Mark 10:46-52 (NRSV)

“Grandfather, tell us again. Tell us again how you became a Follower of the Way!”

He had no idea why his grandchildren thought it was such a wonderful story, a story that they loved to hear more than any other, but he was glad that they did. And so the ritual began.

It began a very long time ago, when your mother was just a baby. I was a brick layer. I built fine houses for rich people. You can still see some of them near the center of town. Who knows, they may last forever!

But one day an accident happened, and I lost my sight.

He never told them what the accident was. It didn’t seem important.

Because I couldn’t see, I couldn’t work. And because I couldn’t work, all I could do was beg.

No matter how many times he told the story, he always paused at this point. The memory of that first day as a beggar … it always came back with a pain that his grandchildren could see in his eyes and feel in his touch.

He had always been strong and healthy, working hard, taking care of his family—his wife and his baby daughter. Even as a young boy he had worked to help support his parents and younger brother. He was proud of the work he did, proud of his accomplishments, proud of what he had built. But a beggar has no pride. How does a self-sufficient man lose his pride overnight?

It was more than a blow to his pride. The Temple, worshipping in the Temple, that was lost along with his eyes. Now that he was disabled, he could no longer offer his sacrifice at the regular festivals. He could no longer enter the Temple, only the Temple grounds, outside with the women and the Gentiles.

But the deepest wound, even deeper than the gashes in his eyes, was what he thought to be the real reason behind his blindness. The accident that caused him to lose his sight had to be the result of something he had done, something for which God was punishing him. Everyone knew that God protected the good and punished the evil. People were healthy because God was pleased with them. People were sick or disabled because they had committed some sin against God. At least, that was what he thought. He knew better now.

What had he done? How had he offended God? From the moment that he realized he was blind, he had searched his soul, raced through his memory, pondered and puzzled, to no avail. The unknown guilt was unbearable. But even if he knew, he could not enter the Temple to offer a sacrifice to appease God.

This time, an unexpected touch interrupted his memories. Two little hands reached up to wipe away the tears on his cheeks, and, as if knowing his thoughts, the little voice spoke.

“But that’s not the way God is, is it?”

Opening his eyes, he smiled.

“You’re right, my child. That’s not the way God is. God doesn’t cause our pain and suffering, but I didn’t know that, then.”

And the ritual resumed. This was the part of the story when their grandfather would reach down and gather them up in his arms, the younger two on his knees, the older one between, all smashed between his arms and his chest. Tears would form in his eyes.

It seemed like a long time that I would sit by the road until nightfall. The days were long, and many of them passed. Every day I wrapped my cloak around me to keep warm in the cool mornings, but a piece of the cloak reached out in front of me. People dropped their small coins onto my cloak so that I could find them. I’d reach out, fold up the cloth, and keep track of whatever was there. I learned to tell which coin was which by its size and weight. I could tell exactly how much they had given me. And it was never enough to feed a family of three. But somehow we managed, we got by.

And then one day …

The youngest, the little girl, always squealed at this point. She knew what was coming, and the ends of her mouth began to turn up. Her older brother shushed her, and grandfather rested his hand gently on the top of her head, caressing her hair.

The younger brother whispered the word, “Jesus.”

“Yes, Jesus. He came by. Someone had told me that Jesus had healed others—blind, lame, fevered, withered hand, even lepers.

So I called out, “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!”

The response came from the crowd. “Hush! Be quiet!”

But I cried out again, “Son of David, have mercy on me!”

The people stopped their feet and stood still. Those who were trying to quiet me quieted themselves.

Then someone told me what I wanted to hear. “Cheer up! On your feet! He’s calling you.you.”

I leaped up, dropping my cloak, spillingg the few coins on the ground, and … well, raced isn’t exactly the word, because there were people in the way. I moved as quickly as a blind man can move through a crowd, toward the voice.

That soft, gentle voice asked, “What do you want me to do for you?”

The little girl’s hand covered her mouth, in delight and amazement. The middle child reached for his grandfather’s hand. The oldest touched the old eyes that had once not seen.

So many words raced through my mind. If I could see again, I could work again. I could worship again. And I would know that I was no longer cursed by God. But I made it simple.

“Rabbi, I want to see.”

He told me, “Go; your faith has healed you.”

 As the healer spoke, … it was like … no, I don’t know how to explain. No matter how many times I tell you this story, … first a little bit of light, then more, then shapes in the light, then the shapes took form, and I could see Jesus smiling at me, the most beautiful sight I have ever seen.

But I didn’t go. I followed him. I followed him and the rest as they headed for Jerusalem. … Of course, I didn’t know where he was going or why, but I followed.

We walked a while, and then he stopped. He sent two of the disciples on ahead. “Go to the village ahead of you, and just as you enter it, you will find a colt tied there, which no one has ever ridden. Untie it and bring it here. If anyone asks you, ‘Why are you doing this?’ say, ‘The Lord needs it and will send it back here shortly.‘ “

Of course, I had no idea what was going to happen, and I didn’t know any of the people around me, so I wasn’t sure who to ask. I just stood there with the others, shivering with excitement because I could see, and we waited.

And then, the most amazing thing. They brought back the young donkey and threw their cloaks on his back. And Jesus mounted and headed on down the road to Jerusalem. For a few minutes, people milled about in confusion, but then cloaks flew down in front of the donkey, and people cut branches off the trees in the fields, and those covered the road, too. If a king was going to ride into the city, then the king’s steed’s feet should not touch the dirt!

The little girl ran her fingers across grandfather’s knee, in pairs, like a donkey hooves. The hoof-fingers danced up his leg, up his side, up to his shoulder. He laughed, reached out, and tickled her.

The older boy continued the story.

“Of course, this was a different kind of king, a king coming in peace. A king of a different kind of kingdom.”

Grandfather’s hand tousled the boy’s hair.

He repeated, A king of a different kind of kingdom.

The people went crazy, and so did I. I’m not sure what I thought, what I was thinking. You have to remember that just an hour ago, I was a blind beggar sitting beside the road. I was one of God’s rejects, worthless, useless. And now my eyes were beholding this amazing sight, all these people waving branches, all excited. And to be honest, I had no idea what they were excited about.

But they were yelling, so I joined them. “Hosanna! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord! Blessed is the coming kingdom of our father David! Hosanna in the highest heaven!”

“Hosanna! Hallelujah! Hurrah!” The middle boy didn’t exactly shout the words, but he didn’t whisper them. They carried a reverence, a thoughtfulness, a quiet proclamation. The other two children repeated with the same care. Grandfather nodded.

“Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord.”

“And that was Jesus, the one who came in the name of the Lord.”

“Yes, my child, that was Jesus, the blessed one, the one who healed me, the one who came to heal the world. He healed my eyes, but he also healed my heart. He taught me that pain and suffering does not come from God. God is the one who goes with us, who holds onto us, carries us through the troubles, one way or another. God loves us, always has, and always will.”

For consideration:

General questions

1) How does this story follow its Scripture?

2) How does this story expand its Scripture for you?

3) What is the message of this story?

4) How does the message apply to us today?

Specific questions:

5) Some translations use the wording, “My teacher, let me see again.” What difference does the “again” make?

6) In most situations, the person Jesus healed does not have a name. Why is Bartimaeus identified?

7) If Bartimaeus never reappears in the gospels, what is the significance of Mark telling his readers that he followed Jesus “on the way”?

8) What lessons did he teach his grandchildren?