Today from Mark we have a story about an encounter between Jesus and a poor blind man called Bartimaeus who was seeking a cure for his blindness. The day of that encounter started out like any other day. The sun came up. The birds began to sing. And as the day began to unfold, so the people of Jericho began to unwrap from their sleep to engage in their ordinary routines. They were going to do the things that ordinary people ordinarily do–to eat, to laugh, and to work, get tired and sleep. Yes–it was a day that was like any other day.
And yet, it was also a day that was unlike any other day. The sun that did come up, though clearly seen by thousands in Jericho remained unseen to the blind Bartimaeus. Begging was all he could do to survive. And as the people passed, the most of them who could see, pretended not to see. But the best of them would share at the least the fringes of their living.
So this day that was like any other day, was also unlike any other day, because on this day, a man unlike any other man the people there had known was on his way to Jericho. His name was Jesus, whose name was spoken more and more among the people as being wonderful, a friend of all, with speech like God, a king without an army–a prince of peace.
As Bartimaeus sat beside the street and heard that this Jesus was coming he felt a tingle on the inside passing up and down between his chest and stomach, a flow of inner energy pulsing between the poles of fear and hope. He had heard of this Jesus and his deeds; how a man from another city who had been blind since birth had had his eyes opened to perfect sight. And they said that in another town a little girl had died–just twelve years old. But her life was given back with a simple touch.
It was true, of course, that many reputed healers, in that day, and some, no doubt. were frauds. But today, for some reason, he felt differently. Perhaps it was because, despite his wariness, he had never allowed to die the inner hope that someday he might see again. His friends, no doubt with kindness, had sought to quell that hope by words they spoke or failed to speak. And he, for his part, had heard their message clearly and made his own peace with the possibility that he might always remain blind. But he never allowed that inner hope to die.
And so as the crowds began to grow, that inner tingle grew as well. His excitement was fed by the wondrous things he heard about this Jesus. When people spoke about this man there was a sense of wonder, a peacefulness that words cannot describe. It was as if in the presence of this man there was magnificence and majesty that words could only lessen but (that) time seemed to magnify. It was as if in the presence of this man there was a kind of underlying power that was so strong it didn’t seem to even need itself. It was as if in the presence of this man nothing could go wrong and even what seemed to go wrong was only part of making things go right, such that death itself could now be met with strength and even joy. The miracle of mended limbs and opened eyes was miracle enough. But this–what was this strange new show of life?
After Bartimaeus came early to his accustomed spot beside the road, the crowd soon grew in size and noise and sweat. The people argued about who Jesus was and what he taught. They exchanged stories of what they had seen or heard about this worker of wonders.
The hours seemed like days to Bartimaeus. But finally as the morning turned to noon, the word began to spread like fire in the brush: ‘He’s coming–Jesus is coming.’ And soon shouts and cries erupted that the moment had arrived. The man from Nazareth was coming and soon would pass his spot.
To Bartimaeus it was as if for all his blindness, he could already see him, if only through the raw energies of those around. It was as if sight unseen on the very road before him was not just a person but a Presence; a presence with a radiating vitality stronger than the strongest summer sun.
And now the shouts and cries announced that Jesus was right there. Suddenly, Bartimaeus began to shout at the top of his lungs, ‘Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me.’ As he called out, even Bartimaeus himself was only half aware of his own shouting, as he allowed his deepest yearnings the freedom to stretch out every nerve toward their last best hope. The people around him tried to silence him. But he would not BE silenced. ‘Jesus, Son of David,’, once again he cried, ‘have mercy on me, I beg you.’
And then, even as those around rebuked, Jesus stopped. This was not a man in the business of silencing people. He turned to look at the ragged Bartimaeus. And suddenly, there came a kind of hush across the crowd. And now even more than before, the blind man could feel that Presence, as pervasive as only silence has when truly heard.
Then came the voice, that rich, marvelous voice. ‘Call him to me.’ Throwing off his cloak, Bartimaeus leapt to his feet. How much kindness there was in that voice as it gently asked, ‘What do you want me to do for you?’ What do I want, he wondered to himself. He cares about what I want. And then he said, ‘Master my sight. O Master, just my sight. With all that is in me I beg you for my sight.’
And suddenly, he felt those hands upon his head, their fingers strong and sure probing on those eyeballs long since dead of sight, pressing them, massaging them. And as his fingers moved, softly he spoke, ‘As you have trusted it to be, my child, so now it is. Enjoy again the miracle of sight.’
As you have trusted. Yes, Bartimaeus had kept alive in his heart of hearts that someday, somehow, his eyes might see again. And now, see they did. It was all so blurred at first–and painful as when long darkness turns into a flash of light. The people first appeared like moving trees. But soon it all came clear: the people crowding around with wonder in their eyes; the glorious blueness of the sky; and then overwhelmingly, the face, the face of this master, with a gaze unlike any other gaze. It was as if as he looked in the wideness of those eyes, he was looking not just into a human soul, but into the very soul of Life Itself, a soul which said without a single sound, ‘Here you are at home and will always be.’ And as he opened himself to that gaze, he felt now without a single touch as once he felt when nestled in his mother’s arms. Then, simply, Jesus touched him and said, ‘Peace, my child, may our God be with you,’ then quickly slipped away.
It was all so brief. The few words spoken, the loving look and touch, they lasted but a few moments. And yet, to Bartimaeus, it seemed those few spare moments were as long as the decades of his blindness.
He had yearned for years to see, and now he had received not only sight but more than that life as well, the life that came from knowing he was loved, not just by this one life, but by the everlasting arms of Life Itself.
And now, as that moment changed to memory, he learned that his eyes were opened not alone to see but also to weep, to unloose the rivers of the pain and love he kept so tightly bound within him all those years. And AS he wept, he was only half aware of his own sobbing as he gave those deepest sighings of his soul the freedom to stretch out every nerve toward their release. Now there were other arms around him, human arms to comfort and assist, to weep and laugh with him, and help rebuild a life.
And then, after time, life just went on: the same, but different; new now but ever old. And indeed after time, the years took their normal toll on Bartimaeus. His body slowed, and finally even his eyes once again grew dim, and poor in sight.
But it didn’t matter now. It was only for a time, one brief bend in the river. But he now knew that whatever happened to his eyes he would always see; whatever happened to his life, he would always live.
Yes, that day had been a day like any other day. The sun came up, the birds began to sing. And yet, it was a day that was unlike any other day. Because on that day, Bartimaeus came to meet the Presence, a presence as pervasive as only silence has when heard. He had yearned for years to see. But now he had received both sight and life, the life that came from knowing he was loved not just by that one life but by the everlasting arms of Life Itself.
May we also have our inner spiritual sight opened more and more to see the grace and glory of the living God. May it be richly so for today and for always. Amen.
