see again!’ And Jesus said to him, ‘Receive your sight! Your faith has saved you.’ (Luke 18:39-44)

There is a subtle affliction that weaves through the folds of the soul, a shadow that creeps in silently and, over time, risks becoming a permanent condition: the blindness of conscience. It is not a visible illness, it leaves no tangible marks on the flesh, but it strikes deeper, blinding our ability to see, to distinguish, to orient ourselves in the stormy sea of life. Blindness of conscience cannot be healed by standing still, waiting for a miracle to fall from above like rain on a summer’s night. Nor is it enough to implore healing, trapped in the repetition of words that bring about no true change. It is necessary to make a move, a conscious step out of one’s state of blindness, an act of will that pushes us towards the source of light.

And yet, often our legs tremble, the heart hesitates, the mind becomes confused. We need someone to take us by the hand, to help us reach the one who can restore our sight and show us the light. No one is saved alone: solidarity, friendship, the guidance of those who have already travelled that path become beacons in the darkness.

There is a grave danger looming for those who linger too long in the darkness of their inner condition. When the mind becomes too accustomed to living in shadows, there is a risk of mistaking them for one’s natural horizon, of losing even the memory of the light. At that moment, the tragedy of no return unfolds: the abyss that transforms darkness into normality, making us incapable of desiring truth, beauty, a full life. Prolonged dwelling in the dark, allowing negativity to pervade every aspect of existence, irreparably damages our ability to see, to hope, to dare. We are responsible for our own darkness, as we are for our own resurrections.

In the Gospel of Luke, the blind man by the roadside does not remain silent. He cries out, breaking the stillness of despair by giving voice to his longing for light. That cry is the first act of will, the spark that ignites the possibility of change. It is not Jesus who goes to the blind man, but the blind man who, aided, approaches the Master. It is the will to emerge from one’s shadow that opens the way for the miracle. There are no miracles or sudden interventions that can resolve what afflicts us if we ourselves are not, first and foremost, desirous of healing, ready to take the step out of our darkness. We are the protagonists of our own harm, but also of our own resurrections. No one can choose for us: freedom, this terrible and marvellous gift, places upon us the responsibility for our choices. The voluntary exit from evil is the sign of a living faith, one that does not stop at words, but becomes action, movement, concrete change. It is faith that saves us, because it is the personal response to the free gift of love that Mystery reveals to us in Jesus. This is not a passive faith, but one that draws from the source of light and love within history, every time we so desire.

The prophecy that resounds today for each of us is a courageous invitation: do not remain motionless in the night of conscience, never identify the darkness as the only possible horizon of life. There is a source of light, of love, of salvation to which we can draw, but only if we truly wish it. It is up to us to begin the journey, to cry out, to step out, to seek the light with all our hearts. For it is only there, on the threshold between shadow and brightness, that the miracle of rebirth takes place.