The Healing of Our Gaze

The Healing of Our Gaze

Friday of the First Week of Advent 

Isaiah 29:17–24

The prophet announces a time of profound renewal: what is barren will become a fertile field, the deaf will hear the words of the book, and the eyes of the blind will see clearly. The oppressed and the poor will rejoice in the Lord, for God will overthrow the arrogant and bring justice to the innocent. On that day, the people will recognize God’s saving action, return to truth, and recover uprightness of heart.

Matthew 9:27–31

Two blind men follow Jesus, pleading for His mercy. Jesus asks whether they believe in His power, and when they profess their faith, He touches their eyes and heals them: “Let it be done for you according to your faith.” Although He instructs them to keep it quiet, they cannot contain their joy and spread the news of the miracle throughout the region.



Brothers and sisters, today the Word of God invites us to reflect on something profoundly human and deeply spiritual: our way of seeing. Isaiah announces a day when “the eyes of the blind shall see without darkness and gloom,” and in the Gospel Jesus touches the eyes of two men who cry out for mercy. But beyond the physical miracle, there is an interior miracle that Jesus desires to perform in each of us: the healing of our gaze.

Advent is a season of light; a time to honestly examine how we look at others—how we interpret their gestures, their silences, their reactions. Sometimes we see with our eyes, but not with our hearts. And when the heart does not enter into our way of seeing, our relationships suffer: we judge too quickly, we become rigid, we lose the ability to understand, and a quiet discouragement begins to cloud our vision.

In the Gospel, the two blind men cry out, “Son of David, have mercy on us.” Their plea is powerful because it rises from a humble awareness of their need. They do not explain themselves, justify themselves, or hide. They simply come before Jesus as they are. And Jesus stops. He always stops before human suffering. This is the first gaze He wants to heal in us: the gaze of compassion. The ability to see the pain before the flaw, to understand that behind a sharp word there may be a wound, that behind a harsh reaction there may be exhaustion, and that behind a complicated attitude there may be an unspoken sorrow. When Jesus heals our gaze, we stop condemning so quickly and begin to accompany more patiently.

But the Lord also wants to purify another dimension of our vision: the ability to see dignity. Isaiah announces that God will make “the oppressed rejoice again,” and that becomes possible because God does not look at His people through the lens of their failures, but through the dignity He has placed within them. This is how Jesus looks: He sees in Zacchaeus a disciple, not a thief; in Peter, a future rock, not a betrayer; and in the woman caught in adultery, He sees a daughter, not a scandal. We, however, often reduce people to their worst moment, their mistake, their complicated story. But the Christian gaze recognizes the image of God in every person—even when that image seems hidden or wounded. To look with dignity is to discover the deep worth of the other, even when their life does not yet reflect it clearly.

And finally, Jesus desires to give us the gaze of hope. Advent is the season that proclaims that God can transform what seems barren, lost, or impossible. The blind men in the Gospel could not see anything, but they believed. And Jesus tells them, “Let it be done for you according to your faith.” To look with hope is to trust that God is not finished with anyone, that a story can begin again, that a heart can change, that a life can be renewed. To look with hope means refusing to label, refusing to give up, refusing to close doors. It means seeing not only what a person is today, but what God may bring forth in them tomorrow.

Brothers and sisters, today Jesus also passes near us, and He desires to touch our eyes. Let us ask Him with sincerity: “Lord, heal my gaze.” Heal my gaze so that I may see with compassion the hidden pain of my brothers and sisters. Purify my gaze so that I may recognize the dignity You have placed in every person. Enlighten my gaze so that I may live with hope, trusting that Your grace can make all things new. And may this Advent not only prepare our hearts for Christmas, but renew the very way we look at the world—so that we may see it as He sees it: with love.

Amen.

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