Vision and blindness

Christ Church and St Mary’s, 29th October 2000

 

Mark 10:46-52

Jeremiah 31: 7-9

 

You might have heard of me.  The name's Bartimaeus, or son of Timaeus.  Mark, the Mark I've known for years now, has recorded my story in his Gospel of Jesus.  And even Matthew has me in there.  If you were wondering why I am so prominent, now you know.  Recorded for posterity.  The last of Jesus' miracles before his death.  Well, I am getting to be an old man now, and one day my eyes shall be shut again.  So I thought before I leave you I thought I'd paint my side of the story.  I used to beg for money, but now I beg for your indulgence.

 

I've often heard it said without vision the people perish.  Well I was perishing.  I was lost in my own world of darkness.  Nowadays at least people with an affliction are helped to cope with life-they are given things which can compensate for their difficulties.  I had nothing.  Yes, you say, but you had your other senses.  Sure, I could hear well enough.  I could hear the insults, the jokes, the whisperings.  And I could feel.  I could feel the elbows pushing me out of the way.  I could feel the dirt under my head as I lay asleep at night.  I could feel the stones of the wall against my back as I sat year after year at the mercy of the crowd.  I could taste, taste the scraps which were thrown at me as I tried to fend off the dogs who competed with me for my food.  And I could certainly smell-smell the dust of the road, the smell of my own body covered with the dirt of the city. 

 

The worst thing was the loneliness.  I was the blind one, but soon everyone became blind to me.  They didn't want to see.

 

I had faith in those days.  I believed one day God would bring us back to be his people in his land.  None of this feeling guests in your own country.  I was waiting for the king to come.  Our prophet Jeremiah had said God would bring us together, the blind and the lame, that he would lead us back in straight paths, believe me I know about straight paths, and that he would be our father.  I knew all this, and it kept me going, though God knows how.  But it's one thing to have a hope that is written in the history books, it's another thing to know it in your bones, for it to be part of you, for it to turn your darkness into light.

 

Fifteen miles out of Jerusalem I was.  Sitting on the main road.  It was packed I tell you.  All those people heading off for Passover.  We had 20,000 priests in Jericho.  And they all were on their way.  Of course by law everyone had to go to Jerusalem, but they couldn't have fitted in so they just did their bit by standing at the side of the road watching the other pilgrims pass.  I was getting kicked by kids, told to get out of the way, spat on even.  So often the faithful are sidelined.  But even when I was pushed to one side, I knew what I was listening for.  And I heard it.  My hearing is better than most.

 

They say kings are announced with blasts of trumpets.  This one just had the chatter of a crowd around him.  It's funny the way different people reacted - some started gossiping about him all around me, others were just a bit curious to take a look, but me, I was desperate.  You might have been a bit embarrassed at the noise I made.  There was something a bit manic about it.  But I knew that unless I made a spectacle of myself, I would miss my chance.  People told me to shut up.  They still do when I mention his name.  There is something about his name that makes all the difference.  You can talk about spirituality or religion or even God sometimes, but as soon as you mention his name, well that's a different thing.  In fact, I have found since that following him often makes me feel like I'm making a spectacle of myself.  But what else can you do?

 

Anyway, I got up without a clue how to get through the crowd.  My blooming cloak got stuck around my ankles.  So I had to take it off in order not to get left behind.  That's another thing about following him, stupid things tend to get in the way and hold you back.  Maybe not your clothes, but sometimes just little voices in your head telling you to stop being so serious, so committed.  You just have to kick them off. 

 

Anyway, I just leapt at him.  I might have got hurt, but that was a risk I was willing to take.  And do you know what he asked me?  "What do you want me to do for you?"  Hadn't he noticed?  Maybe he was blind as well? 

 

Or maybe he saw me deeper than I realised at the time.  Yes, I wanted to see.  And he'd been the one who said he had come to open the eyes of the blind, like Isaiah had prophesied.  All his miracles I'd heard about had not just been adverts for his message, but signs that God was bringing his life into the real world.  Into the physical things that he had made.  This was the beginning of the promise of a healed world, and everything I have seen since shows me that God still wants that to happen.  So yes, I wanted to be healed. 

 

But he knew that I wanted more than that.  I wanted to see one thing most of all.  And that was his face.  I've found out since that you can have all your senses and you can see the most beautiful things imaginable.  But there is something about seeing him looking at you, knowing you, understanding you that makes all the best gifts of life add up.  When he opened my eyes I fell over with the colour and the light.  But the thing that I first focused on was his face.

 

And his face has been what I have followed since.  Of course, as I look back now, I know that I had got him wrong in so many ways.  I had called him the Son of David, thinking that he was going to get rid of the Romans.  But he doesn't slap me down for not getting the whole picture all the time.  I'm no theologian.  I've got both my eyes working fine, but as I was saying to Paul the other day, even now I feel like I see through a glass darkly sometimes, and I am looking forward to seeing him face to face again.  Good phrase, he said, I'll use that. 

 

It's funny, it was faith that opened my eyes, but so often people accuse me of having blind faith.  I don't know what other kind of faith you can have.  After all, there are some good things about being blind.  It means you have to reach out, it means you have to take the hand that is there even when you can't see it, it means you have to trust that it is going to lead you in straight paths. 

 

Vision and blindness.  Jesus gave me both.

 

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