As Jesus was leaving
Jericho with his disciples and a sizable crowd, Bartimaeus, a blind man, the
son of Timaeus, sat by the roadside begging.
This
Sunday allows us to consider the story of one of the most fascinating
characters of the Gospel. Of Bartimaeus, we don’t know much, except that he was
blind, and that he is identified only in relation with his father, Timaeus. The
episode of this Sunday’s Gospel affords us with a lot of avenues for
contemplation, doors through which we are able to encounter Christ and listen
to his words, and allow our daily lives to be transformed by his Word. Nobody
may know exactly who Bartimaeus was, how he was before Christ walked into his
life that day as he sat in his usual place outside Jericho. What we know
certainly, however, is that in his story we see our own reflected. For though
all of us are able to see and are well off because of it, nevertheless, we know
that we too are handicapped at some point. Looking deep into our personal life,
we can see that we ourselves are in darkness; there are some dark areas of our
life which we dare not enter, areas which are touched by our rejection of God’s
love. We know all to well that our lives are painfully touched by sin, by that
darkness that comes from our willful rejection of God’s love and his plan for
our life. it is a darkness that blinds us to what is true, that which is truly
good, truly beautiful.
But
we too are aware that like Bartimaeus, we are identified because of our
relationship with our Father, whose name is beyond any other, and whose face
shines in the human face of Jesus. Thus, the person of the blind man of Jericho
brings out to us two important things about ourselves: our personal blindness
and our need for light, for someone to take us by the hand, and the fact that
our personal identity is marked by our relationship with our Father.
In
Bartimaeus, this need for healing, this need for freedom from the darkness that
enfolds him pushes him to cry out: Jesus,
Son of David, have pity on me! Having heard of Jesus’ approach, the blind
man saw in his heart that it was precisely this person who could save him from
his darkness. Looking back into our own lives, the consideration of our own
wretchedness, of our own sinfulness, of our own darkness, should not push to despair
and self-pity; rather, the knowledge of our sinfulness should push us to conversion, to tend toward Christ, to
ask for his divine mercy, to grasp his hand, asking him to make us whole. The blind man was not content to remain in
his blindness; we should not be complacent in our own sinfulness. This is
true even when the world, the “crowd” pressures us to shut up, to desist in our
struggle to respond to the call to conversion, to give up in our tending
towards God. Bartimaeus was told to shut up by the crowd, but far from doing
what they wanted him to do, he cried out all the more, calling out to the One
who could save him: Son of David, have
pity on me!, clearly alluding to his firm faith than the one who stood
before him was the Christ, despite of the fact that he could not see Jesus.
The
attitude of the blind man should inspire us to cry out, even though
circumstances (and even persons) would tell us to give up. The chief enemies of
our move towards holiness (the world, the flesh and the devil, and, also most
often, the “old man” in us) would tell us that everything is futile, resistance
to the force of gravity (that pulls us to the depths of our sinfulness) is
useless. Sometimes we may even consider that they’re right, because we don’t
seem to see Jesus with us. We might think that there’s no point in smiling on a
cold, rainy day; why should we, since the sun hadn’t come out anyway?
But
then the truth is, the Lord hasn’t abandoned us to our darkness. This is the
same Lord who in the First Reading we see delivering
his people, gathering them from the ends of the world, with the blind and the
lame in their midst. He is the God of Israel consoles and guides them,
leading them to brooks of water, and leading them on a level road, so that none
shall stumble. This is the same Lord who says: For I am a father to Israel. How can he not hear the cry of the
heart that is crushed by its sins, the cry of the sinner who has placed himself
at the Master’s feet, asking for freedom? When Jesus asks the blind man what
was it that he wanted, was it because he didn’t know? What more could a blind
man ask, but that he be delivered from his blindess? What more could we ask
from the Lord, but that we be brought back from the darkness of sin into the
light of day, Jesus, the Day that knows no night?
The
blind man pushes forward in his desire, despite of the fact that he does not
see. This is what faith means: to move
forward, not because we see clearly and are convinced of the way, but because
we trust in the hand and in the voice that leads us on. What moves us to
believe is not the fact that the revealed truths appear as true and
intelligible in the light of our natural reason: we believe “because of the
authority of God himself who reveals them, who neither deceive nor be deceived”
(Catechism of the Catholic Church, n. 156). In the end, it was the faith of the
blind man that allowed him to recover his sight. Faith is the condition that allows the grace of God to enter into our
lives, transforming it, filling it with life. As the letter of the Holy
Father at the start of the Year of Faith would suggest, faith is a door (porta fidei) that allows us to feel the
caress of God. It is the sine qua non,
that without which we cannot have a relationship with God. In the end, what is true is that to believe is to see, and not much
seeing in order to believe.
The
experience of Bartimaeus, and the incidence of this Year of Faith, invites us
once again to be well-grounded in our faith in Christ. It is through faith that
we are able to touch the face of God in Jesus Christ; it is through faith that
we are able to see and contemplate the loving smile of the Father, through the
human face of Jesus. It is only through faith that we can show it likewise to
the world, in much need of the new evangelization.
In
the Gospel we hear the words of the crowd surrounding Jesus: “Take courage, get up, Jesus is calling you”.
We too have the responsibility of inviting those around us to see Jesus, that
they too may be touched by his grace. This is what our role in the new
evangelization entails: to show that face of Jesus, to encourage others to come
into contact with him, and to live with the very life which the Lord gives as a
gift. But this is only possible if Jesus has touched us ourselves. We can only make
Jesus transparent to others, if our own eyes have seen him.
May
Mary, Queen of the Holy Rosary, who constantly gazes on her Son, help us to be
renewed by the freshness of the Gospel, so as to be evangelizers in this modern
age, as each of us need to our part in the new evangelization. AMEN!
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