Four weeks ago I had eye surgery to improve my vision, but the healing process is not going too well. I think I’m getting better, but even the best doctors cannot guarantee that every surgery will be successful. For the last month I’ve been a bit blind, not able to see clearly beyond 18 inches. Many people report marvelous improvement after lens replacement surgery, but some report a decline in vision.
Almost everyone’s eyesight declines with age. The medical term is “presbyopia,” literally “old man’s vision,” from the Greek “elder” (presbyter) + “eye” (ops). You could also call it “priest-eye,” which I’ve been developing since I was ordained 33 years ago. You see less with your eyes, but (hopefully) you see more with your mind. Blind philosophers feature prominently in Greek literature.
I thank the doctors for trying to help us “old men” and priests see better, but the (hopefully) temporary blindness has been hard to accept. I used to have eagle eyes, able to see distant objects with marvelous precision, but now I can only see one step in front of me. But blindness is good for me because now I have to learn to trust that God has a path laid out for me even though I can’t see it. I have to get used to not seeing everything clearly, which means I have to believe even though I can’t see. I have to believe that God is there, even though I can’t see Him.
In 1933, St. John Henry Newman got sick. He was then an Anglican priest touring Italy, disorientated in his religion, struggling to know whether God was a Protestant or a Catholic. The more Newman studied history and theology, the more he saw that Christianity was Catholic, upending his entire worldview. His trip to Italy was particularly confusing in that regard. He ended up in Sicily with no way to get back to England, and to cap it all he came down with some kind of violent fever. There he lay in sweat and agony, helpless and blind. It was from this experience that he wrote these lines:
Lead, Kindly Light, amidst th'encircling gloom,
Lead Thou me on!
The night is dark, and I am far from home,
Lead Thou me on!
Keep Thou my feet; I do not ask to see
The distant scene; one step enough for me.
I was not ever thus, nor prayed that Thou
Shouldst lead me on;
I loved to choose and see my path; but now
Lead Thou me on!
I loved the garish day, and, spite of fears,
Pride ruled my will. Remember not past years!
So long Thy power hath blest me, sure it still
Will lead me on.
O'er moor and fen, o'er crag and torrent, till
The night is gone,
And with the morn those angel faces smile,
Which I have loved long since, and lost awhile!
There comes a time in everyone’s life when we have to give up on trying to find our way. We have to accept our blindness and allow someone else to lead us. Since birth we have been “far from home,” but now we realize it, with no way to find our way back. When we were young, we loved to “choose and see our path,” but now … Lead Thou Me On.
Newman is a saint because he gave up. He surrendered, in loving trust, to God. Thanks be to God that I can still see enough to read (actually better than before—thanks Doc!). I reread Newman’s poem this morning with great consolation. Someday, I will not even see enough to read. When that outward darkness comes to me, I hope to remember Newman’s insight and the discernment of all the saints. I hope to still believe that So long Thy power hath blest me, sure it still will lead me on; and with the morn those angel faces smile.” I will not be able to see Him with my eyes, but I will know that He is there.
Almost everyone’s eyesight declines with age. The medical term is “presbyopia,” literally “old man’s vision,” from the Greek “elder” (presbyter) + “eye” (ops). You could also call it “priest-eye,” which I’ve been developing since I was ordained 33 years ago. You see less with your eyes, but (hopefully) you see more with your mind. Blind philosophers feature prominently in Greek literature.
I thank the doctors for trying to help us “old men” and priests see better, but the (hopefully) temporary blindness has been hard to accept. I used to have eagle eyes, able to see distant objects with marvelous precision, but now I can only see one step in front of me. But blindness is good for me because now I have to learn to trust that God has a path laid out for me even though I can’t see it. I have to get used to not seeing everything clearly, which means I have to believe even though I can’t see. I have to believe that God is there, even though I can’t see Him.
In 1933, St. John Henry Newman got sick. He was then an Anglican priest touring Italy, disorientated in his religion, struggling to know whether God was a Protestant or a Catholic. The more Newman studied history and theology, the more he saw that Christianity was Catholic, upending his entire worldview. His trip to Italy was particularly confusing in that regard. He ended up in Sicily with no way to get back to England, and to cap it all he came down with some kind of violent fever. There he lay in sweat and agony, helpless and blind. It was from this experience that he wrote these lines:
Lead, Kindly Light, amidst th'encircling gloom,
Lead Thou me on!
The night is dark, and I am far from home,
Lead Thou me on!
Keep Thou my feet; I do not ask to see
The distant scene; one step enough for me.
I was not ever thus, nor prayed that Thou
Shouldst lead me on;
I loved to choose and see my path; but now
Lead Thou me on!
I loved the garish day, and, spite of fears,
Pride ruled my will. Remember not past years!
So long Thy power hath blest me, sure it still
Will lead me on.
O'er moor and fen, o'er crag and torrent, till
The night is gone,
And with the morn those angel faces smile,
Which I have loved long since, and lost awhile!
There comes a time in everyone’s life when we have to give up on trying to find our way. We have to accept our blindness and allow someone else to lead us. Since birth we have been “far from home,” but now we realize it, with no way to find our way back. When we were young, we loved to “choose and see our path,” but now … Lead Thou Me On.
Newman is a saint because he gave up. He surrendered, in loving trust, to God. Thanks be to God that I can still see enough to read (actually better than before—thanks Doc!). I reread Newman’s poem this morning with great consolation. Someday, I will not even see enough to read. When that outward darkness comes to me, I hope to remember Newman’s insight and the discernment of all the saints. I hope to still believe that So long Thy power hath blest me, sure it still will lead me on; and with the morn those angel faces smile.” I will not be able to see Him with my eyes, but I will know that He is there.
John Henry Newman as an old priest.
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