“That the Works of God Should Be Made Manifest”

Blindness is a theme throughout the scriptures. In the Gospels, some of the most remarkable miracles performed by the Savior involve the restoration of sight to the blind.

Why do we find these stories so compelling? Blindness is a serious physical limitation that is relatively easy to notice in others because of the impact it has on how a person moves about the world and how they perform simple tasks. Furthermore, for many sighted people, the prospect of losing vision is frightening, calling into question how they would navigate many daily situations. If a blind man received his sight, it would immediately and dramatically change his life; it would be a great miracle that would be undeniable to him, to those around him, and to all those who later heard the story.

Culturally, we think of vision as the primary way we get information about what is real and what is not. We have cliches such as “Seeing is believing” and “I saw it with my own eyes” to indicate the almost irrefutable nature of visual data.

Vision and blindness also have symbolic significance. We use the phrase “I see” to mean “I understand.” In the spiritual realm, we talk about seeing “things as they really are”¹ and “see[ing] as [we] are seen.”² We make a symbolic connection between vision and the ability to perceive the world and ourselves accurately, as God does. In that context, blindness is symbolic of the inability to perceive or the refusal to acknowledge the works of God.

In the Bible, one of the longest passages about physical and spiritual blindness is the story of the man born blind, which is found in chapter 9 of the Gospel of John. If the story seems unusually familiar, it might be in part because it was the narrative thread that ran through President Jeffrey R. Holland’s very last general conference talk in October 2025.³

The skeleton of the story seems rather simple. Jesus meets a man who was born blind. He anoints the man’s eyes with a mixture of clay and spit and tells him to wash. The man’s sight is restored. He goes to his religious leaders, who are both skeptical of the miracle and critical of Jesus’s actions.

Today I want to discuss this story in more detail, suggesting some questions we might each ask ourselves about our own spiritual vision.

My Experience with Blindness

Before I do this, I want to explain why these themes of vision and blindness are so intriguing to me personally. In October 1981, I was in the second grade. Our teacher asked us to do a Halloween art project that involved making a scene of a haunted house out of construction paper. She had the sample on the board at the front of the room. My desk was in the back. I realized that day that I could no longer see the board.

My parents took me to an optometrist to get glasses. I found this development to be distressing because as a young child I had been inexplicably afraid of people with glasses.

The optometrist tried to find lenses to correct my vision, but the correction wasn’t going to be very good, so I went to ophthalmologists at a place called the Eye Institute in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, near where I lived. My parents ordered glasses with the best correction possible, but when they arrived in a week or two, my vision had already changed enough that the glasses didn’t help. We spent many late afternoons at the Eye Institute; we did many tests, saw many doctors, and heard many possible diagnoses.

Eventually I was diagnosed with Stargardt disease, a congenital condition in which the central part of the retina deteriorates. As is common with the disease, my peripheral vision was left largely intact, but because central vision is the high-acuity vision used to perceive detail, I am legally blind with a large blind spot in the center of my field of vision.

What is my daily experience like? I have a hard time recognizing people by sight. Sometimes I decide to do the socially acceptable thing and point my eyes in the direction of someone’s face so it seems that I am looking at them. If I don’t do that, I appear to look at people out of the corner of my eye. I see them better this way because I am using my peripheral vision. I read and write using a video magnifier. My face is about a foot from the screen and the letters are an inch high. I have a large monitor for my computer. I walk around campus and town more or less comfortably, but I have started to carry a white cane sometimes to let drivers know that they can’t rely on my eyes for help at an intersection.

But I live a great life. I love my husband and my children, and I can see them up close. I like figure skating, bike riding, crocheting, and other hobbies that might sound visual. I enjoy math, and I absolutely love to teach. My vision has changed how I do some things but hasn’t fundamentally changed what I do.

Because of this history, scriptural stories about physical blindness and healing touch me deeply, and I find vision and blindness to be powerful symbols because they are relatable to me.

The Savior’s Healing Miracles

So what can we learn from the story of the man born blind?

First, we learn an important lesson about the purpose of our trials and afflictions. The story begins with the disciples asking:

Master, who did sin, this man, or his parents, that he was born blind?

Jesus answered, Neither hath this man sinned, nor his parents: but that the works of God should be made manifest in him.

I must work the works of him that sent me.⁴

Do we read the disciples’ question and shake our heads, thinking that we now know so much about the biological mechanisms underlying various afflictions that it is foolish to think of them as punishments from God for our sins? Or do we recognize some variation of this misconception in ourselves when we wonder whether we are “good enough” to deserve God’s help in dealing with our own physical, mental, or spiritual afflictions? Do we view our trials as opportunities to see God’s hand in our lives—His power, His mercy, His love—or do we sometimes just feel afflicted and abandoned by God? Do we ask how the works of God are made manifest in us through our afflictions?

How were the works of God made manifest in the man born blind? When we consider this question, perhaps it seems that we’re in one of those delightful situations in the Testing Center when we read an exam question and mentally exclaim with relief, “I know this!” The man in the story was blind since birth, and Jesus restored his sight: works of God made manifest.

Although I would not suggest that this answer is incorrect, could there be more?

Chapter 1 of the book of Moses includes an interesting statement from God about what He considers to be His work: “For behold, this is my work and my glory—to bring to pass the immortality and eternal life of man.”⁵

How do the healing miracles the Savior performed during His ministry advance this work? To begin with, they help us to understand His character. We are charged with becoming like Him. In large part, this transformation comes about through His grace, not through our own efforts. Our contribution to the process is to use our agency to choose to exercise faith in Him and to repent. But to exercise real faith requires that we understand the true nature and attributes of our Father and our Savior.

One of the most profound truths that any of us can learn is that our Father and our Savior act out of pure and perfect love for us. Many of the scriptural accounts of the Savior’s healing miracles focus on this love and compassion. For example, we have the following beautiful account describing the end of the first day of the Savior’s visit to the Nephites at the temple in Bountiful:

And it came to pass that when Jesus had thus spoken, he cast his eyes round about again on the multitude, and beheld they were in tears, and did look steadfastly upon him as if they would ask him to tarry a little longer with them.

And he said unto them: Behold, my bowels are filled with compassion towards you.

Have ye any that are sick among you? Bring them hither. Have ye any that are lame, or blind, or halt, or maimed, or leprous, or that are withered, or that are deaf, or that are afflicted in any manner? Bring them hither and I will heal them, for I have compassion upon you; my bowels are filled with mercy.⁶

Our Savior “descended below all things”⁷ that He might understand perfectly all of the difficult circumstances we experience and that He might know how to comfort and bless us. Even though our mortal afflictions are only temporary conditions, He understands that while we are experiencing them, they don’t feel small or temporary. He is willing to stay by our side through them and, at times, to relieve us of these burdens.

But Jesus also makes the connection between His ability to heal us physically and His ability to heal us spiritually. Consider this story in chapter 9 of Matthew:

And, behold, they brought to him a man sick of the palsy, lying on a bed: and Jesus seeing their faith said unto the sick of the palsy; Son, be of good cheer; thy sins be forgiven thee.

And, behold, certain of the scribes said within themselves, This man blasphemeth.

And Jesus knowing their thoughts said, Wherefore think ye evil in your hearts?

For whether is easier, to say, Thy sins be forgiven thee; or to say, Arise, and walk?

But that ye may know that the Son of man hath power on earth to forgive sins, (then saith he to the sick of the palsy,) Arise, take up thy bed, and go unto thine house.

And he arose, and departed to his house.⁸

This healing was in no small part an act of love and compassion toward a sick man, which certainly changed the man’s mortal experience. But Jesus also intended that we would see His very tangible act of physical healing as indicative of the less tangible power He has to forgive us of our sins. The latter is arguably the greater gift; we all come forth in the Resurrection physically perfect. But we can only stand before our God spiritually whole through the infinite mercy of our Savior. It is this miraculous spiritual healing that we need most.

The story in John about the man born blind is also about both physical and spiritual healing. Yes, the blind man is the one who needs and receives physical healing. But interestingly, he is also the only one in the story with clear spiritual vision.

Much of the story is about the reaction of the Pharisees to Jesus’s miracle. First, they try not to see it at all, imagining that the sighted man before them is not, in fact, the same as the blind beggar they once knew. When his own parents dispel this notion, the Pharisees try to argue that the healing can’t have been from God because Jesus is a sinner, breaking the Sabbath with His healing act. They question the man repeatedly while he reports the same clear, simple facts: “He answered and said, Whether he be a sinner or no, I know not: one thing I know, that, whereas I was blind, now I see.”⁹

Even the disciples need a bit of correction of their spiritual vision. After all, the story begins with their assumption that the man’s affliction is the result of someone’s sin—a sentiment that was also put forth by the Pharisees. Even setting aside the fact that he was miraculously helped, the works of God are made manifest in the man born blind who nevertheless sees and accepts Jesus for who He is and worships Him. The knowledge the man gained that day of his Savior was certainly of more eternal worth than the temporal miracle wrought in his life.

The Restoration of My Spiritual Vision

How are the works of God made manifest in our lives?

Returning to my personal story, it has not escaped my notice that the nature of my physical blindness matches with startling accuracy the kind of spiritual blindness I experienced for 20 years of my adult life. I was not born into this church; I grew up in a Catholic family in Wisconsin that was sometimes practicing and sometimes not. I strove in my teens and early college years to be faithful, but the pull of the secular academic world was strong, and I decided at age 20 that rational academics shouldn’t believe in God. I lived as an atheist for 20 years.

During that time, I had reasonable “peripheral vision”—I was a clear, critical thinker with a strong sense of ethics and a desire to live a good life. But what should have been at the center of my visual field was missing. I couldn’t see Christ. It took sinking very low while in my late 30s to force me to humble myself to turn back to a God who I wasn’t even sure existed and to ask for help.

My early prayers were very simple. I acknowledged that apparently I didn’t know what I needed to be happy. I asked for clarity, for peace, and for the right things to happen in my life, even if they weren’t the things I thought I wanted. I simply asked that I would eventually be able to look back and see that the right things had happened. I now realize that I was following the prescription in chapter 32 of Alma—I was exercising “a particle of faith.” At that point I was at the stage in which I merely desired to believe, but I let that desire work in me.¹⁰

It is a strong part of my testimony that God is waiting for us to turn to Him and that He will respond to us even if our faith is small. I did start to feel more peace and more clarity. Then, slowly at first, God started to restore my spiritual vision. I started to see purpose in events in my life that I would have previously labeled as coincidences.

I met Curtis, the man who became my husband. When we met, I was still an atheist, and he declared himself to be a Latter-day Saint. I almost didn’t go out with him for that reason, but I decided that if he didn’t mind that I was an atheist, I wasn’t going to be the narrow-minded one. I had no intention of joining the Church, but as I came to care more about Curtis, I wanted to be supportive of his intention to be active in the Church. I knew I couldn’t support him if I didn’t understand his beliefs, so I decided that I should go to church with him and that I should read the Book of Mormon.

So one weekend when I traveled from Missoula, Montana, to Boise, Idaho, to see Curtis, I went to my first sacrament meeting. Aside from the occasional wedding or funeral, I had not been in a church for about 20 years. I admit that I was pretty nervous and didn’t know what to expect. I certainly didn’t expect what happened.

The talks that day were all about baptism for the dead. As a young person, I had struggled to understand how a just and loving God could deny salvation to those who didn’t find the right church in this life. It didn’t seem fair. The doctrine I heard in that first sacrament meeting was simple and perfect—of course our Father would give all His children the same opportunity to choose Him, regardless of the circumstances of their birth. I knew it was true.

I cried through that sacrament meeting for reasons I did not understand, and when we left, the first thing I said in the car was, “Why did I think I was an atheist?” I knew I had been wrong. I had spent years explaining away real spiritual feelings from God.

I went home and started to read the Book of Mormon. As I sat down, I thought, “I have read so many books in my life. I’ve been in school for so long. I’ve studied logic, the scientific method, psychology, and history. How could I ever read a book of scripture and think it came from God?”

But that is exactly what happened. Within the first few pages, I saw that this was a true record of a people who saw the coming of Christ 600 years before it happened and who had preserved this knowledge precisely for the purpose of bringing people like me to Christ.

I found the Church meetinghouse in Missoula the next Sunday, and when the bishop asked me if I needed anything, I said the five words any bishop most wants to hear: “Do you have some missionaries?”

I felt God’s call back to Him so undeniably that I set a baptism date that evening during my first lesson, despite the fact that I had been to church exactly twice and had only read a part of the first book of Nephi.

Now I clearly see my Savior in the center of my spiritual visual field. Could He one day restore my physical sight? Undoubtedly. And if He does, I could have 20 to 40 years at the end of my mortal life during which I could read and drive and easily see the faces of my students, my friends, and my family. Were that to happen, I would happily tell the story for the rest of my life as an example of a manifestation of His power. But even then I should testify even more boldly of the greater way in which the works of God have been made manifest in my life with His restoration of my spiritual vision.

I am a witness of Jesus Christ and of His power. I testify that He loves us with a depth and intensity for which there are no words. I pray that you will feel His power in your life and that you will see the ways in which His works are made manifest in you. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

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