I have a confession to make: I don’t notice things. I’ll have spent half an hour with someone, and they’ll finally ask, “So what do you think of my new glasses?” I never realized they were wearing new glasses—or a new haircut, or a new dress, or whatever the fairly obvious to anyone but me change might be. A friend of mine drives a very noticeable bright aqua Jeep, and she’ll say, “I drove right by you this morning and waved,” and of course, I had no idea. I’d like to think it’s because I’m constantly thinking deep thoughts, but I’m afraid that’s not the answer. I just don’t notice things.
Seeing is important. Seeing others, really seeing them, is an essential part of living in community. It enables us to transcend differences, to form bonds, to delight in shared values. And despite my apparent inability to notice the world around me, I always feel that the most traumatic loss of a sense would be the loss of sight. It’s difficult enough to navigate life with my eyes open; I can’t imagine doing it were they to be permanently closed.
And that’s where we start with today’s Gospel reading: with a blind man. You’ve probably noticed the number of blind people referenced in Scripture. There was little those afflicted could do by way of work, so most were reduced to begging. And so it was with Bartimaeus, who is on the roadside outside Jericho. He is poor, he is blind, and he is clearly a nuisance; when he learns that Jesus is passing and calls out, everyone around tells him to be quiet.
It’s a small story, but it’s worth taking a second look—noticing— what those storylines are. First, there’s the fact that this blind man, someone who clearly lived on the fringes of society, knew who Jesus was. He’s well-informed and attentive. He notices things. He notices the size of the crowd and knows what that means; and when he’s told who is passing, he knows exactly who Jesus is and what he can do.
Second, he is willing to claim his rights. He shouts; the good citizens around him try to hush him, but he shouts. He’s determined. He doesn’t let them tell him how he should behave. He doesn’t let them make decisions for him.
Third—and this is particularly interesting—Jesus asks him a question. “What do you want me to do for you?” Of course he wants to be cured! What else could he possibly want? But Jesus didn’t make any assumptions. He let the man choose. He showed this blind beggar the respect no one else had. He treated him as a valued human being and He cured him.
What do you want me to do for you? When we can ask that of others, instead of assuming we know best what someone else needs, then we too will be closer to Jesus, on that road to Jericho, and in our own modern lives. It really is all about noticing!
Quiero confesar algo: no me doy cuenta de las cosas. Habré pasado media hora con alguien y finalmente me preguntan: “¿Qué piensas de mis lentes nuevos?” Nunca me di cuenta que traían lentes nuevos, o un corte de cabello nuevo, o un vestido nuevo, o lo que sea el cambio bastante obvio para cualquier otro menos yo. Una amiga mía conduce un Jeep aguamarina brillante muy notable, y ella dice: “Pasé junto a ti esta mañana y te saludé”, y por supuesto, no tenía ni idea. Me gustaría pensar que es porque constantemente estoy pensando en pensamientos profundos, pero lastimosamente no es la razón. Simplemente no me doy cuenta de las cosas.
Ver es importante. Ver a los demás, realmente verlos, es una parte esencial de vivir en comunidad. Nos permite trascender las diferencias, formar coneciones, deleitarnos en los valores compartidos. Y a pesar de mi aparente incapacidad para notar el mundo que me rodea, siempre siento que la pérdida más traumática de un sentido sería perder la vista. Ya es bastante difícil navegar por la vida con los ojos abiertos; No puedo imaginar hacerlo si estuvieran cerrados permanentemente.
Y ahí es donde comenzamos con la lectura del Evangelio de hoy: con un ciego. Probablemente haya notado la cantidad de personas ciegas a las que se hace referencia en las Escrituras. Era poco lo que los afligidos podían hacer a modo de trabajo, por lo que la mayoría se vio reducido a mendigar. Y así fue con Bartimeo, que está al borde del camino a las afueras de Jericó. Es pobre, es ciego y claramente es una molestia; cuando se entera de que Jesús pasa y grita, todos a su alrededor le dicen que se calle.
Es una historia pequeña, pero vale la pena echarle un segundo vistazo y notar cuáles son los puntos principales. Primero, está el hecho de que este hombre ciego, alguien que claramente vivía al margen de la sociedad, sabía quién era Jesús. Está bien informado y atento. Se da cuenta de las cosas. Se da cuenta del tamaño de la multitud y sabe lo que eso significa; y cuando le dicen quién está pasando, sabe exactamente quién es Jesús y lo que puede hacer.
En segundo lugar, está dispuesto a reclamar sus derechos. Grita y los buenos ciudadanos que lo rodean tratan de silenciarlo, pero grita. Está decidido. No deja que le digan cómo debe comportarse. No deja que tomen decisiones por él.
Tercero, y esto es particularmente interesante, Jesús le hace una pregunta. “¿Qué quieres que haga por ti?” ¡Claro que quiere curarse! ¿Qué más podría querer? Pero Jesús no hizo ninguna suposición. Dejó que el hombre eligiera. Mostró a este mendigo ciego el respeto que nadie más tenía. Lo trató como a un ser humano valioso y luego lo curó.
¿Qué quieres que haga por ti? Cuando podamos pedir eso a los demás, en lugar de asumir que sabemos mejor lo que alguien más necesita, entonces también estaremos más cerca de Jesús, en ese camino a Jericó, y en nuestra propia vida moderna. ¡Realmente se trata de darse cuenta!
This reflection was reposted from Diocesan Archives. Author: Jeannette de Beauvoir
Feature Image Credit: Jon Tyson, unsplash.com/photos/rbz1hVh7_LM
Kathryn James Hermes, FSP, is the author of the newly released title
Kathryn Mulderink, MA, is married to Robert, Station Manager for Holy Family Radio. Together they have seven children (including Father Rob), and four grandchildren. She is President of the local community of Secular Discalced Carmelites and has published five books and many articles. Over the last 30 years, she has worked as a teacher, headmistress, catechist, Pastoral Associate, and DRE, and as a writer and voice talent for Catholic Radio. Currently, she serves the Church by writing and speaking, and by collaborating with various parishes and to lead others to encounter Christ and engage their faith. Her website is 
Christine Hanus is a thwarted idealist who, nevertheless, lives quite happily in Upstate NY. She is a wife and mother of five grown children.
Susan Ciancio has a BA in psychology and a BA in sociology from the University of Notre Dame, with an MA in liberal studies from Indiana University. For the past 17 years, she has worked as a professional editor and writer, editing both fiction and nonfiction books, magazine articles, blogs, educational lessons, professional materials and website content. Eleven of those years have been in the pro-life sector. Currently Susan freelances and writes weekly for HLI, edits for American Life League, and is the editor of Celebrate Life Magazine. She also serves as executive editor for the Culture of Life Studies Program-an educational nonprofit program for K-12 students.
Tami Urcia grew up in Western Michigan, a middle child in a large Catholic family. She spent early young adulthood as a missionary in Mexico, studying theology and philosophy, then worked and traveled extensively before finishing her Bachelor’s Degree in Western Kentucky. She loves tackling projects, finding fun ways to keep her little ones occupied, quiet conversation with the hubby and finding unique ways to love. She works at her parish, is a guest blogger on 
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