“So, Peter,” a former choir director asked suddenly towards the end of a rehearsal. “What do you think of the line `Was blind, but now I see?`”

“Well,” I gulped. “It’s OK, I guess, but I prefer `Was bound, but now I’m free.”

Silence.

“After all, the hymn was written by someone in the slave trade,” I continued. “And some African American churches use this line.”

“But the line is clearly about spiritual blindness,” a choir member called from across the room.

“True; but I wish some Christians would remember that.”

And we all trooped into the sanctuary prepared to sing an arrangement of “Amazing Grace.”

More than a year later, the church pastor preached about Jesus’s contempt of the religious leaders of the time, based on Chapter 15 of Matthew’s gospel. I became distracted, though, when she quoted Verse 14 where Jesus says:

“Let them alone: they be blind leaders of the blind. And if the blind lead the blind, both shall fall into the ditch.” (King James Version)

Another example of interpreting Scriptures through the lens of spiritual instead of physical blindness?

Perhaps, as we visually-impaired people don’t usually lead each other into ditches.

Indeed, when we get together, we often walk in groups of up to ten people to restaurants, white canes tapping, guide dog tags jangling, with one or two leaders shouting directions to those behind them while those behind them call to the leaders to be sure they’re not being left behind. We might look a bit weird to others, but then we find the “Marco Polo” game that light-dependent people play a bit silly. Regardless, we almost always get to where we want to go.

More recently, I came across the following passage from Luke while reading Nadia Bolz-Weber’s book “Accidental Saints”, where Jesus says:

“When you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind. And you will be blessed, because they cannot repay you, for you will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous.” (Verses 13-14)

“The uncool parts of us are exactly what Jesus invites to sit and eat around his table,” Nadia Bolz-Weber suggests. She continues:

“As though the only true currency in this bankrupt world is what we share with God and each other when we are uncool, lame, blind, poor, and crippled. And as uncomfortable as I am, as you are, to be seen in such a stark and uncompromising light, there is much relief in it. … And in just being, you can, in the fierce and loving eyes of God, be known, be whole, and maybe even find a little rest.”

A cool, even profound, bit of commentary.

Except that some of us blind folk are “cool,” and most of us can at least somewhat repay the community for the kindnesses that we receive from others if given the chance.

“Thanks for the offer,” I regularly hear from church leaders when I offer to help with some sort of community outreach project. “We’ll be in touch.”

And that’s where the conversation usually ends.

So I become less likely to reach out.

Spiritual blindness? Comforting, but vaguely condescending. If Jesus was all-knowing, why did He reinforce the stereotype that we people with visual impairments (and those with other disabilities) are poor, hopeless souls? What might He say differently if He roamed amongst us today?

I don’t know, but I wish that each of us would reflect more on how our sometimes unconscious interpretations of Scripture reinforce stereotypes that make it more difficult for others to be more productive members of God’s community.