The Light We Cannot See

One of the things I love most about the Orthodox Liturgy is how full it is. We don't just sit and watch something happen, we step into it with our whole selves. Every sense is invited to participate: we see the icons and the saints standing with us, we hear the hymns and the Gospel proclaimed, we smell the incense rising like our prayers, we touch the sign of the Cross and the hand of our neighbor, and we taste the Body and Blood of Christ. Orthodoxy doesn't treat God as an idea; He is Someone we encounter. And yet, even with all this beauty, the Gospel of John reminds us that seeing isn't always the same as understanding.

As we've been studying the Gospel of John, we've met people who stood right in front of Jesus, watched His miracles, heard His teaching, and still couldn't truly see Him. John says, "He has blinded their eyes and hardened their hearts, lest they should see with their eyes and understand with their heart, and turn, and I should heal them" (John 12:40). Their eyes worked, but their hearts struggled. Some were afraid, some proud, some worried about what others would think, and some simply weren't open to Him. I know what that feels like, and I don't think I'm alone. There are seasons when our own sight fades, when we can't see what God is doing or where our life is heading; and in those moments, God invites us to lean on the other senses of the soul.

When Sight Fades, Other Senses Awaken

During Bible Study, Josh shared a video that captured this beautifully. A young boy in a karate class was blindfolded, unaware that his father had stepped in as his opponent. He couldn't see a thing, that is until his dad spoke. The moment he heard that familiar voice, everything changed. When sight dims, hearing sharpens. In the same way, when we can't see what God is doing, we begin to hear Christ's voice in new ways — through Scripture, through prayer, and through the steady words of someone who loves us.

Touch can reveal what sight cannot as well. I had a day recently when my nervous system felt overwhelmed, and a trusted person simply reached out his hand. That one gentle touch helped my whole body begin to settle. Christ healed through touch many times, and He continues to heal us through the presence and kindness of others.

Taste also becomes a teacher. There are moments when we come to Communion hungry — not just physically, but spiritually — and with just a spoonful of Christ, something inside us shifts. And beyond all the physical senses, the Fathers speak of the nous, the inner eye of the heart. When sight is dim and the path unclear, this deeper awareness wakes up. We begin to sense what is of God and what is not. It's as if a quiet peace says "yes," or a gentle restlessness that says "not yet." It is the heart learning to recognize the presence of Christ.

Light Blindness, Time Blindness, and Learning to Trust

There are forms of blindness that have nothing to do with our eyes. Sometimes the truth is simply too bright, and we turn away because maybe we're overwhelmed. God doesn't shame us for squinting; He increases the light slowly, as we can bear it. And sometimes we lose our sense of time (I do this daily). We feel behind, rushed, stuck, or late, but God is never confused about the season we're in. Time blindness teaches us to trust His timing more than our own, to act when He nudges, to wait when He is silent, to rest when He closes a door, and to move when He opens one.

When our sight fails, God is not absent. He is teaching us to perceive Him in new ways. Blindness happens to everyone. Blindness is a place where humility grows, compassion deepens, and trust matures. We walk by faith, not by sight, not because sight is bad, but because sight is not yet complete.

The next time you attend Liturgy, remember that God has given us this beautiful service that reaches us through all our senses just in case one of them is tired or weak. If sight dims, hearing awakens. If hearing falters, touch deepens. If touch is numb, the heart begins to perceive. If the heart is clouded, community surrounds us. If the community is absent, Scripture speaks. And if Scripture feels silent, Christ Himself holds us.

We are never without a way to perceive God. Never without guidance. Never without connection. Never without light — even when we cannot see it.

With Love in Christ,

Maria

---

 Originally published in the Holy Apostles E-bulletin. Subscribe here.