“Then Jesus laid his hands on his eyes again,
and he looked intently and his sight was restored.”
–Mark 8:25
The verse we just read comes from a Biblical account that tells of two firsts in Jesus’ ministry. As far as Mark’s gospel records, that day recalls the initial time Jesus restored sight to one who was blind. God’s son will do so again later with a man called Bartimaeus, but this scene is the initial one. Yet along with that wondrous outcome we are told of the first and, as far as I can tell, only, two-step act of healing by Jesus. In every other Biblical instance when someone came to him for physical restoration, a single word or touch brought healing. Not this time.
Jesus enters the village of Bethsaida when a blind man is brought to him by friends. They beg God’s son to touch him. The implication is that they want his sight restored, but do not explicitly ask for that gift. Leading by the hand, Jesus takes the man outside the village, places saliva upon his eyes and asks “Can you see anything?” “I can see people,” the man answers, “but they look like trees, walking.” Any of you with a strong prescription for corrective lenses can relate. Prior to my cataract surgeries, had I stepped into the pulpit without my contact lenses or glasses, I could have seen people in the pews, but they might have looked like well-dressed trees to my 20/200 eyes, too! It was that way in Bethsaida as well so Jesus placed his hands on the man a second time. Only then is his sight restored as we read that “he saw everything clearly.”
Mark is the only gospel writer to tell of that moment. The other three each describe times Jesus restores the sight of someone, but this gospel is the only one to tell about this two-step act of healing. That Biblical uniqueness has led some scholars to speculate the event was embarrassing to early Christians, somehow depicting him as less than all-powerful.
We don’t know if that was the reason or not, but I am glad Mark tells us about that moment as it highlights times when you and I look, but do not see either; when our eyes are open, but our vision is still blurry. I’m not talking about physical problems or when a prescription needs to be strengthened or those early moments on awakening when we must rub out eyes before seeing clearly. Rather, that ancient scene points to other times when we have no need of an eye-care professional and yet still do not see; when eyesight is 20/20 or better, yet we don’t really understand what is before us.
As part of a trip to the Holy Land eleven years ago, our group went to Bethlehem. As I left the hotel that morning I picked-up a debit card as I needed some cash. During a stop at an olive wood factory, the owner heard that I wanted to visit an ATM so he provided a staff member to drive me to a nearby bank. Another man in our group went along and he was able to get cash easily yet the machine rejected my card twice.
I went to the machine he used, but got the same error message. Our driver took us inside to the customer service department. A man there was glad to help, but before swiping my card in a traditional credit card device, he asked to see my passport. I had left it on the bus, but after an animated conversation in Arabic with another man from the same factory the banker agreed to proceed if I faxed a photocopy when we got back to the store. He ran the transaction, got the authorization and then presented the slip for me to sign.
Only then did I see that it was my wife’s debit card and she wasn’t on the trip. I couldn’t sign her name and fax her passport later, thus the transaction was cancelled and I left without the cash. When our group heard about that outing, some of them teased me about my taking Lori’s card 9300 miles from home and trying to use it. There was an innocent explanation, namely that I had inadvertently brought her card instead of my own on the trip, but for our purposes here I am highlighting times when all of us can look, but not see.
For when someone tells us that everyone is fine, but we fail to notice body language revealing a different story we miss an opportunity to ask more. When our adult child tries to convince us that a new technology is the way to go, but all we can see is the childhood version of him urging us to get the latest Power Rangers action figure, we can walk without with a new tool that would help us. Or when we move across country for a new job that promises riches and opportunity, but months later realize that there were warning signals we failed to heed, we then have to decide how to extract ourself from the wrong setting.
I suspect Mark told us about this two-step healing to lift up moments as people of faith when we suffer from such occasions and others like them. Those times, when we, too, look, but do not see.
To his credit, that man outside Bethsaida didn’t say to Jesus after the first try “I see better now–thanks so much” but instead named what he could perceive, but also the need for greater clarity. For him it took two touches from the Word made flesh before it could be said that he “saw everything clearly.” For you and me it might require many more times of trial and error before true clarity comes. Yet like him, may we keep at it, in our lifelong effort to learn and grow.
All-seeing Lord, I trust in your clarity and knowledge. May I gain the kind of sight for me you desire for me and thus come to see clearly. Amen.
Leave a Reply