"A Compelling Faith": A Reflection on the Gospel for October 28th, 2018: Thirtieth Sunday in Ordinary Time

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​Mark 10.46-52

As Jesus and his disciples and a large crowd were leaving Jericho, Bartimaeus son of Timaeus, a blind beggar, was sitting by the roadside. When he heard that it was Jesus of Nazareth, he began to shout out and say, “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!” Many sternly ordered him to be quiet, but he cried out even more loudly, “Son of David, have mercy on me!”

Jesus stood still and said, “Call him here.” And they called the blind man, saying to him, “Take heart; get up, he is calling you.” So throwing off his cloak, he sprang up and came to Jesus.

Then Jesus said to him, “What do you want me to do for you?” The blind man said to him, “My teacher, let me see again.” Jesus said to him, “Go; your faith has made you well.”

Immediately the man regained his sight and followed Jesus on the way.

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Let’s imagine for a moment that we are Bartimaeus. Blind. Let’s presume, blind from birth; never having laid eyes on our surroundings, but always listening, touching, breathing deeply, in an attempt to conceptualize the world around us. We sit by the roadside in Jericho, discouraged, alone, and hungry.

With our enhanced sense of hearing, we notice a stir about the town. A rise in energy surrounds us, and though our perception of the outside world is dim, a swell of hope begins to pulse from deep within; a lightness grows. Could it be Him? The feeling increases as though all that is contained within us—our hopes, fears, disappointments, triumphs, regrets, and yearnings are banding together to escape from the prison they have been contained in for so long. Impulsively we cry out, “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!”

We feel the energy from the street shift; people are hostile to our plea, even those whom we love. We can’t stop it, though, this desire within that longs to be heard, to be seen. We cry out again in desperation, “Son of David, have mercy on me!”

And then—silence. Are they going to hurt us? Has Jesus travelled on without answering? The lightness within begins to fade. Sadness replaces our hope. A hand lays on our shoulder, but we flinch and back away, fearful. We hear a kind, yet commanding voice say, “Take heart; rise, He is calling you.”

It can’t be true. Our hearts beat faster, an internal battle between fear and hope rages within us. We choose to obey the call. The voice of Love breaks through the noise within, “What do you want me to do for you?” We swallow hard and with a trembling voice respond, “Master, let me receive my sight.” A ray of light bursts forth from within, and we are immersed in warm pools of boundless Love. All our hopes, fears, disappointments, triumphs, regrets and yearnings burst into flames and drift away like dust. Our eyes are opened.

All that remains is Beauty. The golden sand, sparkling in the midday sun. The reassuring faces of our brothers and sisters in Christ, tear-stained and drenched with joy. The sweet innocence of small children who dance and chase one another, in one sense, seemingly ignorant of all that has transpired, and in another, fully aware and serene. The sky breathes with peace and life, gently swaying the branches on the trees, and animating the tunics of the disciples.

Our eyes turn to Jesus. Breathless, we gaze upon Him, feeling His comfort and the fullness of His mercy. He returns our gaze, smiling gently; penetrating our hearts with His Love. “Go; your faith has made you well.” We follow Him. Where else would we go?


This is my story. It is your story. It is God’s story. Faith makes well all that blinds us, and only requires of us one thing: that we take the first step.

​Lori MacDonald