His name was Bartimaeus. He occupied the lowest rung on society’s ladder, a poor man of Bethany, who eked out a living begging at the side of the road. In his sightlessness, he was forced to depend on others to guide him to his place of business. He had never seen the smile on the lips of a child, the blush on a maiden’s cheeks, the love in his mother’s eyes. His eyes had never feasted on a sea of flowers in a field, a sky spilling over with stars, or the glorious glow of the setting sun. He had heard, but never seen, the peddlers haggling over prices in the busy marketplace. He had heard, but never seen, the colorful processions of pilgrims traveling through town to celebrate the Passover in Jerusalem, twelve miles up the road. He had been told about the amphitheater and the hippodrome wh…