From Darkness to Sight Mark 10:46-52 Rev. Dr. Rhonda Abbott Blevins
From Darkness to Sight
Mark 10:46-52
Rev. Dr. Rhonda Abbott Blevins
They came to Jericho. As he and his disciples and a large crowd were leaving Jericho, Bartimaeus son of Timaeus, a blind beggar, was sitting by the roadside. 47 When he heard that it was Jesus of Nazareth, he began to shout out and say, “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!” 48 Many sternly ordered him to be quiet, but he cried out even more loudly, “Son of David, have mercy on me!” 49 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.” 50 So throwing off his cloak, he sprang up and came to Jesus. 51 Then Jesus said to him, “What do you want me to do for you?” The blind man said to him, “My teacher,[a] let me see again.” 52 Jesus said to him, “Go; your faith has made you well.” Immediately he regained his sight and followed him on the way.
______
Today we conclude our “Forever Beginning” series, where we’ve explored stories of people who experienced fresh starts with Jesus. We met disciples who left everything when they were called beyond comfort. We met Nicodemus, discovering it’s never too late to begin again. We watched the prodigal son come to his senses and find grace waiting. We saw the woman at the well discover that ordinary moments can become opportunities for transformation. Last week we met Zacchaeus, whose story was rewritten in a single encounter with Jesus.
Today we meet “Blind Bartimaeus,” whose new beginning started with a moment of clarity—a moment in which he could clearly articulate exactly what it was that he needed.
Let me set the scene. Jesus is in Jericho. This is the same pass-through Jericho where we found him last week when he encountered a “wee little man” up in a tree—the chief tax collector named Zacchaeus. You may recall that Zacchaeus might have been the wealthiest man in town, skimming a cut of the revenue he collected for Rome, taking a cut of the stolen revenue from those who worked under him. You also may recall that Jesus invited himself to Zacchaeus’ house that evening, and that Zacchaeus’ story was rewritten as he pledged to give half his possessions to the poor and repay anyone he’s cheated four times over.
It's likely that Jesus has just left Zacchaeus’ house on this morning as he’s leaving Jericho for the 3,200 foot ascent to Jerusalem, some 15 miles away. Jesus and the “large crowd” following him are making their way to Jerusalem for the Passover. In less than a week, He will be crucified. Jesus knows what awaits Him. He has set His face toward the cross.
And it’s on this journey, knowing what lies ahead, that Jesus encounters Bartimaeus.
Bartimaeus is blind, likely from some point after birth, since he asks Jesus to help him “regain” his sight. He’s a beggar—his only means of survival. (Let’s set this in stark contrast from Jesus spending the evening with Zacchaeus, the wealthiest man in town—now he’s encountering one of the poorest men in town.) Bartimaeus sits by the roadside as pilgrims pass by on their way to Jerusalem for Passover. This is probably a good day for begging—lots of travelers, people in a generous mood (or perhaps wanting to impress others with their altruism) as they head to the holy city.
Then he hears the commotion. He asks what’s happening. Someone tells him: “Jesus of Nazareth is passing by.”
This is his moment. This is his chance. He begins to shout: “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!” The crowd tries to silence him. “Be quiet. Don’t bother the teacher. Know your place.” But Bartimaeus shouts even louder. He’s not going to let this opportunity pass.
And here’s what changes everything: “Jesus stopped.”
Jesus calls him over. Bartimaeus throws off his cloak and leaps to his feet. And when he comes to Jesus, Jesus asks him a question: “What do you want me to do for you?”
At first glance, this seems like an odd question. The man is blind! He’s sitting by the road begging! Isn’t it obvious what he needs?
But Jesus always asks this question. Just a few verses earlier in Mark’s gospel, He asked James and John the same thing. They wanted positions of honor and power in His kingdom. Bartimaeus wants something very different.
Jesus doesn’t presume. He invites us to name our deepest need.
I once heard a story about a patient who went to the doctor complaining of fatigue. The doctor asked, “What would you like me to do for you?” The patient was taken aback. “Well, you’re the doctor—you tell me!” But the doctor persisted: “I could prescribe vitamins, I could order sleep studies, I could refer you to a therapist, I could check your thyroid. But what I really need to know is: what do YOU hope will be different when you leave here today?”
That question forced the patient to clarify: “I want to be able to play with my grandchildren without being exhausted.” That specific answer led to a specific diagnosis and treatment plan.
Jesus asks us the same kind of clarifying question—not because He doesn’t know, but because WE need to know what we’re truly seeking.
And Bartimaeus doesn’t hesitate. “Rabbi, I want to see.”
Five words. Clear. Specific. Honest.
No qualifications. No hedging. No “if it’s not too much trouble” or “whenever you get around to it.” Just a completely clear statement of what he needs.
Contrast that with how we often pray. “God, bless me.” “Help me.” “Make things better.” We use vague spiritual language that could mean anything or nothing.
Or we hedge our prayers: “If it’s Your will...” Now, I believe in praying according to God’s will, but sometimes we use that phrase as a way to avoid naming what we truly want, because if we don’t name it specifically, we can’t be specifically disappointed.
Or we pray unfocused prayers because we know something’s wrong but we can’t quite articulate what we need.
There was a woman who kept a prayer journal where she wrote “God, please help me” every day for months. One day her spiritual director asked her, “Help you do what? Help you how?” She realized she’d been praying this vague prayer while actually avoiding naming her real need—which was to leave a job that was destroying her health. Once she could write “God, give me courage to resign from this position,” things began to shift.
Clarity preceded change.
Fresh starts often require clarity—clear direction. It’s difficult to begin again if you don’t know where you’re trying to go. You can’t receive what you need if you can’t ask for it.
So what can we learn from Bartimaeus about beginning again?
1. First, he knew his need was real and urgent. He wasn’t embarrassed about being needy. He didn’t pretend everything was fine. He acknowledged his condition: “I am blind and I need to see.” Think about how we rehearse the line “I’m fine” when people ask how we’re doing. We’ve been trained to minimize our needs, to not be a burden. Bartimaeus didn’t do that. He was honest about his desperate need. Fresh starts require honest assessment of where we actually are.
2. Second, he knew who could help him. “Jesus, Son of David”—that’s a messianic title. He recognized Jesus’ true identity and power. He believed Jesus could do what he needed done. Fresh starts require knowing where help comes from.
3. Third, he knew what he wanted. Not wealth, not revenge, not fame. Sight—the ability to see, to navigate, to live differently. He had thought about this, clarified this, prepared for this moment. Fresh starts require intentionality about what we’re moving toward.
4. Fourth, he was willing to risk everything for it. Verse 50 tells us he threw aside his cloak. That cloak was probably his only possession—the blanket he spread out for people to toss coins onto as they passed by. It was his livelihood. But he threw it aside and leaped up.
Last week I told you about my beloved cousin who recently celebrated 10 years of sobriety. He told me about the moment he finally decided to get clean: a moment of clarity in which he poured all his alcohol down the drain. He hadn’t talked to a counselor. He hadn’t enrolled in a program. He just knew that if he was going to get help, he couldn’t keep his backup plan around. That was his “cloak.”
What’s your cloak? What are you keeping around “just in case” that’s actually preventing you from fully leaping toward the help you need?
Fresh starts require courage to leave behind what’s familiar, even when what’s familiar is slowly killing us.
Here’s what strikes me about the timing of this story. This is the last healing miracle recorded before Holy Week. Jesus is literally “on the way” to Jerusalem to die. Yet He stops for Bartimaeus. Even with the cross looming, Jesus has time for one more person’s fresh start.
And after Jesus heals him, verse 52 says: “Immediately he received his sight and followed him on the way.”
“On the way”—that phrase is significant. Bartimaeus follows Jesus on the way to Jerusalem. On the way to the cross. His new sight leads him not to comfort and security but to discipleship and risk.
His fresh start doesn’t mean an easy path. It means following Jesus wherever He leads—which sometimes means straight to the cross.
Jesus tells Bartimaeus, “Your faith has made you well.” What was his faith? It was recognizing who Jesus was. Believing Jesus could help. Persisting despite obstacles. Naming clearly what he needed. Acting immediately on Jesus’ call.
Faith isn’t vague hope. It’s specific trust that moves us to action.
Jesus is asking you this question right now: “What do you want me to do for you?”
I’m going to lead us through a brief time of reflection. You might even want to close your eyes if that feels comfortable for you. Either way, I invite you into a moment of stillness as I lead you through a guided reflection.
Imagine Jesus sitting across from you, looking at you with complete love and attention. He asks: “What do you want me to do for you?” Not “What should you want?” Not “What do other people think you need?” But what do YOU need for your fresh start? What needs to be healed in your life? What needs to change? What are you longing for that you’ve been afraid to name? What would allow you to truly see—yourself, others, your life, God—differently?
Now here’s the important part: Can you answer specifically? Not “help me be better” but what specifically needs to be better? Not “bless my life” but what specific blessing are you seeking?
Bartimaeus said “Rabbi, I want to see.” Five words. Clear. Specific. Honest.
What are your five words?
Some of you just discovered you can’t answer the question clearly. You know something needs to change but you can’t name it. Or you can name it but you’re afraid to say it out loud, even to God.
Why?
· Is it fear of disappointment—if we don’t name it specifically, we can’t be specifically disappointed.
· Is it a sense of unworthiness—“Who am I to ask for what I really need?”
· Is it confusion—we’ve lived with our condition so long we’ve forgotten what “whole” feels like. The crowd’s voice—who’s telling you to settle, to be quiet, to stop wanting more?
But Bartimaeus shows us: clarity requires courage, but courage opens the door to transformation.
Jesus is still stopping, still asking the question. Your fresh start might be waiting for your clear answer.
What do you want Jesus to do for you? Heal a relationship? Free you from an addiction? Give you courage to make a change? Help you forgive someone—or yourself? Show you your purpose? Restore your hope? Help you see yourself, and others, the way God sees you?
Bartimaeus’ story doesn’t end with healing; it ends with following. He could have gone anywhere with his new sight, but he chose to follow Jesus on the way to Jerusalem. Some scholars believe he became prominent in the early church—why else would Mark preserve his name? His fresh start led to a lifetime of discipleship.
Picture this: the wealthy tax collector Zacchaeus standing in the doorway of his house, watching Jesus leave, probably still processing the whirlwind of the last few hours—how Jesus invited Himself over, how something in him broke open and he pledged half his wealth to the poor, how Jesus said “salvation has come to this house.”
And then, as Jesus walks toward the city gate, Zacchaeus hears the commotion. There’s that blind beggar—Bartimaeus—who’s been sitting at that same spot for years. And Zacchaeus watches as Jesus stops, asks Bartimaeus a question, and heals him.
Two men. Two encounters. Same day. Both with Jesus on His way to the cross.
One was up in a tree trying to see Jesus. One was sitting by the road, blind, trying to get Jesus to see him.
Both got what they needed because they were willing to look foolish, to ignore the crowd’s disapproval, to be clear about what they wanted, and to respond when Jesus called.
And both of them—the wealthy tax collector and the blind beggar—experienced their fresh start on the same day, in the same city, with the same Jesus who was on His way to the cross for both men—for the whole of humanity.
That’s the Jesus who’s asking you today: “What do you want me to do for you?”
Bartimaeus shows us that fresh starts require honesty about where we are, clarity about what we need, courage to ask for it, faith to act on it, and willingness to step from darkness to sight, and to follow Christ wherever He leads.
Jesus stopped for Bartimaeus on His way to the cross. He’ll stop for you too. The question is: can you answer Him?
This is what “Forever Beginning” requires. “What do you want me to do for you?” Christ asks of us. The fresh start you seek begins with your answer to that most profound question.
May you find the courage to answer honestly, even if it scares you, even if it hurts. And may you find the tenacity to follow Christ wherever he leads, even if the path takes you to the very cross of Calvary.