The crowd wants Bartimaeus to shut up, but he refuses and shouts out all the more insistently, “Son of David, have pity on me!” My sisters and brothers, Bartimaeus may be blind, but he has clear insight - for he calls Jesus, Son of David, thus acknowledging Jesus’ royal lineage, and he knows what he wants, as he shouts out his confidence in the One he is sure can heal him.
Truth is Bartimaeus had grown accustomed to the sidelines, accustomed to ridicule; being shunned and looked upon with pity and derision. His blindness, after all, revealed that he or a member of his family had done something really bad. Sickness, deafness, blindness were after all, the direct consequence of sin; everybody knew that; all decent Jews in Jesus’ day believed it. It had to be someone’s fault. Bartimaeus is trapped. Case closed. Dead end. But today Jesus, Son of David has come to break the barrier with his mercy.
For Jesus is magnetized by the urgency of Bartimaeus’ pleading; he draws near, and with great authority and majesty he stands still and commands that the blind man be brought to him. Bartimaeus the blind immediately throws off his cloak, for he is eager to leave his old life behind. And he rushes toward the Lord, probably stumbling, his hands feeling the air. And then almost comically Jesus asks him, “What do you want me to do for you?” Why else would this man be crying out to you, Lord? Jesus wants to hear Bartimaeus speak his desire. And so two desires meet. For Jesus has been longing to encounter Bartimaeus. He always makes the first move.
“Master, I want to see,” says Bartimaeus. And immediately his eyes are opened. Then and there, all of Bartimaeus’ expectations are surpassed beyond all telling. A seemingly generic desire to see becomes, through Jesus’ desire to heal and console, a great epiphany. For Bartimaeus’ first sight is the blessed face of Jesus. Bartimaeus sees the Beauty of God there before him. “How truly blessed are your eyes, O Bartimaeus, because they see. Truly, many prophets and righteous people for ages upon ages have longed to see what you are seeing but did not see it.” And having asked only to see, even better, Bartimaeus sees that he is seen, he sees that he is seen, looked upon with love by the Lord Jesus. And the beauty of this vision, the ecstasy of the encounter transform him.
For the Promised One of God is present. God’s reign of compassion has begun. The healing of this once blind man signals God’s open welcome to all the sick and the marginalized and the inauguration of the kingdom. The people, this one man, who walked in darkness for far too long have at last seen a great Light. And so this once-blind beggar will now follow Jesus on the way; this is ultimately the way to Jerusalem where Jesus will be tortured and crucified. And it seems Bartimaeus wants nothing more.
As Jesus himself declares to Bartimaeus this morning, “Your faith has saved you.” Our faith will save us too, faith articulated in desire, urgently expressed. For our need, our poverty make Christ Jesus happy, not because he wants us to feel bad, but because they will allow him to save us. The admission of our need is an act of faith in him whose delight is to give himself away to us. Like Bartimaeus we are often so blind. For which one of us sees enough, sees clearly enough?
We need faith to see and notice more and more the thinness of reality – thinness for that the Lord always here, drawing near, his beauty hidden behind and within ordinariness. Jesus has come to search for us endlessly. Eternity is always interrupting. And ordinary things - the beauty, the sorrow in human experience and in all of creation - beckon us to draw near to him, who is constantly seeking opportunities to engage us. For from “the very beginning God's intent was nothing other than this world,” a world that he longs to heal, transform and sanctify more and more.
He longs to open the eyes of our hearts so that we see that there is more, always more- God’s beauty thinly veiled but truly present, precious things right in front of our eyes if we dare to notice. For the relentless, loving gaze of the beautiful Lord Jesus is upon us always. We need courage and faith to bear the disconcerting, relentless magnitude of it. We are seen, we are heard.
One last thing. You know, several years ago a friend spent a summer ministering in a village in Bavaria. The feast of Corpus Christi came. There was a procession through the streets, he carried the monstrance with the sacred Host. Little girls tossed flowers, there were hymns and clouds of incense. The next morning a young reporter from the local newspaper came to interview him. “Father,” he said. “Why were you carrying that little mirror through the streets yesterday?” Mirror? My friend had to explain. Not a mirror at all. On second thought, perhaps a Mirror indeed. What did that German newspaperman know that perhaps we’ve forgotten? The beautiful, very fragile Bread we are to receive, is a mirror indeed in which we can see our own Beauty in Him, and the beauty of one another if we dare to gaze at Him gazing at us. What do you want? Who do you want? If we want him, want his presence, we must know that he wants this Holy Communion with us more than we can imagine.
