Thirtieth Sunday in Ordinary Time

“Master, I want to see.” Mk. 10:51

Blindness.

Perhaps no other theme haunts the Gospels more than blindness. It appears again and again in story after story.

Recently, an archbishop who was in his own words blinded by a form of clericalism at one time in his career was canonized by a Pope who himself recovered from a form of clerical blindness.

Pope Francis has declared Oscar Romero a saint. The Salvadoran archbishop murdered at the altar, in the manner of England’s Thomas Becket , was for years a priest and a bishop blinded by the clerical culture of his time. Romero began his career as a critic of the cries for social justice in El Salvador. He was essentially  blind to the appalling circumstances plaguing the poor and was instead more comfortable serving the needs of the wealthy landowners – as were the overwhelming majority of the clergy in El Salvador.

And then a Jesuit priest friend of his who was attempting to organize sugar cane workers in El Salvador was slaughtered. This outrageous event opened Romero’s eyes. Like the blind man in today’s Gospel, he could see – in a whole new way! He was changed … transformed … renewed.

Romero returned to El Salvador after the funeral of his dear priest friend and vowed that this horrific killing had to be dealt with. From that moment forward he condemned the “social sin” perpetuated by the Salvadoran government and its ruling class and became an outspoken supporter of human rights. He knew that his resistance put him at terrible risk, but he refused to hire a bodyguard or wear a bulletproof vest.

On Sunday, March 13, 1980, in an hour-long homily broadcast across Central America, Romero begged the military regime to “stop the repression!” As he finished, he stepped towards the center of the altar and was shot through the heart by a gunman.

Pope Francis is another man whose clerical blindness was similarly healed. He has also suffered severe criticism for his outspoken support for the disadvantaged.

As a result, he has consistently emphasized this same motif in his efforts to  call our attention to the reality of living at a time in which we’re in the midst of a “world war … being fought in piecemeal fashion,” with all the horrible family life disruptions and terrors that involves.

“Master, I want to see.”

Bartimaeus, the blind beggar who sits by the side of the road in today’s gospel, represents millions of marginalized people through the centuries who have cried out to be seen – only to be dismissed again and again and again. Mark’s Bartimaeus, however, like Saint Oscar Romero and Pope Francis, will not be silenced.

Bartimaeus demands to be heard. He shouts. And when drowned out by other bystanders who are trying to quiet him, he shouts out even louder:

“Son of David, have mercy on me!”

Suddenly Jesus “stood still.” He gives the blind beggar his full attention. Jesus  doesn’t mind being interrupted. Actually it’s almost as though the God Jesus presents to us is One who is always on the lookout for unanticipated human need, and unscripted cries of misery – a God who moves mercifully in the midst of those on the side of the road with Bartimaeus – a God who is truly the “hound of heaven.”

But what touches me the most in reading this gospel story is what Jesus does next. He asks a question:

“What do you want me to do for you?”

I suggest this is a question Jesus asks each of us:

“What do you want me to do … for you?”

What’s most important in all the world to you? What do you most need in your life? What do you most long for?

What would you ask for if you were Bartimaeus in this story?

Bartimaeus, probably unlike us, doesn’t hesitate to answer Jesus’ question: “Master, that I may see.”

But it isn’t just a physical healing Bartimaeus wants. He wants to go deeper. He wants a new perspective on life. He wants a new way to view what will truly transform him, change him, and introduce him to a new way of living.

How do we know this? Because right after Jesus heals his blindness he tells Bartimaeus: “Go your way.” Jesus in effect dismisses him. But again Bartimaeus refuses to be sent off. Instead, the gospel tells us, he “followed Jesus on the way.”

Bartimaeus became a follower, a disciple – the central theme of all the gospels. In Mark alone, the verb for “following” Jesus is so important it appears eighteen times.

So now it’s our turn.

“What do you want me to do for you?”

Jesus asks each one of us:

What will it take to calm your fears, relieve your depression, bring a sense of peace to the deepest parts of your soul?

What is it that is most dear, most treasured for you?

The late Malcolm Muggeridge, a sophisticated British intellectual who lived a life free of faith, tells this story of his meeting Mother Teresa:

“Suddenly,” he said, “almost with a click, like a film coming into sync, everything took on a new meaning, everything became more real; and the meaning, the reality, shines out in every shape and sound and movement, in each and every manifestation of life….How, I ask myself, could I have missed it before? How could I not have understood that the grey-silver light across the water, the cry of the sea gulls and the sweep of their wings, everything on which my eyes rest and my ears hear, is telling me about God?”

Or as John Newton, the former slave trader, described his total transformation: “I once was blind, but now I see.”

Blind eyes can see. Deaf ears can hear. Closed hearts can become compassionate.

That’s the story of today’s gospel, and of all the gospels. It’s just a matter of  digging way down deep inside our own hearts and answering Jesus’ question with the same bravado that Bartimaeus and St. Oscar Romero and Pope Francis displayed:

“Master, I want to see.”

Ted Wolgamot, Psy.D.