Ps 126
Mk 10:46-52
"Master I want to see."
"I want to see."
What did Bartimaeus' voice sound like? Was it high or low, loud or soft? What was the tone of his voice? Was it angry and demanding or desperate and pleading? What did his face look like? What was his posture?
Enter into this narrative as if you were in the cast of a movie about Jesus. Place yourself in the scene. Spend as much time as you wish recreating it. This composition or creation of the scene, this placing yourself in the action is one of the fundamental practices of Ignatian contemplation as described it in the Spiritual Exercises. Be there in as much detail as you can create or as long as you can tolerate.
What do you feel? What are you thinking? What is going on inside you?
We are all Bartimaeus, at least some of the time. We are all blind to God's presence in our lives, at least some of the time. That blindness may afflict us suddenly as we stand at the bedside of a dying spouse or parent. That blindness may hit as we gaze uncomprehendingly at a flooded home. Bartimaeus' plea, "I want to see" may emerge from our lips in different words: The angry WHY of the suddenly bereaved, the desperate 'Help Me' as the cancer pain becomes worse.
We ask: Where is your mercy? Where is your power? Where . . . . .is your love? Where . . . . are. . . . you . . . ? We are all Bartimaeus. We are all, at some point, that man sitting at the roadside blind, disoriented, confused and desperate to see, desperate to understand.
One of the challenges of getting old is seeing. Or rather loss of the ability to see in the same way we saw at twenty-five. Cataracts. Macular degeneration. Diabetic retinopathy. Glaucoma. They all impair the ability to see. But even in uncomplicated aging, the normal changes in the eye result in diminished vision. By age sixty the retina receives only receives one-third the amount of light that it did at twenty-one. That is why gray-haired old dudes like me always have the high beams on; 'cuz we can't see with low beams.
Think about being in a strange city at night. Or imagine a lost tourist in Boston at night. We see things differently when struggling to figure them out, when we are trying to make sense of what we are doing, when we can't fully comprehend what is happening. Sometimes we discover things we wouldn't have otherwise seen had we not been lost, confused, or frightened. Sometimes we discover things in our metaphorical blindness, that would have been impossible to notice in the noonday sun. Discovery happens when you open yourself up to see, when you are forced to look around.
Even when we are not blind to Jesus, we can always find ways to see Him better. Perhaps it is a matter of cleaning our glasses. It may be necessary to get a stronger prescription. Or we may experience the equivalent of the startling improvement in vision after cataract extraction and lens implant. With prayer, with the sacraments, with contemplation on God's word, we can see even better.
Whenever you hear a narrative of Jesus' healing miracles, it is important to remember that those miracles did not create faith in a vacuum. They were not like David Henning's magic tricks. The healing miracles were not feats meant to awe, amaze, confuse, or impress an audience. With one or two exceptions in all the miracle narratives, faith in Jesus' ability to make him whole, faith in Jesus' ability to return her to society, prompted the request to Jesus. Thus we heard Bartimaeus say: "I want to see." Jesus said nothing about vision to Bartimaeus. "Go . . your faith has made you well." That's all. A simple command and reassurance. "Go, your faith has made you well."
We heard in the psalm:
"they left in tears
I will comfort them
as I lead them back
I will guide them."
Sometimes we need Jesus to find us when we are lost, when we are blind when we are confused or angry or hurting. All of us go out in life full of tears, carrying seed for the sowing. All of us go out in life to engage in backbreaking, exhausting and painful work. That is the reality of life. It is the burden we bear as humans. But as we come back rejoicing and bringing in the sheaves we realize what God has done for us, and we know what God will do for us.
"Master, I want to see."
That would be a fine prayer today and all of the coming week.
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A perfect autumn lunch at a monastery. A loaf of bread, a bottle of wine, and some apples.
Autumnal ivy at Ljubljanski Grad (Ljubljana Castle)
+ Fr. Jack SJ, MD
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