Clear Vision

Recently I was on a safari in Kenya. Two friends and I spent the night in the most luxurious tent I’ve ever seen. It had a huge marble bathroom, carpeted floors, beds draped with yards and yards of mosquito netting, plump pillows and powerful reading lamps with switches built into the bed frame. Outside was a large deck with comfortable chairs; we sat there in the afternoon and watched a herd of buffalo cross the distant ridge. At night this tent was surrounded with low lights that illuminated the walkways and cast a soft glow inside. In a strange place, with jet-lag, I found those lights comforting as I drifted off to sleep. When I awoke at 2 AM, things had changed dramatically. I could hear the gently dripping rain and smell the cleanness that hangs in the air after a storm but I couldn’t see anything. With the moon and stars blocked by rain clouds, it was the blackest night, I’d ever experienced. For the first time in my life, I could not see my hand in front of my face. I was experiencing a typical African phenomenon—no electricity. The next time I awoke, there was still no electricity but there was a faint bluish glow coming from the bathroom. One of my roommates was using her cell phone as a flashlight. It was great. With that faint light I could see the broad outlines of the furniture. That faint light and hands stretched out before me prevented stubbed toes and bruised shins. That faint light enabled a partial vision that was a great improvement over total darkness but it was nothing compared to the clear vision of the majestic and beautiful African landscape that came with the rising sun. In Mark 8: 22-29 we find the story of the blind man at Bethsaida. The rising sun makes no difference in the life of this man. He can feel the heat on his face when he turns toward the sun, but no light penetrates the darkness. When we meet him, there is something heart wrenching about his situation. At one time he could see; at one time he strode from place to place with confidence. Now he stumbles along the rocky uneven path holding to those who lead him. No longer independent, he goes where others take him. When there is no one to lead, he waits; without a guide his movements are limited to familiar territory. This man no longer pays his own way; he relies on the kindness of others. He is a stranger to pride. Self-sufficiency is a dim memory. He eats based on the whims of those who drop coins into his cup. Begging is the occupation of blind men. If he is anything like most of us, over time he has exhausted every medical hope, endured every new treatment, and tried every home remedy without success. On this particular day, some people take him to Jesus because his only hope for sight rests on the willingness of Jesus to touch him and heal him. Once again, he goes where others take him. As the people plead his case he stands silently waiting. Then he feels it, an unfamiliar hand taking his, leading him away from the noise of the village, into the countryside. When they are well away from Bethsaida, they stop. The man senses Jesus standing in front of him. It is so quiet; Jesus says nothing; the disciples say nothing, the man says nothing. Suddenly, his eyelids are wet; he feels the touch of Jesus’ hand on his eyes. He keeps his head down. Then Jesus speaks to him. “Do you see anything?” Jesus asks. Slowly, the man looks up. After all this time, there is light and color and shape and movement. The all consuming darkness is gone; but everything is fuzzy and blurry. The blind man looks around, taking in everything his limited vision allows. He’d forgotten how bright the sun could be; now it hurts to turn his face toward it. He had forgotten the brilliant blue of the sky and the green of the grass. But, is this as good as it gets? People look like walking trees. The man is no longer completely blind, but is partial sight enough? This is not the vision he had hoped for; this is not the clear vision he remembers. For many of us, the story of the blind man at Bethsaida parallels our Christian walk. From the moment we came to faith, we haven’t looked up. We’ve moved right ahead, working and serving and ministering. Early on we found our niche, our place to serve, and we’ve been right there day after day, week after week, year after year. Head down, eyes down, concentrating on the work that is before us. Then one day, Jesus asks the question, “Do you see anything?” His question can come at any time. Perhaps we hear it on our first short term mission trip, as we build clean, safe houses in the slums of Mexico City. Maybe we hear the question at the birth of our first child or when our last child leaves home for college. Maybe we hear it when we marry. Maybe we hear it at the graveside as we bury our father or mother or spouse. Maybe we hear it in the midst of ongoing, successful ministry. Maybe we hear it at a time when things have gone horribly wrong. Maybe the question comes with the morning paper as we read about AIDS orphans in Africa. Or perhaps it comes with the evening news report on genocide in the Sudan. At some point we hear the question, “Do you see anything?” And, for the first time in a long time we look up from the busyness of daily life, from the busyness of ministry and wonder if we really see Jesus and what it means to be his disciple. When we came to faith everything seemed clear. The light of Christ in our lives was so much better than the darkness we experienced before we knew him. But now, as we look up in response to his question, everything is fuzzy and blurry. We are no longer certain we know our place. We are no longer certain we understand what we are meant to do. We are like the blind man; we have blurry vision. We have lost the clear vision of what it means to be a disciple. Our reaction to blurry vision usually takes one of two forms. After the initial panic settles, those of us who are type A personalities, get right to work doing something about it. We head to the closest bookstore and hit the door at a run. We stop to scan the store; as soon as we see the religion section we move on full steam ahead. When we arrive at our destination we began to collect books on discipleship. We accumulate a stack and head to the checkout. Surely the cure for our fuzzy vision is in one of these books. Type B personalities have a different methodology. More laid back than As, Bs avoid panic. They hesitate to rush into anything. So they lie down to see if their blurred vision passes. There is no need for precipitous action, maybe the problem will just go away. If not, Type Bs can learn to live with it. Either way, whether we take action or we accept our condition, we have failed to rely on the one who truly enables clear vision. For the first time in a long time the blind man at Bethsaida has options. He is fully aware of the blessing that even partial sight brings. He can settle for people who look like trees. If he is a type B personality, he can thank Jesus, go home, lie down and wait to see if his vision clears. If he is a type A, he may want to take things into his own hands. “Thanks, Jesus,” he says, “I appreciate what you’ve done but things aren’t working out quite like I expected. I think I can handle it from here.” But this man doesn’t do any of this. Instead he turns his eyes away from the landscape to the man who stands before him. At that moment he is unwilling to settle for anything less than clear vision and standing before him is Jesus, the One who provides abundantly. This is the One who fed the five thousand and had twelve baskets of leftovers. The man sees no reason to settle for limited sight when Jesus is the one who can enable clear vision. So, the man answers honestly, “I see people; they look like trees walking around.” Jesus is silent; he merely reaches out and repeats his touch to the man’s eyes. Suddenly, the man’s sight is restored. He sees clearly. Now people look like people. They are clearly distinguishable from trees. Some are men hurrying about their business, traveling to the next village. Some are women on their way to the well. Their faces have expression, smiles of joy or frowns of concentration. The landscape is wonderful. The trees have rough brown bark and vibrant green leaves. With clear vision he can see the birds soar across the cloudless blue sky. He squints; the sun is even brighter than before. There is magnificent detail in everything the man sees. His vision is sharp and clear. This is the clear vision he needs to be a tent maker or a tailor or a carpenter. This is the clear vision that will enable a full and productive life. This is the clear vision that will allow him to serve others as he has been served for so long. This is the vision the blind man of Bethsaida wanted and needed and he looked to Jesus for it. This is the clear vision that came with Jesus’ repeated touch. In times of spiritual blindness, in times of partial sight where do we go for clear vision? Imagine that the formerly blind man of Bethsaida is standing nearby when Jesus asks those of us who are type A, “Do you see anything?” Our dash to the bookstore startles the man; he can’t believe his eyes. It takes him a few minutes, but then he bolts after us. Doggedly trotting behind us, dodging cars on the freeway, he tries to keep up. He catches up with us as we are pulling books off the shelf. He taps us on the shoulder and in a bewildered tone asks, “What are you doing?” We turn and we are amazed by his appearance, this guy in the robe and sandals doesn’t look like he frequents many bookstores. But we explain patiently that we are a little confused, things have changed in our life and we don’t see clearly what it means to be a disciple. We need a clearer vision, so we’re going to read these books on discipleship. Now it is his turn to be amazed. He takes one of the books and thumbs through it. “I can see,” he says, “how this might be helpful. But don’t you realize you just walked away from the one who is a sure thing, the one who can give you clear vision?” The man from Bethsaida has an easier time with those of us who are type B personalities; we leave Jesus and saunter home. The man walks with us. “Where are you going?” he asks. We explain that we don’t see things quite as clearly as we used to so we’re going home to lie down and think about what it means to be a disciple of Christ. “Well,” he says, “personal reflection is always helpful, but don’t you know you just left Jesus? He is the one who can be counted on to provide clear vision.” In a world of options, it is easy for us to forget that God is our provider. Like the blind man at Bethsaida, we need the repeated touch of Jesus for clear vision. As the disciples watched the healing of the blind man they were a confused bunch. They had seen amazing things but they failed to really recognize Jesus; they were about to embark on a period of intense teaching and their confusion would deepen. It wouldn’t be until they endured the despair of the cross and rejoiced in the hope of the resurrection that they would have a clear vision of discipleship. This was the repeated touch of Jesus for them. Historically, we live beyond the cross and the resurrection but in our times of partial sight, those events are the repeated touch of Jesus that enables our clear vision. In our times of blurry vision, we go back to the gospels. We look at Jesus on the cross as our example of sacrificial love and willing obedience and he shows us what it means to be his disciple. In his resurrection we see hope for the world and us. In the gospels, we experience his repeated touch and he enables us to have a clear vision of discipleship whether we are married or single, whether we have a new baby or an empty nest. With his repeated touch, we have a clear vision of what it means to leave school and begin a new ministry. In the gospels, he touches us again; we have clear vision of what it means to defend the cause of the poor, and the oppressed and we look for ways to implement ministries that bring hope to the world. As we go through life, we do not have to settle for partial sight like the faint glow of a cell phone in the blackest night. The Jesus we meet in the gospels enables clear sight so that we can lead a full and productive life as a disciple of Christ. He restores our vision so that we may participate fully in a life of service and devotion to God. May we always rely on Jesus for clear vision.