Friday's Eyewitness

 “What do you want me to do for you?”

I’ll never forget those words, even though I thought it was kind of obvious – I’m sitting there begging, yelling at the top of my lungs for him to have mercy on me.

And he asks me, “What do I want?”

I’ve been asking for things all of my life. Money. Food. A cool cup of water. But this one was simple. I said, “Rabbi, I want to see.”

He tells me that my faith has healed me. And just like that, my eyes were opened.

I’ve always dreamed about what it would feel like to have my eyesight restored. Would it hurt? Would it sting? Would it be a gradual recovery like a wave slowly reaching the shore? But it wasn’t like that at all. It happened painlessly, instantly, in the blink of an … eye. How wonderful it was, to see, to have his face be the first thing I saw. His smiling face.

And now he’s gone.

I followed him all week, you know. What else could I do? I’m a beggar. So I went with him. I listened and I watched. I viewed him with my own eyes. I took part in his entry into Jerusalem. We sang and cheered. Palm branches covered the road. What a sight to behold! Our messiah was resuming to his rightful throne. The Son of David returning to the holy city!

And then today’s events unfolded. Word spread like fire through the city. Arrested? Really? For what? The man was as gentle as a lamb.

I ran to the Praetorium as quickly as I could. Everybody else was scattering. They were saying, “Bartimeus, leave, get far away from here, it’s too dangerous!” But as a new follower, I knew I’d be safe. I could blend in. After a lifetime of tripping over rocks and roots, I chose to run toward him.

I got there as Pilate handed him over to death. I watched the soldiers flog him. He was tied up like an animal. Beaten like a criminal. And he took it, each brutal, flesh-ripping lash. I begged him to cry out for mercy, like I had done on the side of the road. I watched every second as my eyes filled with tears. There are some things I wish I hadn’t seen. The amount of blood was overwhelming. Those hideous stripes across his back. I’ll never be able to erase that from my mind.

The agony in his face was too much to see. That face, once filled with so much love, now gripped in torment. I watched the soldiers punch him and fit his head with a crown of thorns. I listened as they mocked him and I followed as they led him through the streets and up the hill.

Oh the things I’ve seen this week: the sky, trees; bread, birds, and babies. How wonderful it’s been just to see my own toes. You have no idea what it’s like to not have to use my hands to feel my way around. But is it all worth it, if I can’t see him? If the giver of the most precious gift of all time is gone, is it worth it?

I didn’t make it up that hill. I couldn’t go any farther. So I stayed behind. I wasn’t afraid. But there are some things my eyes don’t need to see. When you’re blind, your hearing becomes extremely acute. I used to live by sound. Chirping birds announced the daylight. I can recognize every one of my friends by the shuffle of their sandals in the dust.

Some sounds are too much to bear. I heard the hammer pounding the nails and the wood grinding against rock as it dropped into the earth.

I heard his mother crying.

His screams echoed against the blackened sky.

I’d seen enough blood for one day. So I couldn’t make it up that hill. He was the light to my darkened world. He gave me back my life – I didn’t want to see his death.

What do I do now? I have nowhere to go. My blindness is gone, but now I’m back to stumbling in the dark.