The first ever telephone call took place in 1876 between Alexander Graham Bell, and his assistant Thomas Watson – they were about 20 feet apart in different rooms.
Allegedly the first thing said was:
“Mr. Watson, come here – I want to see you.”
And Watson walked to the next room, where they both celebrated the success of the device.
Some years later, in January 1915, these same two men shared the first transcontinental telephone conversation: Bell, in New York, used the same line: “Come Here – I want to see you.” But Watson, in San Francisco, replied that while he was agreeable to the request, this time it would take him more than a week to arrive.
The desire to be seen – and to see – is there for all of us.
Not in the social stratified way: the popular, the rich and famous, the so-called “important people.” Because in that manner, the people are not seen, just the image: what they wear and what they drive and what they do – those aspects of their life that are not always representative of who they are as an individual: a beloved child of God.
But the people. The individuals. The folks who come before God as they are. Warts and all, as the saying goes.
Imperfect. Fallible. Sinners. … Humans.
We all want to be seen. To be acknowledged as human; as possessing worth, as deserving of dignity and kindness, as a contributing member of the community.
See me for who I am – not for what I can do for you.
And yet: we don’t always see people.
Our unconscious bias allows us to overlook people.
Our judgement prevents us from seeing people.
Our society normalises distinctions to keep some people hidden.
Even worse, there are some folks who believe that some people are so unworthy of human dignity that they work to ensure “those people” remain unseen:
• the people experiencing homelessness, who are bussed to other communities before large-scale events.
• The folks whose mental illnesses lead to some unpredictable traits that don’t fit comfortably in the self-created structure of so-called “polite society”.
• The victims of society who have heard so often that they are not to be seen, that they start believing that they are unworthy to be seen.
This is the life of Bartimaeus: Son of Timeaus (whose name can mean “the defiled one”).
A blind beggar. An outcast. Defiled, indeed – like his father before him. The one whose very existence depending on the unpredictable kindness and pity of strangers.
This is someone who has nothing – NOTHING left to lose, so he cries out in the crowd asking for Jesus’ mercy.
Son of David, have mercy on me.
It’s a simple request. 7 words. Yet they carry a lot of weight to them.
They come from lips of a man who has been oppressed, who has been hurt.
They come from the heart of a man who has been rejected, who has not known mercy.
They come from the spirit of a man who is not welcome where others go, one who is not welcome in worship, in celebration, in community.
Son of David, have mercy on me: the defiled one.
Heartbreaking.
And yet: here’s when the earthly realities kick in again, and we hear that “Many STERNLY ordered him to BE QUIET.”
After all, you don’t want the dregs of the society getting in the way of the star guest and his entourage, who are making their way through town!
But Bartimaeus knows the reputation of Jesus: the one who acts with compassion, the one who extends grace, the one who really sees people.
And he knows the depth of calling him Son of David – acknowledging the regal nature of the person of Jesus, the prophetic assurance of deliverance and redemption and salvation, that is literally walking right past.
So Bartimaeus, Son of Timaeus, a blind beggar: calls out to be seen.
How beautiful it must have been for him to hear Jesus’s voice saying “Come Here! I want to see you.”
Because to Bartimaeus, that was not a statement of hoping for the future – it was a celebration of the present.
I want to see you means that I already see your existence: I recognise your humanity; I honour your being. I delight in the presence of God’s love and light that is manifest before me in your personhood.
I see you.
And so: possibly for the first time, Bartimaeus was seen: not as the societal outcast that his blindness made him, but as a child of God.
For the first time, the other meaning of the word Bartimaeus was known.
For while society was happy with considering this man as “the defiled one”, the other meaning of his name is “the honourable one”.
And we know the power of a name: Jesus honoured this man, in front of everyone. As the man cast aside what was holding him down – his cloak, as well as his shame, he came before the Son of God and was seen.
Seen by God, as he had always been seen: an honourable son.
Seen by the disciples, as Jesus helped them recognise the ever-present opportunity for ministry.
Seen by the people who had tried to hold him back, as they learned the beauty of compassion.
Seen by the crowds, as their worldview shifted to include those less fortunate than themselves as welcomed in society.
Seen by us: as we ourselves consider how to remove the blindness of the world, and of our own eyes, in order to see one another as God sees us.
• Which inspires us to ponder and reflect on our own societal and spiritual blindness:
• What is our blindness? What is our impediment?
• What prevents us from seeing the grace that is being lavished upon us?
• Who is blocking our eyes from seeing Jesus?
• What do we need to do so that we too can hear Jesus calling us saying “Come Here, I want to see you!”
• And how can we live and love in the world in a way that conveys that same Christ-like respect and dignity, for all of God’s honoured children?
So as we reflect on those questions, which I realise are as complex and multi-faceted to us as they would have been to the people in the Bible, I’ll share one final thought from this Gospel:
As Jesus provides the gift of physical sight to this man, he also provides the man the opportunity to do whatever he wishes with the gift. “Go” he says, “your faith has made you well.
And Bartimaeus does go: but not away – not for his own benefit or prosperity.
In fact, we hear that immediately he regained his sight, and followed Jesus on the way.
He was seen; and he used that gift to intentionally seek to see others. The gift of a simple phrase: Come Here, I want to see you.
The gifts that God gives us are always welcomed to be used as we engage with a world that begs to be seen.
So let us go ourselves in to the world: seen and seeing; loved and loving; blessed and blessing.
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