They had all seen him a hundred times. Maybe a thousand. They were used to him sitting there at the place travelers entered and exited Jericho. He had been an unchanging fixture there for years. Unkempt beard. Worn clothes. Sightless eyes staring out of an expressionless face. Tin cup held out in the hope of a coin dropping from a compassionate visitor’s hand. They didn’t socialize. At all. They didn’t want to. It simply wasn’t done. Wasn’t socially acceptable. The sighted people busily going about their business, and the blind beggar conducting his own form of business had nothing in common. Not one thing. At least not one they could see.
No one really saw him. Not because they couldn’t see, but because they chose not to. Mostly, they ignored him. It was a practice many had perfected. So accustomed were they to his presence, they could attend their business without so much as a glance in his direction. To those passing by daily, the begging blind man didn’t exist. At all. Men ignored his voice, kept their distance, averted their eyes. Women switched sides of the street to avoid him. Mothers carefully guided their small children away, tucking them behind voluminous skirts as they passed. No one stopped to chat. No one asked how his day was going. No one regularly placed a piece of bread in his hand to ward off hunger. Even with sighted eyes, the people missed his presence. They didn’t see him. Not really. Not as a person. Not as useful. Not as worthy. They had never seen him that way. No one had. Until Jesus passed through town. (Mark 10:17-22)
Exiting the town of Jericho, a large crowd encompassed Jesus. Their progress was slow, impeded by their own urgency to have a personal encounter with Him. Their voices were loud, leaving no mistake about who was passing by. As they approached the blind man’s spot, they didn’t stumble or grind to a halt. People simply went around him. Ignoring him, as usual. But they didn’t stop talking. Their mouths kept going, making it impossible for the blind man to miss who was passing by. Jesus of Nazareth. He’d heard of Him. Of course, he’d heard of most people. He knew the gossip. It was the only perk of being the ignored, rejected blind beggar by the road. No one was particularly careful about what they said in his presence. Apparently, they thought blindness included lack of intelligence. It didn’t. He knew many things about many people. Things they would never tell him. Things they wouldn’t necessarily want him to know. He definitely knew about Jesus. He knew He was a Healer. He knew Jesus didn’t ignore the disabled, discouraged, disenfranchised, or depressed. He wasn’t impressed with social status or acceptability. In fact, Jesus’ reputation suggested he was more familiar with the tattered margins of society than the leading edge of power and prominence. It seemed Jesus saw everyone. Even people like him.
Determining he had nothing to lose should another human decide his existence was superfluous to requirement, the blind man gathered his courage and called out to Jesus. Loudly. Loud enough to get the attention of the men on the nearest edge of the crowd. And they weren’t having it. Whirling around in his general direction, they issued menacing warnings. He needed to shut up. Stop yelling like a madman. Quit trying to get attention. Don’t be embarrassing. Jesus wasn’t there to see an unkempt, uncouth social reject. They couldn’t imagine He would be interested in conversing with a useless scrap of humanity. Except He was.
Utterly surprising, the crowd surrounding Him, Jesus requested the blind man be brought to stand before Him. A ripple of astonished whispers must have whipped through the crowd. Regardless, they did as He asked. Making a path, some men helped the blind man to his feet and walked him safely to Jesus. As he stood there, his knees knocking, his heart in overdrive, his stomach in knots over what may or may not happen next, Jesus gently asked a simple question. What did he want? What did he need? What was he hoping to take away from this encounter? There is no surprise in the blind man’s answer. He wanted what everyone in his position would want. He wanted to see. He wanted to be healed. He wanted to be equal to the people currently crowded around him who didn’t see him or hear him or speak to him except to scorn and scold. He wanted to be healed so he could be accepted in his world. And Jesus obliged.
With not even a modicum of drama, Jesus healed him. He could immediately see. He could go clean up his filthy little spot by the side of the road and go home. Scrub up. Learn a trade. Get a job. Find a wife. Have a family. Live happily ever after. He could be integrated into the society that had long held him at arm’s length. Why? Because Jesus saw him through the eyes of His compassionate heart. He looked beyond the bedraggled, disabled outer shell and saw his inner potential. When everyone else saw a pointless blight on society, unworthy of their time or attention, Jesus saw the possibilities of usefulness and worth. (Luke 18:35-43)
The Luke account tells us that all the people who saw the blind man receive his sight praised God. I wonder why. Not because it isn’t praiseworthy. It is. I wonder because it seems so out of character for people who were previously attempting to shut him up, thwart his attempts to speak to Jesus. I find I have questions about their motivation. Were they truly happy on the man’s behalf, or were they simply excited to be in the presence of a miracle? Were they ecstatic to no longer have to pass the beggar on their travels, thrilled to have one less blight on society? Or, is it possible, the scales had fallen off their own eyes? Did they get Jesus’ message? The unspoken one? The message Jesus lived out in word and deed every day of His life. Love your neighbor as yourself. Don’t judge someone based on their outward appearance, visible shortcomings, or obvious inabilities. Treat others the way you wish to be treated. Include the despised and rejected of society. Do to others what you would like them to do to you if the tables were turned, the shoe was on your foot, the disability, inability, or inequality was yours to bear. (Matthew 22:36-40, 25:40; Luke 6:31; Ephesians 4:32; Deuteronomy 15:10-11; Proverbs 19:17, 31:9; I John 3:17-18; John 7:24)
It was a lesson to the crowd then. It is a lesson to us now. One we often miss. It is simple. You do not have an edge on Jesus’ love and attention because you are physically whole, mentally well, emotionally stable, or spiritually solid. Jesus came for everyone. Clean. Dirty. Wealthy. Poor. Able or disabled. No one is excluded. We miss that fact. We forget that the love and tenderness of Jesus has no boundaries. His grace and mercy transcend every human situation and circumstance. We look with our eyes and determine one another’s worth based on their looks, speech, or abilities. We forget the lesson Jesus embodied with every person who crossed His path. Love one another. Always. Love everyone. No exceptions. See one another through the eyes of Jesus. Look for good in one another, even when it isn’t obvious. Don’t shy away from those who are different, disabled, or distasteful to look at. Love them. See them. Sit down beside them. Spend time there. Talk to them. Share Jesus with them. You never know whose life you can change when your heart sees like Jesus. (I Peter 4:8; Matthew 5:16; John 13:34-35, 15:12-13; I Samuel 16:7; I Corinthians 4:5; Mark 16:15-16: Hebrews 13:16)