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April
2 , 2003 Blindness comes in many forms By Mary Costello
Our daughter Meg teaches pre-school on an Indian Reservation in Montana. The little ones she teaches are very generous and often bring presents, things they’ve made especially for her. Last week one of her students, 4-year-old Dallen, couldn’t wait to show here the special gift he’d made; he knew she’d be pleased with it. His brown eyes were shiny as he unfolded his masterpiece to her; it was a map. A treasure map. A map to find God. When I heard about this wonderful map Dallen made, I couldn’t help but wonder what a big God-hole little Dallen must have. Looking for God, and he’s only four. Fortunately, we don’t need Dallen’s treasure map; we already have one, drawn by the four evangelists. Christ told us, “He who knows me knows the Father.” So all we need to do is study the Gospels and we find the Treasure. Some of the landmarks on our own personal “treasure map” include the miracles Christ performed while He was on earth. This week, let’s look at the healing of Bartimaeus. Here, once again, we have a very similar story related by the authors of the three synoptic Gospels with only a few differences. Mark is the only one who names the man Bartimaeus; Matthew tells us it was two men. The discrepancies are minor; all three authors agree on the plea of the blind man: “Jesus, Son of David, have pity on me!” And they agree on the response of Christ. In the story with the most detail (Mark) Christ says, “What would you have me do?” and Bartimaeus replies, “Lord, that I may see.” When we consider that this little incident takes place in Jericho as Christ and the disciples are on their way to celebrate the Passover in Jerusalem, the incident takes on greater meanting. In only a few days Christ will ride into the city on the back of a donkey to the wild shouts of the people: “Hosanna!” Then, only a few days after that, the same folks will shout, “Crucify Him!” He knows the events that are about to unfold, and so it is very important to Him that the disciples, and all the rest of us, “might see.” Blindness comes in many forms, physical blindness being only one of them. Many of the disciples were blind to Christ’s divinity and to the suffering He was about to undergo. I don’t think there is even one among us who wouldn’t admit to at least a few “blind” moments in our lives, times when we are scourged with chilling, doubtful thoughts, the kind that come to us in the middle of a troubled, sleepless night. It is then that we have to pray with Thomas Aquinas: “Lord, I believe. Help Thou my unbelief.” It’s fairly common for us human beings to be blind to the physical and financial needs of those around us, but shelters and soup kitchens get lots of press. It’s even more common for us to be blind to the emotional and psychological needs of those who live in the same house with us. And who calls us on that? Or what about the times we are blind (or at best insensitive) to inequities or outright unfairness in a classroom, on a committee we sit on, or in a social group to which we belong? Are we blind to someone in our neighborhood who is lonely? How about someone who goes to early morning Mass and whom no ones ever invites to donuts and coffee? Have we even been blinded by our own need to be right and made a hasty, unjust decision? Were we ever so blinded by our own need for power that we failed to do the right thing? Are we sometimes blinded by wanting to be liked? Or by wanting someone to think well of us? Perhaps the worst sin of all is when we are blind to God’s great love for us; we forget that when we surrender, He will hold us in His arms and truly do everything for us. That’s the worst kind of blindness of all. The prayer that grows out of this week’s meditation is a simple one: it is the same prayer as the heartfelt prayer of Bartimaeus: “Lord, that I may see!”
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