Tag: faith

Three Dreams

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(A meditation on December 25, January 15 and July 4)

By Ken Woodley

Jesus Christ of Nazareth had a dream.

He had been to the mountaintop.

Jesus had a dream that we would love our neighbors as ourselves.

That we would turn the other cheek.

That those who hunger and thirst for righteousness would be filled.

He had a dream about the blessedness of peacemakers and he called them children of God.

Jesus had a dream that you and I are the light of the world and that we would let that light shine so bright that it would give light to everyone in the house.

Yes, Jesus very definitely had a dream.

And he was not alone.

The Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. also had a dream.

He had been to the mountaintop.

Dr. King had a dream that the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave-owners would one day sit down at the table of brotherhood.

That the heat of injustice would be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.

He had a dream that one day his children would live in a nation where they would not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.

That one day little black boys and black girls would be able to join hands with little white boys and girls as sisters and brothers.

Yes, Jesus Christ of Nazareth and the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. very definitely had a dream.

And they were not alone.

The United States of America also had a dream.

It had been to the mountaintop.

The United States had a dream about truths that were so obvious that they were self-evident.

A dream that all people are created equal.

That they are endowed by their creator with certain unalienable rights.

A dream about life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.

A dream about forming a more perfect union.

A trinity of dreamers and dreams that share so much in common:

Peace. Love. Humanity.

None of them was, or is, a danger to anybody.

They are fiercely innocent.

But they are so utterly vulnerable.

The first dream was crucified with hammers and nails.

The second was assassinated by a single finger on a trigger.

And the third dream was pursued by its own dreamers—hunted down by lynch ropes and chains. The Liberty Bell didn’t crack on July 4, 1776 because it was rung so hard for so long. No, it cracked because liberty rang for far too few people on that day. For African Americans, the liberty bell made no sound at all that day.

They were, and are, still so vulnerable. They are stalked daily by a darkness that does not understand the light that fills them and shines through them.

The dark divisions of hate surround them.

Back them into a corner.

Certain that one day they will smother the light.

That’s where we come in.

You and I have a question to answer:

What happens to those dreams?

Where do they go from here?

Each of those dreamers articulated a vision that has—so far—been beyond humanity’s ability to make come fully true for everyone.

The United States of America, in fact, failed to grasp the full meaning of its own dream, believing for far too long that its life, liberty and pursuit of happiness were meant only for white males of a certain social stature.

January 15 is the birthday of the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., who we honor on January 20 with a national holiday. But there are still some who would like to make that dream—and the challenge it still sets for our nation—disappear.

Just as the hammers and the nails sought to erase the meaning and message of Jesus Christ, whose birthday carols still ring in our ears.

But the assassin’s bullet failed and the instruments of crucifixion were unable to complete their mission.

Dreams filled with the light and love of God cannot be eradicated.

The love of God for all people—and the light of that truth—cannot be hammered and nailed out of existence. It cannot be assassinated.

But the struggle to reach the light of that love to all people is very real. The darkness of this world is no joke. It is alive and well and living in the human heart. 

Even, sometimes, our own.

But the light, too, is alive and well and reaches for our wrinkles and veins, yearns for our heart, longing to go where only our footsteps can take it. 

We are the light of the world. Jesus said so. I believe him. 

God didn’t light up our souls so that we could hide behind locked doors and shuttered windows.

God lit up our souls so that we would shine, shine, shine.

And that is what we must do because we are in a desperate race, you and I, a relay of light against the darkness. We must run the light of healing love and reconciliation as far as we can.

We run it to those living in darkness and despair, and then they run their own light as far as their lives can take it.

Because the darkness has its own footsteps, the footsteps of those who try to divide us over race, separate us because of the color of our skin, segregate us over the language that we speak, partition us over how we choose to pray to God, disjoin us because of who we choose to love.

The relay of light is no spectator sport. There is no sitting on the sidelines. If we don’t run our light into the world the vacuum of our absence will be filled with the darkness of division. 

There are hundreds of thousands of ways, large and small and none insignificant, to shine our light into the world toward one another, to heal and reconcile. 

A light that might inspire a nation.

A light that Jesus knows is inside us.

A light that Dr. King, who preached the Gospel of Christ, saw from the mountaintop.

A light the United States of America declared over and over and over until it finally began to believe its own declaration.

A light in which their three dreams—walking in your footsteps—can gather, join hands and say:

Hallelujah.

(A meditation on December 25, January 15 and July 4)

By Ken Woodley
Jesus Christ of Nazareth had a dream.
He had been to the mountaintop.
Jesus had a dream that we would love our neighbors as ourselves.
That we would turn the other cheek.
That those who hunger and thirst for righteousness would be filled.
He had a dream about the blessedness of peacemakers and he called them children of God.
Jesus had a dream that you and I are the light of the world and that we would let that light shine so bright that it would give light to everyone in the house.
Yes, Jesus very definitely had a dream.
And he was not alone.

The Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. also had a dream.
He had been to the mountaintop.
Dr. King had a dream that the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave-owners would one day sit down at the table of brotherhood.
That the heat of injustice would be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.
He had a dream that one day his children would live in a nation where they would not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.
That one day little black boys and black girls would be able to join hands with little white boys and girls as sisters and brothers.
Yes, Jesus Christ of Nazareth and the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. very definitely had a dream.
And they were not alone.

The United States of America also had a dream.
It had been to the mountaintop.
The United States had a dream about truths that were so obvious that they were self-evident.
A dream that all people are created equal.
That they are endowed by their creator with certain unalienable rights.
A dream about life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.
A dream about forming a more perfect union.

A trinity of dreamers and dreams that share so much in common:
Peace. Love. Humanity.
None of them was, or is, a danger to anybody.
They are fiercely innocent.
But they are so utterly vulnerable.

The first dream was crucified with hammers and nails.
The second was assassinated by a single finger on a trigger.
And the third dream was pursued by its own dreamers—hunted down by lynch ropes and chains. The Liberty Bell didn’t crack on July 4, 1776 because it was rung so hard for so long. No, it cracked because liberty rang for far too few people on that day. For African Americans, the liberty bell made no sound at all that day.

They were, and are, still so vulnerable. They are stalked daily by a darkness that does not understand the light that fills them and shines through them.
The dark divisions of hate surround them.
Back them into a corner.
Certain that one day they will smother the light.

That’s where we come in.
You and I have a question to answer:

What happens to those dreams?
Where do they go from here?

Each of those dreamers articulated a vision that has—so far—been beyond humanity’s ability to make come fully true for everyone.

The United States of America, in fact, failed to grasp the full meaning of its own dream, believing for far too long that its life, liberty and pursuit of happiness were meant only for white males of a certain social stature.

January 15 is the birthday of the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., who we honor on January 20 with a national holiday. But there are still some who would like to make that dream—and the challenge it still sets for our nation—disappear.

Just as the hammers and the nails sought to erase the meaning and message of Jesus Christ, whose birthday carols still ring in our ears.

But the assassin’s bullet failed and the instruments of crucifixion were unable to complete their mission.

Dreams filled with the light and love of God cannot be eradicated.

The love of God for all people—and the light of that truth—cannot be hammered and nailed out of existence. It cannot be assassinated.

But the struggle to reach the light of that love to all people is very real. The darkness of this world is no joke. It is alive and well and living in the human heart.
Even, sometimes, our own.

But the light, too, is alive and well and reaches for our wrinkles and veins, yearns for our heart, longing to go where only our footsteps can take it.

We are the light of the world. Jesus said so. I believe him.

God didn’t light up our souls so that we could hide behind locked doors and shuttered windows.

God lit up our souls so that we would shine, shine, shine.

And that is what we must do because we are in a desperate race, you and I, a relay of light against the darkness. We must run the light of healing love and reconciliation as far as we can.

We run it to those living in darkness and despair, and then they run their own light as far as their lives can take it.

Because the darkness has its own footsteps, the footsteps of those who try to divide us over race, separate us because of the color of our skin, segregate us over the language that we speak, partition us over how we choose to pray to God, disjoin us because of who we choose to love.

The relay of light is no spectator sport. There is no sitting on the sidelines. If we don’t run our light into the world the vacuum of our absence will be filled with the darkness of division.

There are hundreds of thousands of ways, large and small and none insignificant, to shine our light into the world toward one another, to heal and reconcile.

A light that might inspire a nation.

A light that Jesus knows is inside us.
A light that Dr. King, who preached the Gospel of Christ, saw from the mountaintop.
A light the United States of America declared over and over and over until it finally began to believe its own declaration.

A light in which their three dreams—walking in your footsteps—can gather, join hands and say:

Hallelujah.





The Footsteps of Christmas

kenwoodley34 Comments

By Ken Woodley

What a compelling reaction by Mary in Luke’s birth narrative as the  invisible snowflakes of grace fall all around her, shepherds recounting their encounter with angels.

“Do not be afraid,” Luke’s account states, because this is “good news for all people. Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is Christ the Lord.”

Go to the manger to see for yourselves, the angels told the shepherds.

So they did and those listening to their story, Luke tells us, “were amazed.” 

But what of Mary? Her reaction deserves our full attention, a deep, silent and thoughtful response, as if she could see the footsteps of the Lord in those  unseen snowflakes of grace that began covering the world around the manger.

She “treasured all these words and pondered them in her heart.” Mary was clearly beginning a meditative journey about the deepest meaning of her son’s birth.

The angel Gabriel had sketched out the meaning when he’d visited Mary in Nazareth nine months earlier. You will give birth to a son, Gabriel had told her, conceived by the Holy Spirit, a son to be called Jesus. 

“He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High. The Lord God will give him the throne of his father David,” Gabriel had further explained, “and he will reign over the house of Jacob forever; his kingdom will have no end.”

Mary’s reaction had often left me perplexed. Why did she need to ponder the shepherd’s words? Gabriel had made things clear to her. But then I reconsidered.

Anyone would be awash in wondering about an encounter with an angel. There may even have been times when she doubted her own understanding of what had happened. Could it have merely been a dream?

“The Lord God will give him the throne of his father David and he will reign over the house of Jacob forever….”

Did that mean her son would some day become an earthly king, sitting upon an earthly throne?

The throne of David, after all, was very much an earthly throne and David was an earthly king.

Mary surely wondered about the precise meaning of those words. 

Nor was she alone in doing so. People have been pondering them ever since.

The question—like footprints in the snow—followed Jesus all of his life.

From his very first moments in this world to the final hours before his death—when Pilate asked him “Are you king of the Jews?”—people have wondered about the true meaning and message of his birth. 

In the end, each of us will decide for ourselves who this Jesus is in our lives and how that answer influences the way we see the world, what we see in each other, and how we see ourselves.  

And, crucially, the decisions we make in response to our answer.

We can choose to treasure the answering of that question in our hearts, and ponder it for a lifetime, joining Mary in a contemplative journey. If we choose that path, the nuances and subtleties of our answer will develop in different ways during our lifetime. A spiritual journey is organic, not static. 

There will be layers of understanding, flashes of clear insight—as if they were spoken to us by an angel—that may, at times, seem like an uncertain mirage or a dream when our daily lives intrude, pushing them to the side. We may also find that we return to previous understandings, but with deeper insight into them.

But if we treasure this and ponder it in our hearts, as Mary did, it can become both sustenance and light for our journey when we need it most.

The sun eventually melts even the deepest of snowfalls and every footstep taken through them disappears.

But not these footprints.

Because they are not left in the snow.

Every footstep we take on this journey is left firmly planted in the heart of our soul where the deepest meaning of Jesus’ birth is waiting to be born.

By Ken Woodley

What a compelling reaction by Mary in Luke’s birth narrative as the invisible snowflakes of grace fall all around her, shepherds recounting their encounter with angels.
“Do not be afraid,” Luke’s account states, because this is “good news for all people. Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is Christ the Lord.”
Go to the manger to see for yourselves, the angels told the shepherds.
So they did and those listening to their story, Luke tells us, “were amazed.”
But what of Mary? Her reaction deserves our full attention, a deep, silent and thoughtful response, as if she could see the footsteps of the Lord in those unseen snowflakes of grace that began covering the world around the manger.
She “treasured all these words and pondered them in her heart.” Mary was clearly beginning a meditative journey about the deepest meaning of her son’s birth.
The angel Gabriel had sketched out the meaning when he’d visited Mary in Nazareth nine months earlier. You will give birth to a son, Gabriel had told her, conceived by the Holy Spirit, a son to be called Jesus.
“He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High. The Lord God will give him the throne of his father David,” Gabriel had further explained, “and he will reign over the house of Jacob forever; his kingdom will have no end.”
Mary’s reaction had often left me perplexed. Why did she need to ponder the shepherd’s words? Gabriel had made things clear to her. But then I reconsidered.
Anyone would be awash in wondering about an encounter with an angel. There may even have been times when she doubted her own understanding of what had happened. Could it have merely been a dream?
“The Lord God will give him the throne of his father David and he will reign over the house of Jacob forever….”
Did that mean her son would some day become an earthly king, sitting upon an earthly throne?
The throne of David, after all, was very much an earthly throne and David was an earthly king.
Mary surely wondered about the precise meaning of those words.
Nor was she alone in doing so. People have been pondering them ever since.
The question—like footprints in the snow—followed Jesus all of his life.
From his very first moments in this world to the final hours before his death—when Pilate asked him “Are you king of the Jews?”—people have wondered about the true meaning and message of his birth.
In the end, each of us will decide for ourselves who this Jesus is in our lives and how that answer influences they way we see the world, what we see in each other, and how we see ourselves.
And, crucially, the decisions we make in response to our answer.
We can choose to treasure the answering of that question in our hearts, and ponder it for a lifetime, joining Mary in a contemplative journey. If we choose that path, the nuances and subtleties of our answer will develop in different ways during our lifetime. A spiritual journey is organic, not static.
There will be layers of understanding, flashes of clear insight—as if they were spoken to us by an angel—that may, at times, seem like an uncertain mirage or a dream when our daily lives intrude, pushing them to the side. We may also find that we return to previous understandings, but with deeper insight into them.
But if we treasure this and ponder it in our hearts, as Mary did, it can become both sustenance and light for our journey when we need it most.
The sun eventually melts even the deepest of snowfalls and every footstep taken through them disappears.
But not these footprints.
Because they are not left in the snow.
Every footstep we take on this journey is left firmly planted in the heart of our soul where the deepest meaning of Jesus’ birth is waiting to be born.







Even Fools Like Me

kenwoodley34 Comments

By Ken Woodley

Christmas is still two weeks away, but oh, what a blessed gift it is to be a fool and yet still loved and saved by God.

What a blessed, blessed gift for us to unwrap.

I read the 35th chapter of the book of Isaiah (New International Version) nearly every morning before sunrise because, in typical Isaiah fashion, everything will be made right: 

“The Wilderness and the dry land shall be glad,

the desert shall rejoice and blossom;

… Then the eyes of the blind shall be opened,

and the ears of the deaf unstopped;

then the lame shall leap like a deer,

and the tongue of the speechless sing for joy … 

the burning sand shall become a pool,

and the thirsty ground springs of water….”

How wondrously miraculous for us because there are individual, highly personal “wildernesses” through which we all must travel, times when we feel blind, unable to speak or hear, and our hearts weary and broken to the point of lameness.

Sometimes the difficulty is just making it to the starting line through another cold, gray, dark morning that seems to dawn without any promise of a true sunrise.

But that is not all we are left with. That is never all there is, where God is concerned. There is a light that always shines, through any weather and every season—even shining in the seasons deep within other seasons.

How do we journey through our times of great trouble—or minor rough patches—into that spiritual “promised land” where even the driest deserts are turned inside out?

There is a highway, Isaiah assures us, the Holy Way, the way for God’s people, and on that Holy Way none of life’s “ravenous beasts” can stop us unless we let them.

That assurance is wonderful in its own right but the truly glorious thing is this:

“No traveler, not even fools, shall go astray,” we are told by God through the prophet Isaiah in the New Revised Standard Version.

Of that fact I rejoice and cheer until I go hoarse. Even in my most foolish moments—and God knows I’ve had several thousand—God has not let me go truly astray. God’s love and grace have kept me on that Holy Way. Or led back on that path after I’d wandered off.

God knows humanity and understands that all of us will act foolishly at times. Sometimes it’s simply the foolishness of putting our own words into God’s mouth, framing our own expectations as if they were the word of God, and then becoming disheartened when those expectations aren’t met.

I’ve had to remind myself that, with the best of intentions, I put those words in God’s mouth. There is a huge difference between a genuine communication from the Holy Spirit and my own wishful thinking.

If, when that happens, I don’t realize that what I’ve done is perform a ventriloquist act—putting my voice in God’s mouth—then I am the real dummy in the performance.

Ironically, another opportunity for human foolishness is ignoring the voice of God when it does speak to our soul—when it is not us putting words in God’s mouth but actually the Holy Spirit of God communicating with us directly. 

Especially when God is recommending a course correction in our lives to keep us on the Holy Way.

But God is ever-forgiving and ever-encouraging, even in the midst of our most foolish moments. God is always with us, speaking ceaselessly through the Holy Spirit until we listen, God promising that our deserts shall rejoice and blossom if we would only follow God’s signposts on the Holy Way.

There will be desert moments in our lives—we cannot avoid them—but, if we persevere, God promises that our troubled hearts shall some day leap like a deer.

Leap like the heart of a little child on Christmas Day.

Leap like a heart that understands the greatest gift of all is far too large to wrap.

Because that gift itself is wrapped around the whole, wide world:

God’s love. 

If we’d only all open it together.


By Ken Woodley
Christmas is still two weeks away, but oh, what a blessed gift it is to be a fool and yet still loved and saved by God.
What a blessed, blessed gift for us to unwrap.
I read the 35th chapter of the book of Isaiah (New International Version) nearly every morning before sunrise because, in typical Isaiah fashion, everything will be made right:
“The Wilderness and the dry land shall be glad,
the desert shall rejoice and blossom;
… Then the eyes of the blind shall be opened,
and the ears of the deaf unstopped;
then the lame shall leap like a deer,
and the tongue of the speechless sing for joy …
the burning sand shall become a pool,
and the thirsty ground springs of water….”
How wondrously miraculous for us because there are individual, highly personal “wildernesses” through which we all must travel, times when we feel blind, unable to speak or hear, and our hearts weary and broken to the point of lameness.
Sometimes the difficulty is just making it to the starting line through another cold, gray, dark morning that seems to dawn without any promise of a true sunrise.
But that is not all we are left with. That is never all there is, where God is concerned. There is a light that always shines, through any weather and every season—even shining in the seasons deep within other seasons.
How do we journey through our times of great trouble—or minor rough patches—into that spiritual “promised land” where even the driest deserts are turned inside out?
There is a highway, Isaiah assures us, the Holy Way, the way for God’s people, and on that Holy Way none of life’s “ravenous beasts” can stop us unless we let them.
That assurance is wonderful in its own right but the truly glorious thing is this:
“No traveler, not even fools, shall go astray,” we are told by God through the prophet Isaiah in the New Revised Standard Version.
Of that fact I rejoice and cheer until I go hoarse. Even in my most foolish moments—and God knows I’ve had several thousand—God has not let me go truly astray. God’s love and grace have kept me on that Holy Way. Or led back on that path after I’d wandered off.
God knows humanity and understands that all of us will act foolishly at times. Sometimes it’s simply the foolishness of putting our own words into God’s mouth, framing our own expectations as if they were the word of God, and then becoming disheartened when those expectations aren’t met.
I’ve had to remind myself that, with the best of intentions, I put those words in God’s mouth. There is a huge difference between a genuine communication from the Holy Spirit and my own wishful thinking.
If, when that happens, I don’t realize that what I’ve done is perform a ventriloquist act—putting my voice in God’s mouth—then I am the real dummy in the performance.
Ironically, another opportunity for human foolishness is ignoring the voice of God when it does speak to our soul—when it is not us putting words in God’s mouth but actually the Holy Spirit of God communicating with us directly.
Especially when God is recommending a course correction in our lives to keep us on the Holy Way.
But God is ever-forgiving and ever-encouraging, even in the midst of our most foolish moments. God is always with us, speaking ceaselessly through the Holy Spirit until we listen, God promising that our deserts shall rejoice and blossom if we would only follow God’s signposts on the Holy Way.
There will be desert moments in our lives—we cannot avoid them—but, if we persevere, God promises that our troubled hearts shall some day leap like a deer.
Leap like the heart of a little child on Christmas Day.
Leap like a heart that understands the greatest gift of all is far too large to wrap.
Because that gift itself is wrapped around the whole, wide world:
God’s love.
If we’d only all open it together.






The Journey and Adventure of a Lifetime

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By Ken Woodley

Why? Rather than go to the blind man, Jesus made the beggar Bartimaeus find him in a large crowd leaving Jericho. Why?

Wouldn’t it have been far kinder for Jesus to go to the blind man?

Let’s set the scene: In the time of Jesus, Jericho was a “gateway city.” Anyone traveling to Jerusalem from the north or the east passed through Jericho. That’s in addition to the city’s bustling population. Herod the Great, in fact, built his winter palace there. So today’s gospel lesson from Mark is overflowing with people.

But here’s the fascinating thing: Bartimaeus had zero difficulty finding Jesus among the throng going in and out of Jericho.

“So throwing off his cloak,”the Gospel tells us, “he sprang up and came to Jesus.” Bartimaeus had no problem at all.  And that is the crucial point.

Despite the crowded confusion, a man who cannot see was able find one person in particular and stand face to face with Jesus.

He did not have to search by trial and error, bumping into people, falling down, getting back up and trying again and again. 

Surrounded by the darkness of being blind, Bartimaeus was able to see the light of Christ.

It was as if his soul had a homing signal that led him unerringly to one man among everyone else in that crowded place.

 Bartimaeus, though blind, could see Jesus, and the truth of Jesus, far more clearly than just about anyone else in this very crowded scene. 

Especially those who sternly warned him to be quiet and stop bothering Jesus. If they thought that Jesus couldn’t be bothered to heal someone, they just couldn’t really see Jesus at all.

And perhaps that explains why Jesus instructs them to tell Bartimaeus to come to him. Jesus wanted them to witness and ponder a blind man finding him in a large crowd.

Maybe he wanted them to wonder what a blind beggar could see in Jesus that they themselves were blind to. Might Jesus have been addressing the widespread spiritual blindness he sensed all around him?

Jesus, of course, heals Bartimaeus, telling him, in his very meaningful way, that Bartimaeus’s own faith has made him well.  I believe Jesus intuitively knew that Bartimaeus would easily find him. The blind man’s insistent call was a cry of deep faith. But the events leading up to that healing almost seem more important than the healing, itself.

We all suffer times of momentary inner or spiritual blindness. 

The world outside our own Jerichos is crowded with things that can blind us to the light of Christ and the love of God and make our souls feel surrounded by darkness, unable to feel the presence of God or Christ, stumbling, struggling to regain our spiritual footing and then falling again..

When that happens, it’s a good idea to follow the example of Bartimaeus and shout with our lips and with our soul for Jesus to come and heal our inner blindness. 

And keep on shouting with stubborn persistence, no matter how much the crowded world tries to keep us silent, as those around Bartimaeus had attempted to silence him. 

When we persist in crying out for Jesus, we will find Christ. Our soul will be opened to his light. And in that light we will understand that Jesus never went anywhere. 

He never left us behind, outside the walls of our own Jerichos. In our inner blindness, we couldn’t see that he was right there with us all the time, and in a very special way that we might have lost sight of.

Like Bartimaeus, we mustn’t forget to throw off our “cloaks.” His  beggar’s cloak had become a cocoon of imprisonment, the “skin” of Bartimaeus’s previously blind existence. 

Throwing it off, as he sprang up and came to Jesus, he became like a new butterfly pulling free of its chrysalis. Spreading the wings of his new life of full sight and employment and a new cloak.

We can also pull free from the cocoon of our inner blindness. Throwing off the mental cloak that the world has crowded into our mind. Throwing it off so that our soul can see what so much of the crowded world is blind to—the presence of the Holy Spirit within us. 

Jesus repeatedly describes it with such simple, beautiful power in the Gospel of John. God, Jesus tells us in the 14th chapter, will send us the Holy Spirit. The world cannot accept the Holy Spirit, Jesus explains, because the world neither sees it nor knows it. But we will know it, Jesus assures us, because it lives with us and will actually be inside us.

“I in them and you in me,” Jesus prays to God in the 17th chapter. “May they be perfectly one.” That is a Holy Trinity of love that deserves our full attention and we are right in the very middle of it. God loves us, Jesus tells us, just as much as God loves him.

That transcendent, transformational truth is what the cloak of the crowded world can make us forget, leaving our souls feeling blind and alone, stumbling in the dark, unable to find—not one person in a crowded place—but unable to find what God has actually put within us.

The deepest truth in today’s gospel lesson about Bartimaeus’ encounter with Jesus is that the most profound “sight” we possess has nothing at all to do with our eyes.

And exploring that truth is the journey, and adventure, of a lifetime.

By Ken Woodley

Why? Rather than go to the blind man, Jesus made the beggar Bartimaeus find him in a large crowd leaving Jericho. Why?

Wouldn’t it have been far kinder for Jesus to go to the blind man?

Let’s set the scene: In the time of Jesus, Jericho was a “gateway city.” Anyone traveling to Jerusalem from the north or the east passed through Jericho. That’s in addition to the city’s bustling population. Herod the Great, in fact, built his winter palace there. So today’s gospel lesson from Mark is overflowing with people.

But here’s the fascinating thing: Bartimaeus had zero difficulty finding Jesus among the throng going in and out of Jericho.

“So throwing off his cloak,”the Gospel tells us, “he sprang up and came to Jesus.” Bartimaeus had no problem at all. And that is the crucial point.

Despite the crowded confusion, a man who cannot see was able find one person in particular and stand face to face with Jesus.

He did not have to search by trial and error, bumping into people, falling down, getting back up and trying again and again.

Surrounded by the darkness of being blind, Bartimaeus was able to see the light of Christ.

It was as if his soul had a homing signal that led him unerringly to one man among everyone else in that crowded place.

Bartimaeus, though blind, could see Jesus, and the truth of Jesus, far more clearly than just about anyone else in this very crowded scene.

Especially those who sternly warned him to be quiet and stop bothering Jesus. If they thought that Jesus couldn’t be bothered to heal someone, they just couldn’t really see Jesus at all.

And perhaps that explains why Jesus instructs them to tell Bartimaeus to come to him. Jesus wanted them to witness and ponder a blind man finding him in a large crowd.

Maybe he wanted them to wonder what a blind beggar could see in Jesus that they themselves were blind to. Might Jesus have been addressing the widespread spiritual blindness he sensed all around him?

Jesus, of course, heals Bartimaeus, telling him, in his very meaningful way, that Bartimaeus’s own faith has made him well. I believe Jesus intuitively knew that Bartimaeus would easily find him. The blind man’s insistent call was a cry of deep faith. But the events leading up to that healing almost seem more important than the healing, itself.

We all suffer times of momentary inner or spiritual blindness.

The world outside our own Jerichos is crowded with things that can blind us to the light of Christ and the love of God and make our souls feel surrounded by darkness, unable to feel the presence of God or Christ, stumbling, struggling to regain our spiritual footing and then falling again..

When that happens, it’s a good idea to follow the example of Bartimaeus and shout with our lips and with our soul for Jesus to come and heal our inner blindness.

And keep on shouting with stubborn persistence, no matter how much the crowded world tries to keep us silent, as those around Bartimaeus had attempted to silence him.

When we persist in crying out for Jesus, we will find Christ. Our soul will be opened to his light. And in that light we will understand that Jesus never went anywhere.

He never left us behind, outside the walls of our own Jerichos. In our inner blindness, we couldn’t see that he was right there with us all the time, and in a very special way that we might have lost sight of.

Like Bartimaeus, we mustn’t forget to throw off our “cloaks.” His beggar’s cloak had become a cocoon of imprisonment, the “skin” of Bartimaeus’s previously blind existence.

Throwing it off, as he sprang up and came to Jesus, he became like a new butterfly pulling free of its chrysalis. Spreading the wings of his new life of full sight and employment and a new cloak.

We can also pull free from the cocoon of our inner blindness. Throwing off the mental cloak that the world has crowded into our mind. Throwing it off so that our soul can see what so much of the crowded world is blind to—the presence of the Holy Spirit within us.

Jesus repeatedly describes it with such simple, beautiful power in the Gospel of John. God, Jesus tells us in the 14th chapter, will send us the Holy Spirit. The world cannot accept the Holy Spirit, Jesus explains, because the world neither sees it nor knows it. But we will know it, Jesus assures us, because it lives with us and will actually be inside us.

“I in them and you in me,” Jesus prays to God in the 17th chapter. “May they be perfectly one.” That is a Holy Trinity of love that deserves our full attention and we are right in the very middle of it. God loves us, Jesus tells us, just as much as God loves him.

That transcendent, transformational truth is what the cloak of the crowded world can make us forget, leaving our souls feeling blind and alone, stumbling in the dark, unable to find—not one person in a crowded place—but unable to find what God has actually put within us.

The deepest truth in today’s gospel lesson about Bartimaeus’ encounter with Jesus is that the most profound “sight” we possess has nothing at all to do with our eyes.

And exploring that truth is the journey, and adventure, of a lifetime.