Seán Walsh: Bartimaeus

Bartimaeus

He sat by the roadside

in squalor and darkness,

a cloak about frail shoulders,

empty bowl to hand…

Just another blind beggar.

‘Sensed crowds gathering…

caught snatches of chatter,

ripples of excitement:

He has left Jericho… Jesus of Nazareth…

Coming this way…

Will pass by. Soon now. Soon…

The blind man suddenly alert, electric:

Chance? A chance! Why not? Oh, yes!

I have heard about this man!

‘Known to cure, a worker of miracles!

Then try! Oh, at least try!

A deep breath, then a shout out

in desperate determination:

Jesus! Jesus son of David!

Have pity on me!

Again. And again. More, more!

And louder. Louder still!

Don’t stop, don’t stop!

Ignore the irritables close by:

Be quiet! Shusssh, will you! Stop shouting!

Will someone shut him up?!

And the more they tried to quell him,

the more he called out!

Then he coughed, gasped… winded, hoarse…

And even as he slumped

some who knew him were on hand:

Jesus summons you! He has heard your cry!

Then come! Up you get, son of Timaeus!

They helped him as he struggled to his feet…

threw off his cloak… stepped out and unto

the road… arms extended…

The crowds parted, making way for him…

guiding him as he stumbled forward –

to Jesus.

What do you want me to do for you?

The crowds quiet now, intent on revelation.

The blind man on his knees,

hands joined in supplication:

Oh, Rabbi! Good Master! I beg, beg of you!

Let me see again!…

A stillness now. Then Jesus spoke:

Go. Your faith has saved you…

Instantly the man could see again.

He looked up… above him the face

of the one who had mended him.   

And from the many who had witnessed:

a sea of sighs and wonderment.

Then Jesus turned away,

began again his journey…

Some checking as they passed:

Can he really see?

    He made to go back –

still a beggar but no longer blind –

then stopped… hesitant… unsure.

Back? To what?…

Then he turned again… determined.

‘Set off along the way…

intent on following Jesus.

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In the West a rich sunset…

Few now on the road from Jericho.

Stopping to recall the miracle –

adding to the narrative here,

another dab of colour there –

securing an oral testament.

In a clearing by the roadside:

trampled grass…

a cloak…

a begging bowl.

                                                                                  Sean Walsh 2024

Mark 10: 46-52