A rich man & a blind man

In the middle of Mark lies a beautiful contrast between two men. One who thought he had it all and walked away sad, and the other who had nothing and bounded away with joy.

There’s a rich man who comes to ask Jesus what he needs to do to earn eternal life. The guy is what many would label as a model of religious life. He’s the type that would always win Sword contests in Sunday school class, knew all the books of the Bible in kindergarten, and brought along four buddies to Sunday school on bring a friend day. If it’s a matter of personal effort and discipline, this guy has got it covered. He comes wanting to know what else he should do to guarantee his place in eternal rest. He comes with his hands full of personal achievements and wealth. Jesus looks at the guy and loves him. He sees his desire, his “do whatever it takes” attitude, and he loves him. So he asks him to do the one thing necessary to receive eternal life. He asks him to let go of all of those achievements, all of that wealth he’s holding in his hands. He knows the impossibility of receiving a gift when your hands are already full. But the man wasn’t looking to receive, he was looking to earn. And the thought of letting go of the earthly treasures and accolades he had built up? It was just too much, so head hanging low he walked away.

A few verses later we encounter the foil to the rich man–blind Bartimaeus. The guy is sitting by the roadside begging, when he begins to hear a murmur through the crowd that Jesus is passing by. He’s probably heard the rumors of this man–of the impossible healings, of dead men brought to life, of the promised Messiah. He knows this is his one shot at new life, so he begins to shout at the top of his lungs. The people around him, likely embarrassed by this maniacal beggar, try to shush him, but Bartimaeus just yells all the louder. Instead of doing what any respectable person would do (i.e. ignore the crazy person), Jesus stops and calls the guy over. And this is where the truly amazing action happens. Mark tells us that the guy jumps to his feet, and in the process throws his cloak to the side. It’s easy to skim over this little detail, but it is one of the keys to the contrast between Bartimaeus and the rich man. You see, for a beggar, his cloak was his livelihood. It was likely his one possession. It kept him warm on cold days, it shaded him from the sun on hot days, it provided a cushion to sit on as he begged beside the road. Does Bartimaeus carefully pick up this prized possession as he goes to meet Jesus?  Not at all. He tosses it aside like a filthy useless rag. He runs to Jesus with hands empty. He’s chasing something much greater than earthly possessions. He’s coming as a beggar hoping to receive. Sure enough, restored vision is just a few moments away from him. Given this gift, he doesn’t go back and collect his belongings, returning to his way of life. No, Bartimaeus, knowing he’s found the greatest treasure and the greatest gift proceeds to follow Jesus along the road.

How are we approaching the Father? Are we coming clinging tightly to our talents, our efforts, our possessions, those things that give us security? At the orphanage, we often bring fruit with us to give the kids. Oftentimes, kids will grab two fistfuls of food, but then still come back for more. However, they soon realize that they can’t take anymore food unless they first let go of what they’re already holding in their hands. The Father longs to fill our hands with good things, but in order to receive, we must release the things we are holding onto so tightly. Should we find the courage to do so, like Bartimaeus, I believe we will walk away with a bounce in our step, knowing that we have indeed found the greatest gift of all.

One Comment on “A rich man & a blind man

  1. Incredible writing, Katherine. You made these verses come to life, with new insights, reminding me of how Max Lucado & John Ortberg write. I never thought about the blind man leaving his cloak behind, but you are right about that significance. Thank you, dear daughter, for teaching your mother continually through your blog.

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