I only had pink eye once that I can remember. When I woke that first morning, my eyes were crusted over with a film that prevented me from seeing clearly. It was uncomfortable and inconvenient at the time, of course, but, looking back, it was an obvious sign that something was wrong, and because of the crusty film I could act quickly to get the medical help I needed. Unfortunately, in the spiritual life, I’m not always able to recognize the signs of my spiritual blindness.
I can go for months at a time, carrying on with my resentful attitude, my lack of hope and faith, or my fear and anxiety. I can go for months, misinterpreting my crosses and trials, or making agreements with the Enemy, or shutting the door in Jesus’ face. On the outside, all seems well--I go to prayer, I work busily away, I share meals with my sisters, but inside, all is in disarray and turmoil. But it becomes so normal that I don’t realize what I’m missing.
That’s why I need this time of Lent: to intentionally examine those areas of my life where false goods, distractions and other spiritual mirages have taken over my field of vision. I’ve found that Scripture is a great help, because of its penetrating and piercing quality (cf. Hebrews 4:12). Using a Lenten devotional, I have been praying with a different Gospel story each day, and already that’s included two accounts of Jesus healing blind men. OK, Lord, what are You trying to tell me?
Mark 10:46-52: Bartimaeus. I imagined him throwing off his mantle, springing up, and going to Jesus. I imagined there were moments of silence before Jesus spoke. Bartimaeus reached out his hands, and, like some blind people do, he groped for Jesus’ face, the only way he could “see” Jesus. Really, I was the one reaching out. I felt for his nose, his cheeks, his forehead. Are You real? Are You there? Is it You I am seeking?
Matthew 9:27-31 Two blind men. Mysteriously, even in my blindness, I can be aware of His presence. I can “feel” Him, even if imperfectly. This is so consoling. When Jesus passes the two blind men, they “recognize” Him and even follow Him. As I envisioned this scene, I was puzzled, wondering how blind men can follow someone. Were they getting verbal cues from others? Did they know the sound of Jesus’ feet? Matthew doesn’t say. But he writes, “When he entered the house, the blind men came to him.” They came right to Him! Blindness did not prevent them from seeking and finding Jesus! This gave me such hope.
“Do you believe that I am able to do this?” Jesus asks. There is a mutual understanding; they have not yet directly asked, but He knows what they desire. As He asked me this question, I found myself not entirely knowing what “this” is. “What do you want me to do for you?” Jesus asked Bartimaeus. He seems to know, but He wants to hear me ask. What do I want Him to do? Do I truly want to see Him? Do I want to see my true self? Am I ready for the consequences of full sight? Am I ready for the painful transformation that may require? Do I want to let Him scrape away my facade and remove the false images with which I’ve covered Him?
If I’m honest, I’ll admit I’m not totally on board with this yet. Yet I pray … Jesus, I give You permission. No matter what it may mean, I know that in my heart of hearts I want all that You are, and nothing else. As I continue on this road of purification this Lent, help convince me of the reality of Your goodness, so that I will never be blind to You again. I am weak and probably will (let’s be honest), but if You promise to always uncrust my eyes, I will try to let You. Master, I want to SEE.
My waking dreams,
The outward gaze,
The shining things:
A floating haze -
Illusions all!
They only last
Just long enough.
They flee my grasp;
I call their bluff -
Aside they fall.
Mirages steal
My searching eyes;
Horizon Real,
I want your prize!
My all in All.
Sr. Mary Gemma Harris, T.O.R.
