Full Technicolor
by Nik Nilsson
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It’s a fine day in Jericho and Jesus is walking through town, healing, teaching, and telling people that no, he will not give them next week’s lottery numbers. He’s got a crowd of people following him; I mean, it’s not every day a guy comes through town making crutches unnecessary and leper’s bits stop falling off. At one point in his journey, he hears a voice call to him.
“Jesus, Son of David,” says the voice, “Have mercy on me!”
The voice belongs to a blind beggar who’s heard all the commotion and been told that the Son of Man is right over there. He’s also been told to shut his cake hole, but this is an opportunity that comes along once in a lifetime. In other words, he ain’t listening.
“Jesus, Son of David,” he shouts again, “Have mercy on me!”
Jesus notices, because this is Ministry. “Call him,” he tells the crowd.
The crowd brings the blind man to Jesus, who asks the question, “What do you want me to do for you?”
Here’s the part where I’d probably say something like, “Gee, I’m blind and all, but a bag of Doritos would go good right about now. And a Mountain Dew, if it’s not too much trouble.”
Well, to be honest, I like to hope I’ve grown beyond that. Matters of faith, I’ve discovered, are often so simple that they’re… well, complicated. Healing the way Jesus did it wasn’t a one-way, physical process where you got smacked on the forehead and fell out of your wheelchair. Healing the way Jesus did it was simple; you just had to ask. The problem is, asking for something with your lips is a lot easier than asking for it with your heart. If it was a matter of just asking with my lips, I could say, for instance, “God, I could really use a Porsche,” and have one appear in my driveway.
Hang on, I’ll be right back.
…
Nope, no Porsche. Not even a Volkswagen.
I guess what I’m saying is that asking from the heart is more complicated than just asking. If God isn’t in my heart and I think that maybe he’s only sorta God, or that he created the universe and all but he’s not looking out for me, or that his word is just a bunch of fairy tales, if my belief is that watered down, how can I expect anything from my relationship with him? If, in my heart, God is not who he says he is, I’ll just keep sticking to the mundane prayers, the prayers that are more likely to be answered. As a blind man I’ll ask for Doritos when what I really want is to be able to watch TV or read a book or look out the window and see God’s creation.
The book of Mark, chapter 6, addresses this. In verses 4 through 6, we’re given this interesting tidbit:
“Jesus said to them, ‘only in his hometown, among his relatives and in his own house is a prophet without honor.’ He could not do any miracles there, except lay his hands on a few sick people and heal them. And he was amazed at their lack of faith.”
Jesus was in Nazareth, the place where he grew up. The problem with being the Messiah in the place where you grew up is that everybody remembers you as the boy who knocked over Mabel’s favourite flowerpot or fixed the leg on Uncle Sol’s dining table. These people couldn’t see beyond the physical Jesus, and therefore Jesus couldn’t get miraculous there. Not wouldn’t, but couldn’t. The people wouldn’t meet him halfway and just believe, and without belief there is no miracle.
Jesus isn’t here to force belief, because he can’t. Nobody can. Belief is a choice, made by us through the free will that makes us human. If we choose not to believe in the power of Christ, we’re choosing by default to reject the trappings of that power. We’re choosing not to be healed.
So back to Jericho, where a blind man stands before Jesus Christ himself. He’s a man who’s been begging in the streets for his whole life; he’s dressed in rags, probably smells just a little, and he’s shunned by most of civilized society, all because he can’t see. And here’s a solution.
“What do you want me to do for you?”
What thoughts race through the beggar’s mind? Is he wondering what to say here? His first response, the natural response of anybody in this situation, must be, “is this a trick question?” Standing right before him is the one person on earth who can provide the solution, and that person is asking trick questions.
Or is he? Maybe Jesus is looking for the simplest of answers. Maybe it’s not that the man standing before our blind beggar can provide the solution; maybe it’s that the man standing before our blind beggar is the solution. Maybe it’s that the man standing before our blind beggar really is God himself.
Or maybe the blind beggar has enough faith that he doesn’t need to think about his answer at all. Maybe he knows all along that the simple question “what do you want me to do for you” is just that, a simple question. Maybe the question is simple not because it’s a trick question, but because it requires a simple answer. An answer that doesn’t say “I would like my sight, unless of course that doesn’t fit with your grand plan and affect a beautiful destiny you have before me because after all I’m just a single man among millions and my problems couldn’t possibly be worse than those of people who are starving and destitute or worse yet sold into slavery blah blah blah…” An answer that says “I don’t doubt you for a second, and I don’t need to fill my request with escape clauses because if I ask this of you I know you’ll do it.”
Or, to put it another way, “Rabbi, I want to see.”
And just like that, full technicolor.
Jesus’s response is telling. “Go,” he says, “your faith has healed you.”
For more information visit Nik Nilsson’s website at www.smallisthegate.com
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