Alfred Hitchcock’s movie, “Psycho” came out in 1960. I was a sophomore in high school. My good friend, Lewie Smith, who was a senior, thought that it would be a good idea to drive into Milwaukee from nearby Menomonee Falls to see it. Well, we went, but I never saw it, not all the way through. I closed my eyes; I hid my face; I even remember crouching down behind the seat in front of me and kneeling on the floor of the theater. Being down there with the stale popcorn, once-chew gum, and an errant Milk Dud was better than keeping my eyes open. There is a whole generation of people out there who still get anxious when they take a shower. 

Sometimes, it is hard to live with our eyes wide open. But we have here in the Gospel of Mark an episode in which Jesus calls his disciples to move forward along “the way” with their eyes wide open.    

It is in Chapter 10 where Jesus restores the sight of a blind man, Bartimaeus by name, and Bartimaeus, now with his eyes wide open, follows Jesus. We rightly can identify him as the last disciple. We remember the call of the first disciples. That is prominently portrayed in the gospels. In the first chapter of Mark Jesus walks along the Sea of Galilee and spies Simon and his brother, Andrew, fishing, and he calls out, “Follow me.” And immediately they drop their nets and follow. In the Gospel of Mark everything is done “immediately.” It is the shortest gospel of all, only 16 chapters. Jesus and the disciples have to get on with the work at hand.

Jesus sees James and John, the sons of Zebedee, and calls them away from the family fishing business, much to the consternation of Zebedee, we expect. There goes the succession plan. And there were more, twelve at the start and more to follow. Here in today’s gospel in Chapter 10 we have the call of the last disciple, Bartimaeus. 

Now, we simply could read this episode in Jesus’ ministry as just another healing story, something Jesus does as he walks toward Jerusalem, one more act of kindness to a stranger as he strides toward his own showdown with the powers-that-be. Or we can listen carefully to what is a “call story,” the last one before Jesus enters Jerusalem to live out the last week of his life.

First, Bartimaeus calls Jesus. “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!” A blind man with such sensitive hearing that he knows when Jesus is passing by, even if he cannot see him. There is the tension and excitement in the crowd that tips off Bartimaeus that now is the time to shout out Jesus’ name. The people around him try to shush him up, but he calls out again.

And Jesus, also not seeing, not seeing who had just called him, stops dead in his tracks and replies, “Call him here.”  Now the people surrounding Bartimaeus change their tune. “Take heart; get up, he is calling you.” 

Bartimaeus calls twice to Jesus, Jesus calls back, and the crowd says, “He is calling you:” clearly, this is a “call story” and Mark does not want us to miss that point.

Immediately, Bartimaeus throws off his cloak, the garment that, for years, he had spread out on the ground to hold any offerings he might have received for his begging, he throws off his old life and springs into action. He moves toward Jesus, and Jesus asks, “What do you want me to do for you?” Haven’t we heard that before . . . like just last week? Like just in the verses before? This is the same question that Jesus asks of James and John when they approach Jesus seeking a favor. “What do you want me to do for you, James and John?” And they answer, “Give us the best seats at the table, to you left and your right.”

They ask for special privileges. They are so blind that they cannot see that Jesus is on his way to Jerusalem, to his trial and death. They only can see what is in it for themselves, and Jesus asks, “James, are you able to drink the cup which I drink? John, are you able to be baptized with the baptism I am about to be baptized?” And they blurt out, “Lord, we are able.” We sing confidently their answer in our beloved hymn where Jesus asks us, “Are ye able . . .?”  We sing back, “Lord, we are able . . .” But are we like the first disciples, blind to the truth?

In contrast to James and John, the blind man, Bartimaeus, the last disciple . . . he has his eyes opened to the truth. Jesus sends him away with a blessing, “Go, your faith has made you well.” But Bartimaeus does not go; instead, he follows. Immediately, he sees and follows Jesus on the way. The last disciple. Other disciples will come later, the first Christians after Jesus’ death, and they will be known as people of “the way.” Here Bartimaeus follows Jesus along the way which immediately (it is the very next event in Mark’s gospel) means processing behind Jesus into Jerusalem, Jesus first receiving the acclaim of people, only to have many of these same people cry out, “Crucify him!” later in the same week. It will not be a pretty sight, but we sense that Bartimaeus will be there with Jesus throughout the week while the first disciples, the twelve, and especially the one, Judas, will close their eyes to what is happening. Bartimaeus, the blind man who now sees, and the original disciples who now turn a blind eye.

Following Jesus on the way is tough business. It means that we need to live our lives with our eyes wide open. Years ago a minister was running for public office somewhere down south, in Louisiana, I believe, and his opponent tried to discount him by saying, “He’s only a minister; what does he know about real life?” Well, the distinction between clergy and laity is not valid here. The challenge to all Christians: what do we know about real life? An awful lot, if we follow Jesus along the way with our eyes wide open. Our faith reverses the old adage that “seeing is believing.” For us, believing is seeing. Believing in Jesus opens our eyes wide to the world, even the things that are hard to behold.

For those of you who serve meals on Saturday morning to people who are homeless and desperate, it is not easy to see what you see. The ravages of poverty are not a pretty sight. But when one of our guests says to us after we apologize for serving only one meal a week, “Don’t apologize; this may be the only meal some of us will have this weekend, and it certainly is the only place we will be called by our names instead of being called names,” when we hear that our eyes are opened wide to the essential humanity of the people we serve. We see them for who they are, human beings of God’s creation with names.

I remember years ago walking down a street here in the Loop, (this was long before I became associated with the Temple), and seeing a man crouched in the doorway of an abandoned building. I gave a furtive sideways glance at him and caught sight of his sign, “If you can’t help me, at least look at me.” We as Christian disciples are called to look, to live with our eyes wide open.

When those thirty adults come here on Wednesdays late in the afternoon to read with the elementary school children from the Ruben Salazar Bilingual Center, a public school, the children’s eyes may be opened to new words and ideas, but certainly the tutors’ eyes are opened wide to the hopes and dreams and resolve of young people striving to conquer English as a useful language. The category “immigrant,” so cruelly vilified in our graceless culture, becomes a term of endearment, and our investment in the children’s lives becomes crucial, not only to them but also to us. Living with eyes wide open necessitates that we grow beyond our pre-judgments.

The same for when we attend a performance of the Silk Road Theatre. Last night Sally and I were part of the audience of about 80 people downstairs in Pierce Hall set up to resemble a cabaret, while singers and storytellers representing the cultures of the historic Silk Road took us inside some songs from Broadway musicals, opening our eyes to the ways Asian people have been portrayed on stage. Place yourself at one of those round tables and you will never look in the same way at an Indian woman who disappointed her parents by singing on stage instead of becoming a doctor or a Korean man who performed on Broadway, but given lines only in Chinese, not English. Stereotypes are shattered by eye-opening truths.

How hard was it for us to watch the mayhem leading to the beating death of a student outside Fenger High School? But we must not look away and accept it as just the way things are. So quickly people, with their tunnel vision, have blamed the parents. “Where are the parents? They are at fault.” Others focused on the school system. “Why did they think that they could mix two groups of kids from competing neighborhoods?”  Others saw only the influence of gangs and drug wars. There is some truth in each accusation, I suspect, but nothing will be done if we do not stare for a long time at the whole picture of violence and begin to untangle the complexity of it.

I, for one, have no special insight into it. But we cannot simply shake our heads, assign blame, and then turn a blind eye to it until it happens again . . . and again . . . and again.

Some of us have seen death up close, not always violent, sometimes expected. So many of us have watched a parent diminish and die. It is terribly hard, and yet, if we are fortunate enough to be in the right place at the right time, it can be a privilege . . . to accompany at death the one who gave us life. But, no matter how we look at it, death is stark, and when it comes like it did for Jesus on the cross, the crucifixion being the price Bartimaeus paid for having Jesus open his eyes, it is hard to watch.

Jesus opens our eyes and calls us to follow him along the way, and perhaps for the first time we see what really matters. No rosy picture here, no free pass to avoid the difficulties of life. But, believing is seeing. Believing in Jesus as our Lord and Savior gives us a perspective by which, seeing life in a new way, opens us up to a new life.   

We see the hungry, and we know that we are our sister’s and brother’s keeper.

We see children working hard to master English, and we know that every child from everywhere is worthy of our investment.

We see people from around the world enact their stories, and we discover that their story is our story, too.

We see people attack others, and we are convinced that peace is hard work, but there is nothing more urgent.

We see death, most poignantly in the death of a loved one, a parent most expectedly, a child most devastatingly, and we understand that it is inevitable. We will die, too.  So, now is the time to live.

“Open my eyes that I may see . . .” we sing sweetly. Watch out for what you pray!  But living with our eyes wide open is the only way that we can follow Jesus on the way.  May we have the courage not to blink. Amen.