Helen Keller, so brave and inspiring to us in her deafness and blindness, once wrote a magazine article entitled: "Three days to see." In that article she outlined what things she would like to see if she were granted just three days of sight. It was a powerful, thought provoking article. On the first day she said she wanted to see friends. Day two she would spend seeing nature. The third day she would spend in her home city of New York watching the busy city and the work day of the present. She concluded it with these words: "I who am blind can give one hint to those who see: Use your eyes as if tomorrow you were stricken blind.'

As bad as blindness is in the 20th century, however, it was so much worse in Jesus' day. Today a blind person at least has the hope of living a useful life with proper training. Some of the most skilled and creative people in our society are blind. But in first century Palestine blindness meant that you would be subject to abject poverty. You would be reduced to begging for a living. You lived at the mercy and the generosity of others. Unless your particular kind of blindness was self-correcting, there was no hope whatsoever for a cure. The skills that were necessary were still centuries beyond the medical knowledge of the day.

Little wonder then that one of the signs of the coming of the Messiah was that the blind should receive their sight. When Jesus announced his messiahship, he said: “The spirit of the Lord is upon me. He has sent me to recover sight to the blind."

The story this morning of the healing of blind Bartimaeus would suggest to us that there are three kinds of blindness. For a few moments this morning let's examine each.

I

The first kind of blindness is represented by the beggar sitting by the road leading to Jericho. Mark tells us that his name was Bartimaeus. We don’t know much about him. We don’t know his age, length of blindness or what caused his infirmity. We know nothing about his family, his friends, his past life. We know him only because of the impact that Jesus had upon his life. He was blind Bartimaeus.

I cannot begin to imagine physical blindness. I do remember years ago visiting a cave in East Tennessee, the name of which I cannot now remember. Once the tour group got inside the guide turned off the light switch. It was so completely dark that you could almost feel it. I remember looking around in all directions but my eyes were totally useless. Then he threw the floodlights back on again. I suppose those brief moments of total darkness were the closest I ever came to understanding the horror of blindness.

When Christ came down the roadside Bartimaeus sought his help. He probably had already been to all the available doctors and miracle workers. He found them all helpless. Yet, that day, even in his blindness, he saw more clearly than did the crowd. He knew that Jesus could release him from the prison house of darkness. That he saw clearly.

Day after day the world passed by Bartimaeus--not really seeing him, not really caring about him. He heard the sound of camels, the shouts of children, the gossip of the women, the business talk of the men--but he saw not a thing.. So he simply sat there. Day after day. Until one day he cried out: Jesus, son of David, have mercy on me.

It was perhaps his echoing cry that Fanny Crosby had in mind when she wrote the words: “Pass me not O Gentle Savior, hear my humble cry. While on others thou art calling, do not pass me by.” Jesus said: “Your faith has made you well.” What is it that we say when we comprehend something? We say: Oh, I see. This was the sight that Bartimaeus had. He physically lacked sight, but he still saw further than most.

II

The first blindness then is represented by Bartimaeus. It was a literal blindness. The second kind of blindness in the story relates to the men who followed Jesus--the disciples. When Jesus began his way into Jerusalem, he told the twelve of the dreadful things that would soon befall all of them. It was not the only time he spoke of the coming agony. Three times, Luke records, that Jesus tried to warn them. On the first occasion Luke writes: But they understood none of these things. On the second occasion he writes: But these sayings were hid from them. On the third occasion Luke records: But they did not grasp what ha had said.

Thus the disciples suffered from a kind of blindness. They were blind as to the nature and person of Jesus. They loved him passionately, but they did not understand him. They were spiritually blind. They had sight, yet they failed to see. They were blind as to the meaning of the events that were happening around them.

This blindness effected their behavior. Look what they did. They tried to keep this poor beggar from coming to Jesus. I don't know why. I don't know if they knew why! But they did. They tried to keep young children from seeing him. We expect such actions from the Pharisees and the Sadducees. But these were the disciples--the men who genuinely loved him.

It was not until the stone was rolled away on Easter Sunday morning that the disciples were really able to see Jesus. It was then that they, at long last, understood the man and the message. It was then that they became apostles instead of disciples. It was then that they brought people to him and moved mountains for him. It was then that the went out into the street, preached the message of the Gospel of Christ, and brought the world to the feet of Christ. But these things only occurred when they could see.

III

The first blindness was that of Bartimaeus. Physically he could not see. The second blindness was that of the disciples before the resurrection. Their eyesight was alright, but they could not see what really mattered--the true nature of Christ. Either is a lamentable blindness. Yet, there is a third kind of blindness that is far worse. It is the blindness of you and me. Bartimaeus lacked eyes. The disciples lacked knowledge. But we have both and we still fail to see. We don't see the precious gift of life itself. Life can be wonderful. It should be. It can be. But it won't be until we open our eyes.

We don't see the blessing of physical health until a severe illness strikes. Then we wonder how it was that we could have gone so long without giving thanks to God for our health. But we do. We don't see our loved ones, that is until we are on the verge of losing them. Then we wonder why it was that we took them for granted and why we never did the things that we intended to do. We take life for granted, that is until a diagnosis of terminal cancer comes in. Then days, indeed, hours become precious to us. All of those worries that bogged down our lives now seem so trivial and minor to us. We are blind to the preciousness of life, until it is threatened or curbed for us.

Who of us could ever forget Thorton Wilder's memorable play "Our Town." There is an unforgettable scene in that play which never fails to intrigue me. Emily has died. In heaven she is given special permission to come back to earth for just a brief time. She has arrived at the graveyard of Grover's Corner, New Jersey, where the story takes place. She will experience her life as before, but this time with the knowledge of her impending death. The day that she chooses to live over is her twelfth birthday. Her mother is pre-occupied with preparations for the celebration. Her father returns home from work exhausted. Only Emily is aware of the few precious moments now remaining. She pleads: Momma, just look at me once as though you really saw me." But her mother pays no attention. Emily can only relive the day; she cannot change anything. She goes to her father and tries to talk to him, but he is busy reading the paper and pays no attention. Finally she can stand it no longer and she finally cries out: “I can't go on. It is going to fast. We don't have enough time to look at one another. I didn’t realize what was going on. I never noticed it. Oh earth, you are too wonderful for anyone to realize you." And then she turns to the stage manager who is a central figure in the play and says: “Do any human beings ever recognize life while they live it--every, every minute.”

We don't see life. We don't see the needs of others. To our lasting shame we are like the disciples. We are too busy to stop and to care, and to be a friend.

Somehow you and I have got to start kicking out the junk of our lives and start making room for people. There are too many lonely people in the world. There are too many sick people in the world. There are too many lost souls in the world. And yet, somehow we don't see it all.

We don't really see so good. We don't see the preciousness of life. We don't see the blessings that we have. Saddest of all, we don't see the message of Jesus. Nothing, nothing is so important to us in life as that, but we don't see it. And what possible, possible excuse do we have.

We can't seem to get it thorough our heads and our hearts that Jesus Christ is Lord and Savior. It is he that is in control. He is the Lord of history. He came to make us whole and to perfect his good work within us and he is sufficient for our every need. He expects from us total love and total commitment. Why can't we see that?

But for those of us who are blind there is hope. For Jesus came to heal the blind. It happened to Bartimaeus. It happened the disciples. It can happen to you. How do we go about it? All that is necessary is that we cry out as did the blind beggar centuries ago: Lord, that I should receive my sight. Amen.