Jesus is passing through the city of Jericho, and he has other things on his mind. He is on his way to Jerusalem, and his plan to confront the religious and political powers there could possibly (quite probably, really) end in disaster. It has been weighing on his mind for months, this likelihood that his mission and journey will find its completion on a Roman cross. He has been ramping up his instruction of his disciples, suspecting that they will soon have to carry on the mission without him, and it’s not going well. Despite his pounding away at the themes of sacrifice and servanthood, just the other night they got into another of their silly arguments about who was to be considered the greatest among them. As if status or power or any other distinction meant anything when that first nail pierced one’s skin. Sometimes Jesus despaired of the prospect of anyone ever getting him and his message.
With all these distracting thoughts roiling around in his brain, it’s understandable that he would miss the shouts. On the verge of his consciousness he heard some men calling out for the Son of David and some others telling them none too gently to shut their traps, but at first it didn’t register that it had anything to do with him. When the shouts persisted, however, rising up shrilly over the near-constant buzz of the crowd that followed him everywhere these days—rubberneckers, mostly, not disciples, he thought ruefully—he finally took notice.
“Have mercy on us, Lord, Son of David!” called two men who he could tell once they came into view were blind. They had been sitting by the roadside begging, but when they heard that Jesus was passing through, they abandoned their cloaks and their other meager possessions and came running and stumbling after the sound of the crowd, shouting at the top of their lungs for mercy.
Maybe that’s what caught Jesus’s attention—the way they left their belongings behind to pursue him—especially their cloaks. For a beggar a cloak was a prized possession. It served as protection from the weather, it was a life-saver when you had to sleep outdoors, and in the daytime it served the same purpose as a busker’s guitar case: it was the receptacle where they received the pennies and occasional shekels passersby tossed to them. For the men to walk away and leave their scant but crucial capital behind may have indicated to Jesus that they were ready for discipleship. It was just like in the early days when four different people who made their living fishing up and left their nets to follow him. These two blind boys of Jericho showed promise.
So he stopped. Matthew says, “Jesus stood still and called them, saying, ‘What do you want me to do for you?’” (v. 32).
He stood still. With all the chaos of the crowd surrounding him, with all the chaos of his own thoughts and misgivings filling his mind, with the weight of the world trying to drag him down to the ground, Jesus stood still. For that moment, all of creation stopped and leaned forward, its breath held, waiting for what would happen next. For that moment, those two men were the most important thing in the cosmos to the one who would soon be hailed as the very Son of God.
Did you know that Jesus still comes to a stop and directs his attention to you when you offer a heartfelt prayer? Your longing, your cry of pain or need or bewilderment or joy cuts through the static of the world’s noise like a hot knife through butter, and the Son of God stands still to listen.
The men’s heartfelt cry was to have their eyes opened, so, “moved with compassion, Jesus touched their eyes” (v. 34). When they immediately received their sight, they proved to be genuine disciples by following Jesus on the last perilous stage of his journey to the cross.
Let us also, when Jesus hears our prayer and meets us with compassion in our time of need, abandon our cloaks, take up our crosses, and follow Jesus wherever that road may lead.