Loving The Unlovable People (Mark #37)

Let me start with something slightly risky. I want you to picture the final film in a movie franchise — the last installment of a long series. Let’s say the culminating entry in a superhero saga.

You’ve spent years building toward this. Heroes assembled, villains defeated, alliances forged. And now everything has converged on one final confrontation. The hero is standing there, bleeding, exhausted, his shield cracked. It genuinely looks like they’re going to lose. The villain has an entire army behind him. The tension is unbearable.

And right at that moment, the director cuts to a scene in a city park. Someone walking a dog. Someone throwing a frisbee. Ordinary people going about ordinary days.

And then you’re back on the battlefield.

You’d sit there thinking: what was that? Why the sidestep? It wasn’t comic relief — nothing was funny. It didn’t involve any of the characters. It felt meaningless.

Today’s Passage Feels Like That

Throughout his Gospel, Mark has been building steadily toward the pinnacle of the story: the crucifixion.

Last week we watched Jesus walking out in front of his disciples, which alarmed them — he had never done that. And then he told them for the third time that he would be arrested, flogged, and killed, and would rise on the third day.

The tension has been mounting for chapters.

And then today we get a story about Jesus healing a blind man on a roadside. It feels like a detour. Why would Mark insert what looks like a meaningless scene at exactly this moment?

Unless it isn’t meaningless at all.

What I hope you discover today is that this scene shows us precisely why Jesus came. That there is no moment too small for him. No person unimportant to him. Every moment and every person matters — and this whole story is why he’s walking toward Jerusalem to die.

And I hope you walk away knowing that whatever you’re going through, God is aware of it. Your pain is not too small for him. Your life is not insignificant to him.

The Passage

Mark 10:46–52. Jesus and his disciples come to Jericho, and as he is leaving the city with a great crowd, a blind beggar named Bartimaeus — the son of Timaeus — is sitting by the roadside.

When he hears that it is Jesus of Nazareth, he begins to cry out: Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!

Many rebuke him and tell him to be silent. He cries out all the more.

And Jesus stops and says, “Call him.” So they call the blind man, saying, “Take heart. Get up. He’s calling you.” And throwing off his cloak, he springs up and comes to Jesus.

Jesus asks, “What do you want me to do for you?”

“Rabbi, let me recover my sight.”

And Jesus says, “Go your way; your faith has made you well.” Immediately he recovers his sight and follows him on the way.

The Details of an Eyewitness

Some people hear stories like this and conclude it’s fable — miracles like that simply don’t happen.

But notice the details Mark includes that don’t actually advance the story. Those are exactly the kind of details you get from an eyewitness.

When we began this Gospel we noted that tradition holds Mark recorded this from the apostle Peter, likely while Peter was imprisoned awaiting execution. So as Peter narrates, these specifics surface: oh yes, there was that time in Jericho on the way to Jerusalem, and there was this man named Bartimaeus.

When people fabricate a story to make it convincing, they add details — but details like these don’t move the plot, and they carry real risk. This was written roughly thirty to forty years after the event. Anyone living in Jerusalem could make a day’s hike to Jericho and start asking around, and there would still be people alive who remembered. Oh yes, I was a teenager when that happened. It was verifiable.

Why the Name Matters

But there’s something else remarkable: Mark bothers to name him.

Usually in these accounts we don’t get names, because Jesus was in someone’s life for a moment and then moved on. Here, somehow, we get one.

In Hebrew, bar simply means “son.” So his name is essentially “son of Timaeus” — and Mark says it twice, calling him Bartimaeus, son of Timaeus. Our nearest equivalent would be naming a child Junior.

The significance is that a blind beggar would not have registered in the social world of that day. He wouldn’t have mattered to anyone. He would have blended into the background.

I’ve heard that people who live in large cities and walk the same routes daily notice the homeless at first, and it genuinely bothers them — and after a few years they stop seeing them entirely. They simply become part of the landscape.

That’s Bartimaeus. Completely overlooked.

“Be Quiet”

How do we know? Look at the crowd’s reaction in verse 48: many rebuked him and told him to be silent.

Picture it. They’re just outside Jericho, and Bartimaeus hears commotion. He senses a crowd and starts asking what’s happening. Jesus of Nazareth is here.

So he calls out. And the crowd’s response is essentially: be quiet. You’re a blind beggar. We’re not here for you. We came to hear a famous rabbi. You don’t matter.

And notice — he doesn’t let that stop him for a second. The second half of verse 48 says he cried out all the more.

“Son of David”

That title is enormously significant. “Son of David” is a messianic title.

The Jewish people knew God had promised King David in 2 Samuel 7 that he would establish a king in David’s line forever. And now Rome ruled, with no king on Israel’s throne, so they were watching for the Messiah — the Son of David who would come and free them from Roman tyranny.

Perhaps Bartimaeus hoped this man would free him from the tyranny of his blindness.

But notice how the crowd described Jesus: Jesus of Nazareth.

That tells you what they believed. They knew his reputation. They’d heard about the miracles and the teaching. But he was not the Messiah to them — because if they thought he were, they’d have called him Jesus of Bethlehem. Bethlehem was the city of David, and everyone knew the Messiah had to come from there.

Jesus was the son of a carpenter from an unremarkable town with a poor reputation. Worth hearing, worth seeing — but not the Messiah.

And Bartimaeus doesn’t accept that for a moment. Though physically blind, he sees more clearly than anyone in that crowd. No one teaches like this. No one performs these miracles. Unless he is the Messiah.

So he grabs the messianic title and will not let go.

He Used to Be Able to See

Many scholars believe Bartimaeus had once been sighted and lost his vision. If he’d been born blind, Matthew, Mark, or Luke — all three include this account — would likely have mentioned it, as the Gospels do elsewhere. The fact that none of them do suggests this was something lost.

Consider what that means. Imagine having something precious — maybe something you took entirely for granted — and having it taken away.

Maybe you’ve lost someone to cancer or a car accident. Maybe you had the job you’d always wanted and the company downsized and now there’s no income. Maybe you built the house you’d dreamed of and watched it burn. You knew what it was to have it, and then it was gone.

That’s Bartimaeus. He knows what the sky looks like. He knows what trees look like. He used to see his family. He used to work and contribute. And now he can see nothing, cannot work, and is simply overlooked.

So he’s asking Jesus: restore my sight, so I can work again and stop being a nobody.

The Crowd Changes Its Mind

Then Jesus stops and says, “Call him.” And suddenly the same crowd says, “Take heart! Get up! He’s calling you.”

Notice the reversal. A moment ago they wanted nothing to do with him. Now Jesus has shown interest, so evidently he’s somebody — and maybe if he gets attention, some of it reflects onto us.

It’s the same dynamic you see online, where someone is entirely ignored until a celebrity says they like them, and suddenly everyone likes them. An unknown musician nobody listens to becomes worth listening to the moment someone famous mentions them.

He Throws Off the Cloak

Watch the first thing Bartimaeus does: he gets up and sheds his cloak.

He’s a blind beggar. He owns almost nothing. That cloak is what keeps him warm on cold nights, and rolled up it serves as his pillow. It may be nearly all he has.

And he throws it off to get to something better. He doesn’t want anything slowing him down — nothing to trip over, nothing for anyone to grab.

I won’t preach a whole message on that, but some of you need to hear it: there may be something in your life God is asking you to shed, so you can get to what’s better.

Jesus Stops

And here is Jesus, en route to Jerusalem and everything waiting for him there — and he stops and gives Bartimaeus his complete attention.

He isn’t checking the time. He doesn’t say, “I’ve got to get to Jerusalem, you have two minutes.” He is fully present — both eyes, both ears, entirely given to this man.

“What do you want me to do for you?”

Bartimaeus makes his request, and Jesus says his faith has made him well. No touch. No mud this time. Just a word — and his sight returns.

This Is Why He Came

I believe Mark placed this account here deliberately, so we’d understand: this is why Jesus came.

Because Bartimaeus mattered to him. Because Bartimaeus bears the image of God — and the entire reason Jesus came was to restore that image, torn and marred by sin.

Bartimaeus is experiencing the effects of the fall. God did not create Adam and Eve without sight. Blindness was not part of the original creation. Jesus came to restore all things — so stopping for this one man is not a detour from his mission. It is his mission.

Where I Feel Convicted

We talk here about loving like Jesus loved and living like Jesus lived. So when we read this, we should be watching how Jesus lives.

And that’s exactly where I feel convicted — because I live far too much like the crowd and not enough like Christ. There are too many times I overlook people, overlook their needs, ignore the situation, and fail to give my full attention the way he did.

If we’re going to live like Jesus lived, we have to give our time and attention to those who are overlooked, ignored, cast out — the least of these. Because that is precisely what Jesus did for us.

If you follow Jesus, you may not have been physically blind, but Scripture teaches you were spiritually blind. You couldn’t see God for who he truly is. So many of us assume we have to earn our salvation — and Jesus had to come do it for us.

Jesus stopped everything he was doing in heaven to come to earth, give us his full attention, and go to a cross to heal our spiritual blindness. And having done that for us, he now sends us to do the same for others.

Who Is Your Bartimaeus?

Which means we cannot give all our time and attention to our friends. Your family matters enormously — but they are not the only people you’re meant to serve.

You’re not meant to serve only people who look like you, or share your income bracket, or match your education level, or fit your demographic. You’re meant to serve the overlooked and the outcast.

So who has God put near you? Who’s the person at school, in your neighborhood, at work, in your extended family — the one who makes people uncomfortable, so nobody gives them any time? The person whose disability means no one steps up? The person who gets pushed aside because someone doesn’t know how to relate?

If we’re going to live like Jesus lived, those are exactly the people he’s calling us toward.

A Second, Less Comfortable Point

Now, serving the overlooked is uncomfortable — but there’s a certain appeal to it. We’ve seen the heartwarming videos. We’ve heard the stories of people who moved into hard neighborhoods to serve. And we hope for the happy ending.

Look right here — Jesus stops, and we get the happy ending. Bartimaeus is healed.

So maybe if I give my time to this person struggling with addiction, or this person without a home, or this widowed neighbor with no family, we’ll see a happy ending too. Yes, it’s inconvenient — but there may be something in it that feels good and makes a story worth telling.

My next point has none of that appeal. It’s just as challenging and considerably less heartwarming, and it takes us into truths our American ears don’t much like.

We Insert Ourselves Into the Story

We’ve discussed before how we tend to read ourselves into these accounts. We don’t have the audacity to cast ourselves as Jesus — I can’t imagine walking up to a blind person and declaring them healed.

So we cast ourselves as Bartimaeus. He’s suffering. He’s struggling. We understand that. We may not be physically blind, but we know what it is to suffer, to be rejected, to long for something.

And then we treat his words as a formula. Son of David, have mercy on me — and then I’ll get the job. Then the healing comes. Then the relationship is restored. Then we finally have that child.

Now, the way I’ve set that up, you may think I’m telling you not to pray that way.

I’m not. Cry out. Plead with God. Pray.

Who tried to silence Bartimaeus? The crowd. Jesus welcomed it entirely. So wherever you are spiritually, cry out to God. He loves you, and he may well answer exactly the way you want, in the timing you want.

But Sometimes He Doesn’t

Think this through. Imagine Jesus comes to Jericho, and simply walks past Bartimaeus without responding. Is Jesus cruel?

Or consider this. Back in Mark 2, four friends brought their paralyzed friend to Jesus, and when they couldn’t get through the crowd they opened the roof and lowered him down. What was the first thing Jesus said? Your sins are forgiven.

So imagine Jesus sees Bartimaeus and says, “Your sins are forgiven” — and keeps walking, never addressing the blindness. Does that mean he was oblivious?

You have to realize that roughly a week after this story, Jesus dies on a cross. And why? For the forgiveness of Bartimaeus’s sins. He came to restore all things — and part of that restoration is that eventually there will be no blindness at all.

So Jesus gives Bartimaeus what he most deeply needs. Because if Jesus had healed his sight and then let him die in his sin, he’d have given him almost nothing. And if he’d left him blind but gone to the cross for him, he’d have given him everything.

When the Answer Doesn’t Come

Too often we read ourselves into these stories, cry out — and then when God doesn’t answer the way and on the timeline we expected, we get angry. Or we conclude we must have done something wrong. Or that God isn’t as powerful as we thought. Or as good. Or that he doesn’t exist at all, because we said the words and nothing happened.

You have to understand that Jesus has already done everything necessary for you. The greatest thing you need is the forgiveness of your sins. God loves you and wants relationship with you, and that cannot happen while sin separates you.

So even if the cancer isn’t cured, even if the person stays distant, even if the finances don’t turn around — you need to hear that God loves you.

The Uncomfortable Part

Let me push further. If we believe there is a God, we have to acknowledge that he is completely sovereign — completely in control. Which means God allowed Bartimaeus to lose his sight.

That’s uncomfortable. I know people who have essentially left the faith over that idea, unable to serve a God they considered that cruel.

But if that’s your reaction, you’ve misunderstood me. I am not saying God made him blind. God is not evil, sitting up there deciding to inflict blindness on someone for sport.

The entire reason Jesus goes to the cross is that the world is broken. Bartimaeus’s blindness breaks the heart of God — which is precisely why Jesus heals him.

It’s simply that sometimes God doesn’t bring the healing, because he has a better plan. And that’s where we have to trust him completely. We need a new definition of good. When God doesn’t act in the timeframe you wanted, it does not mean God is not good.

Holding My Son

My son is now seventeen and towers over me. But when he was about a year and a half old, something happened I’ve never forgotten.

I get cold sores. And unknowingly — before I realized one was coming — I kissed him. The virus got into his mouth, and in a small child it doesn’t produce a single sore; it affects the whole mouth. This poor little boy had a tongue covered in painful bumps.

And it was my fault.

He used to suck on his first two fingers, and I remember watching him start to put them in his mouth, realize it would hurt, and just drop them. It broke my heart. I desperately wanted to fix it and couldn’t.

But he would sit in my arms and let me hold him.

Would I change it if I could? Absolutely — if I’d known, I never would have kissed him. And yet those were precious moments, holding my child in the middle of his pain. Part of me saying I’m sorry, and part of me saying I love you, and I’m here with you.

He Is Holding You

Some of you are in a struggle right now, and God is with you. He is holding you.

I’m not wise enough to know why he isn’t simply giving you the healing he gave Bartimaeus. I don’t know why the job hasn’t come. I don’t know why you’re still single. I don’t know why the healing hasn’t arrived.

But here is what I do know. Through the cross I can see the love he has for you. And I know he is with you and holding you.

You matter to him. If Jesus was willing to set aside — for a moment — everything waiting for him in Jerusalem in order to give one blind beggar his complete attention, then your situation matters to him too.

He is not overlooking you. He is not ignoring you. He is not unaware.

So cry out. Pray. Seek him. He may well give you the answer and the mercy you’re asking for. And even if he doesn’t right now, he is with you, holding you — and he has already given you everything you need at the cross.

Because even if the deepest cry of your heart goes unanswered in this life, if you follow Jesus you get eternity. And the pain of this life will be nothing but a blip, a mist, compared with forever with your heavenly Father.

That is why you can hold on. That is why you can keep going. Because he loves you, he’s with you, he’s holding you — and he has already given you everything through Jesus.

A Prayer

Father, bring us to the place where we trust you and surrender completely.

For the person who has never given their life to you and now realizes that Jesus loved them enough to go to a cross so they wouldn’t be eternally separated from you — let them confess their sin, surrender, declare you Lord, and begin to follow you, exactly as Bartimaeus followed Jesus down that road.

And for the person in real pain, who has been crying out for you to fix this — help them hold on. Help them grasp how much you love them, that you are with them right now, that you have not abandoned or overlooked or ignored them. Bring them peace. Let them taste your mercy.

And out of that mercy, I do pray for the healing. I pray for the job. I pray for the relationship to be repaired. Hear their heart’s cry and do these things, for your glory and their joy.

But keep us from treating you as a vending machine. You are a loving God, fully present with us — and sometimes your presence is more than enough. Bring us to the place where we accept who you are and what you’re doing, and let you answer in your way and your timing, because you are far wiser than we are.

Make us people who trust you, because we matter to you. There is not a single person too small for you. There is not a single moment too insignificant. In Jesus’s name, amen.