The Blind Beggar
A Sermon
(No. 266)
Delivered on Sabbath Morning, August 7th, 1859, by the
REV. C.H. SPURGEON
at the Music Hall, Royal Surrey Gardens.
"And they came to Jericho: and as he went out of Jericho with his
disciples and a great number of people, blind Bartimaeus, the son of
Timaeus, sat by the highway side begging. And when he heard that it was
Jesus of Nazareth, he began to cry out, and say, Jesus, thou son of
David, have mercy on me. And many charged him that he should hold his
peace: but he cried the more a great deal, Thou son of David, have
mercy on me. And Jesus stood still, and commanded him to be called. And
they call the blind man, saying unto him, Be of good comfort, rise; he
calleth thee. And he, casting away his garment, rose, and came to
Jesus. And Jesus answered and said unto him, What wilt thou that I
should do unto thee? The blind man said unto him, Lord, that I might
receive my sight. And Jesus said unto him, Go thy way; thy faith hath
made thee whole. And immediately he received his sight, and followed
Jesus in the way."–Mark 10:46-52.
THIS POOR MAN was beset with two great evils–blindness and poverty. It
is sad enough to be blind, but If a man that is blind is in possession
of riches, there are ten thousand comforts which may help to cheer the
darkness of his eye and alleviate the sadness of his heart. But to be
both blind and poor, these were a combination of the sternest evils.
One thinks it scarcely possible to resist the cry of a beggar whom we
meet in the street if he is blind. We pity the blind man when he is
surrounded with luxury, but when we see a blind man in want, and
following the beggar's trade in the frequented streets, we can hardly
forbear stopping to assist him. This case of Bartimeus, however, is but
a picture of our own. We are all by nature blind and poor. It is true
we account ourselves able enough to see; but this is but one phase of
our blindness. Our blindness is of such a kind that it makes us think
our vision perfect; whereas, when we are enlightened by the Holy
Spirit, we discover our previous sight to have been blindness indeed.
Spiritually, we are blind; we are unable to discern our lost estate;
unable to behold the blackness of sin, or the terrors of the wrath to
come. The unrenewed mind is so blind, that it perceives not the
allattractive beauty of Christ; the Sun of Righteousness may arise with
healing beneath his wings, but twere all in vain for those who cannot
see his shining. Christ may do many mighty works in their presence, but
they do not recognize his glory; we are blind until he has opened our
eyes. But besides being blind we are also by nature poor. Our father
Adam spent our birthright, lost our estates. Paradise, the homestead of
our race, has become dilapidated, and we are left in the depths of
beggary without anything with which we may buy bread for our hungry
fouls, or raiment for our naked spirits; blindness and beggary are the
lot of all men after a spiritual fashion, till Jesus visits them in
love. Look around then, ye children of God; look around you this
morning, and ye shall see in this hall many a counterpart of poor blind
Bartimeus sitting by the wayside begging. I hope there be many such
come here, who though they be blind, and naked and poor, nevertheless
are begging–longing to get something more than they have–not content
with their position. With just enough spiritual life and sensitiveness
to know their misery, they have come up to this place begging. Oh that
while Jesus passes by this day they may have faith to cry aloud to him
for mercy! Oh may his gracious heart be moved by their thrilling cry,
"Jesus thou Son of David have mercy on me!" Oh may he turn and give
sight unto such, that they may follow him and go on their way
rejoicing!
This morning I shall address myself most particularly to the poor and
blind souls here to-day. The poor blind man's faith described in this
passage of Scripture, is a fit picture of the faith which I pray God
you may be enabled to exert to the saving of your souls. We shall
notice the origin of his faith, how his faith perceived its opportunity
when Jesus passed by; we shall listen to his faith while it cries and
begs; we shall look upon his faith while it leaps in joyous obedience
to the divine call; and then we shall hear his faith describing his
case: "Lord, that I might receive my sight;" and I trust we shall be
enabled to rejoice together with this poor believing man, when his
sight is restored, as we see him in the beauty of thankfulness and
gratitude follow Jesus in the way.
I. First, then, we shall note THE ORIGIN OF THIS POOR BLIND MAN'S
FAITH. He had faith, for it was his faith which obtained for him his
sight. Now, where did he get it? We are not told in this passage how
Bartimeus came to believe Jesus to be the Messiah; but I think we may
very fairly risk a conjecture. It is quite certain that Bartimeus did
not come to believe in Christ from what he saw. Jesus had worked many
miracles; many eyes had seen, and many hearts had believed because of
what they saw. Bartimeus also believed, but certainly not as the result
of his eyesight, for he was stone-blind. No ray of light had ever burst
into his soul; he was shut up in thick darkness and could see nothing.
How then was it that he came to believe? It certainly could not have
been because he had traveled much through the country, for blind men
stay at home; they care not to journey far. There is nothing they can
see. However fair the landscape, they cannot drink it in with their
eyes; whatever lovely spots others may behold, there are no attractions
for their blank survey. They therefore stay at home. And especially a
mendicant like this, how should he travel? He would be perhaps unknown
out of the city in which his father Timeus had lived–even Jericho. He
could not move the heart of strangers to charity, nor would he be
likely to find a guide to conduct him throughout the dreary miles of
that land. He would be almost necessarily a poor blind stay-at-home.
Then how did he acquire his faith? Methinks it might be in this
fashion. On the nearest bank he could find outside Jericho, he sat
begging in the sunlight; for blind men always love to bask in the sun.
Though they see nothing, there is a kind of glimmering that penetrates
the visual organ, and they rejoice in it. At least they feel the heat
of the great orb of day if they see not his light. Well, as he sat
there, he would hear the passers by talking of Jesus of Nazareth, and
as blind men are usually inquisitive, he would ask them to stay and
tell him the story–some tale of what Jesus had done; and they would
tell him how he raised the dead, and healed the leper; and he would
say, "I wonder if he can give sight to the blind." And one day it came
to pass, that he was told Jesus had restored to sight a man who had
been born blind. This indeed was the great master-story that the world
has to tell, for it had never been so known before in Israel, that a
man who had been born blind should have his eyes opened. I think I see
the poor man as he hears the story, he drinks it in, claps his hands,
and cries, "Then there is yet hope for me. Mayhap the Prophet will pass
this way, and if he doth, oh I will cry to him, I will beg him to open
my eyes too; for if the worst case has been cured, then surely mine may
be." Many and many a day as he sat there, he would call to the passer
by again, and would say, "Come tell me the story of the man that was
born blind and of Jesus of Nazareth that opened his eyes," and perhaps
he would even get tiresome, as blind men are wont. He must hear the
story told him a hundred times over, and always would there be a smile
on the poor fellow's face when he heard the refreshing narrative. It
never could be told too often, for he loved to hear it. To him it was
like a cool refreshing breeze in the heat of burning sun. "Tell it me,
tell it me, tell it me again," says he–"the sweet story of the man
that opened the eyes of the blind." And methinks as he sat all alone,
and unable to divert his mind with many things, he would always keep
his heart fixed on that one narrative, and turn it over, and over, and
over again, till in his day-dreams he would half think he could see,
and sometimes almost imagine that his own eyes were going to be opened
too. Perhaps on one of those occasions, as he was turning over this in
his mind, some text of Scripture he had heard in the synagogue,
occurred to him; he heard that Messiah should come to open the eyes of
the blind, and quick in thought, having better eyes within than he had
without, he came at once to the conclusion that the man who could open
the eyes of the blind was none other than the Messiah; and from that
day he was a secret disciple of Jesus. He might have heard him scoffed
at, but he did not scoff. How could he scoff at one who had opened the
eyes of the blind? He might have heard many a passer-by reviling
Christ, and calling him an impostor, but he could not join in the
reviling. How could he be a deceiver who gave sight to poor blind men?
I fancy this would be the cherished dream of his life. And perhaps for
the two or three years of the Saviour's ministry, the one thought of
the poor blind man would be, "Jesus of Nazareth opened the eyes of one
that was blind." That story which he had heard led him to believe Jesus
must be the predicted Messiah.
Now, O ye spiritually blind, ye spiritually poor, how is it ye have not
believed in Christ? Ye have heard the wondrous deeds which he has done;
"Faith cometh by hearing." Ye have understood how one after another has
been pardoned and forgiven; you have stood in the house of God and
listened to the confession of the penitent and the joyous shout of the
believer, and yet you believe not. You have journeyed up year after
year to the sanctuary of God, and ye have heard many stories–many a
glorious narrative of the pardoning power of Christ; and how is it, O
ye spiritually blind, that ye have never thought on him? Why is it you
have not turned this over and over in your minds. "This man receiveth
sinners, and will he not receive me?" How is it that ye have not
recollected that he who put away the sin of Paul and Magdalene can put
away your's also. Surely, if but one story told into the ear of the
poor blind man could give him faith, if his faith came but by one
hearing, how is it that though ye have heard many times that there was
no salvation without faith in Christ, and listened to many an earnest
appeal, yet ye have not believed? Yet, it may be, I have among these
poor blind men some here to-day that are simply believing. You have
never yet laid hold of faith, but still in the depths of your soul
there is a something which says, "Yes he is able to save me; I know he
hath power to forgive," and sometimes the voice speaks a little louder,
and it cheers your heart with a thought like this, "Go to him he will
not cast you away, he has never cast out one yet who did venture upon
his power and goodness." Well, my dear hearer, if thou art in this
plight, thou art happy, and I am a happy man to have the privilege of
addressing thee–it shall not be long ere the faith within thee, which
has been born by hearing, shall acquire strength enough to exercise
itself to gain the blessing. That is the first thing–the origin of the
faith of poor blind Bartimeus, it doubtless came by hearing.
II. Now, in the next place, we shall notice his faith in ITS QUICKNESS
AT GRASPING THE GRACIOUS OPPORTUNITY.
Jesus had been through Jericho, and as he went into the city there was
a blind man standing by the way, and Jesus healed him. Bartimeus
however seems to have resided at the other side of Jericho, therefore
he did not get a blessing till Christ was about to leave it. He is
sitting down upon his customary spot by the wayside where some friend
has left him, that he might remain there all day and beg, and he hears
a great noise and trampling of feet, he wonders what it is, and he asks
a passer-by what is that noise? "Why all this tumult?" Aml the answer
is, "Jesus of Nazareth passeth by." That is but small encouragement,
yet his faith had now arrived at such a strength that this was quite
enough for him, that Jests of Nazareth passeth by. Unbelief would have
said, "He passes by, there is no bearing for you; he passes by, there
is no hope of mercy; he is about to leave, and he takes no notice of
you." Why, if you and I needed encouagement, we should want Christ to
stand still; we should need that some one should say, "Jesus of
Nazareth is standing still and looking for you;" ay, but this poor
man's faith was of such a character that it could feed on any dry crust
on which our puny little faith would have starved. He was like that
poor woman, who when she was repused, said, "Truth, Lord, I am but a
dog, yet the dogs eat the crumbs which fall from the master's table."
He only heard "Jesus of Nazareth passeth by;" but that was enough for
him. It was a slender opportunity. He might have reasoned thus with
himself, "Jesus is passing by, he is just going out of Jericho; surely
he cannot stay now he is on a journey." No, rather did he argue thus
with himself, "if he is going out of Jericho, so much the more reason
that I should stop him, for this may be my last chance." And,
therefore, what unbelief would argue as a reason for stopping his mouth
did but open it the wider. Unbelief might have said, "He is surrounded
by a great multitude of people, he cannot get at you. His disciples are
round about him too, he will be so busy in addressing them that he will
never regard your feeble cry." "Ay," said he, "so much the greater
reason then that I should cry with all my might;" and he makes the very
multitude of people become a fresh argument why he should shout aloud,
"Jesus of Nazareth have mercy upon me." So, however slender the
opportunity, yet it encouraged him.
And now my dear hearers, we turn to you again. Faith has been in your
heart perhaps for many a day, but how foolish have you been; you have
not availed yourself of encouraging opportunities as you might have
done. How many times has Christ not only passed by, but stopped and
knocked at your door, and stood in your house. He has wooed and invited
you, and yet you would not come, still trembling and wavering, you
durst not exercise the faith you have, and risk the results and come
boldly to him. He has stood in your streets,–"Lo these many years,"
till the poor blind man's hair would have turned grey with age. He is
standing in the street to-day–to-day he addresses you and says,
"Sinner come to me and live." To-day is mercy freely presented to you;
to-day is the declaration made–"Whosoever will, let him come and take
of the water of life freely." You poor unbelieving heart will you not,
dare you not take advantage of the encouragement to come to him? Your
encouragements are infinitely greater than those of this poor blind
man, let them not be lost upon you. Come now, this very moment, cry
aloud to him now, ask him to have mercy upon you, for now he not only
passes by, but he presents himself with outstretched arms, and cries,
"Come unto me, and I will give you rest, and life, and salvation."
Such was the encouragement of this man's faith, and I would that
something in the service of this morning, might give encouragement to
some poor Bartimeus, who is sitting or standing here.
III. In the third place, having noticed how the faith of the blind man
discovered and seized upon this opportunity, the passing by of the
gracious Saviour, we have TO LISTEN TO THE CRY OF FAITH. The poor blind
man sitting there, is informed that it is Jesus of Nazareth. Without a
moment's pause or ado, he is up and begins to cry–"Thou Son of David,
have mercy upon me–thou Son of David, have mercy on me." But he is in
the middle of a fair discourse, and his hearers like not that he should
be interrupted–"Hold thy tongue, blind man. Begone! he cannot attend
to thee." Yet what does the narrative say about him?" He cried the more
a great deal;" not only cried he more, but he cries a great deal more.
"Thou Son of David, have mercy on me." "Oh," says Peter, "do not
interrupt the Master, what are you so noisy for?" "Thou Son of David,
have mercy on me:" he repeats it again. "Remove him," says one, "he
interrupts the whole service, take him away," and so they tried to move
him; yet he cries the more vigorously and vehemently, "Thou Son of
David, have mercy on me–thou Son of David, have mercy on me." Methinks
we hear his shout. It is not to be imitated; no artiste could throw
into an utterance such vehemence or such emotion as this man would cast
into it.–"Thou Son of David, have mercy on me " Every word would tell,
every syllable would suggest an argument, there would be the very
strength, and might, and blood, and sinew of that man's life cast into
it; he would be like Jacob wrestling with the angel, and every word
would be a band to grasp him that he might not go. "Thou Son of David,
have mercy on me." We have here a picture of the power of faith. In
every case, sinner, if thou wouldst be saved, thy faith must exercise
itself in crying. The gate of heaven is to be opened only in one way,
by the very earnest use of the knocker of prayer. Thou canst not have
thine eyes opened until thy mouth is opened. Open thy mouth in prayer,
and he shall open thine eyes to see; so shalt thou find joy and
gladness. Mark you, when a man hath faith in the soul and earnestness
combined with it, he will pray indeed. Call ye not those things prayers
that ye hear read in the churches. Imagine not that those orations are
prayers that you hear in our prayer-meetings. Prayer is something
nobler than all these. That is prayer, when the poor soul in some
weighty trouble, fainting and athirst, lifts up its streaming eyes, and
wrings its hands, and beats its bosom, and then cries, "Thou Son of
David, have mercy on me." Your cold orations will ne'er reach the
throne of God. It is the burning lava of the soul that hath a furnace
within–a very volcano of grief and sorrow–it is that burning lava of
prayer that finds its way to God. No prayer ever reaches God's heart
which does not come from our hearts. Nine out of ten of the prayers
which ye listen to in our public services have so little zeal in them,
that if they obtained a blessing it would be a miracle of miracles
indeed.
My dear hearers, are you now seeking Christ in earnest prayer? Be not
afraid of being too earnest or too persevering. Go to Christ this day,
agonize and wrestle with him; beg him to have mercy on you, and if he
hear you not, go to him again, and again, and again. Seven times a day
call upon him, and resolve in your heart that you will never cease from
prayer till the Holy Ghost hath revealed to your soul the pardon of
your sin. When once the Lord brings a man to this resolve "I will be
saved. If I perish, I will still go to the throne of grace and perish
only there," that man cannot perish. He is a saved man, and shall see
God's face with joy. The worst of us is, we pray with a little
spasmodic earnestness and then we cease. We begin again, and then once
more the fervor ceases and we leave off our prayers. If we would get
heaven, we must carry it not by one desperate assault, but by a
continuous blockade. We must take it with the red hot shot of fervent
prayer. But this must be fired day and night, until at last the city of
heaven yields to us. The kingdom of heaven suffereth violence, and the
violent must take it by force. Behold the courage of this man. He is
hindered by many, but he will not cease to pray. So if the flesh, the
devil, and your own hearts should bid you cease your supplication,
never do so, but so much the more a great deal cry aloud, "Thou Son of
David have mercy on me."
I must observe here the simplicity of this man's prayer. He did not
want a liturgy or a prayer-book on this occasion. There was something
he needed, and he asked for that. When we have our needs at hand they
will usually suggest the proper language. I remember a remark of quaint
old Bunyan, speaking of those who make prayers for others, "The apostle
Paul said he knew not what to pray for, and yet," says he "there are
many infinitely inferior to the apostle Paul, who can write prayers;
who not only know what to pray for, and how to pray, but who know how
other people should pray, and not only that, but who know how they
ought to pray from the first day of January to the last of December."
We cannot dispense with the fresh influence of the Holy Spirit
suggesting words in which our needs may be couched; and as to the idea
that any form of prayer will ever suit an awakened and enlightened
believer, or will ever be fit and proper for the lip of a penitent
sinner–I cannot imagine it. This man cried from his heart, the words
that came first–the simplest which could possibly express his
desire–"Thou Son of David, have mercy on me." Go and do thou likewise
thou poor blind sinner, and the Lord will hear thee, as he did
Bartimeus.
High over the buz and noise of the multitude and the sound of the
trampling of feet is heard a sweet voice, which tells of mercy, and of
love, and of grace. But louder than that voice is heard a piercing
cry–a cry repeated many and many a time–which gathers strength in
repetition; and though the throat that utters it be hoarse, yet does
the cry wax louder and louder, and stronger still,–"Jesus, thou Son of
David, have mercy on me." The Master stops. The sound of misery in
earnest to be relieved can never be neglected by him. He looks around:
there sits Bartimeus. The Saviour can see him, though he cannot see the
Saviour: "Bring him hither to me," saith he; "let him come to me, that
I may have mercy on him." And now, they who had bidden him hold his
clamor change their note, and gathering around him they say, "Be of
good cheer; rise, he calleth thee." Ah, poor comforters! they would not
soothe him when he needed it. What cared he now for all they had to
say? The Master had spoken; that was enough, without their officious
assistance. Nevertheless they cry, "Arise, he calleth thee;" and they
lead him, or are about to lead him, to Christ, but he needs no leading;
pushing them aside he hurls back the garment in which he wrapped
himself by night–no doubt, a ragged one–and casting that away, the
blind man seems as if he really saw at once. The sound guides him, and
with a leap, leaving his cloak behind him, waving his hands for very
gladness, there he stands in the presence of him who shall give him
sight.
IV. We pause here to observe HOW EAGERLY HE OBEYED THE CALL. The Master
had but to speak, but to stand still, and command him to be called, and
he comes. No pressure is needed. Peter need not pull him by one arm,
and John by the other. No; he leaps forward, and is glad to come. "He
calleth me, and shall I stand back?"
And now, my dear hearers, how many of you have been called under the
sound of the ministry, and yet you have not come: Why is it? did you
think that Christ did not mean it when he said–"Come unto me all ye
that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest?" Why is it
that you still keep on at your labors and are still heavy laden? Why do
you not come? Oh, come! Leap to him that calleth thee! I pray you cast
away the rainment of your worldliness, the garment of your sin. Cast
away the robe of your self-righteousness, and come, come away. Why is
it that I bid you? Surely if you will not come at the Saviour's
bidding, you will not come at mine, If your own stern necessities do
not make you attend to his gracious call, surely nothing I can say can
ever move you. O my poor blind brothers and sisters! you, who cannot
see Christ to be your Saviour, you that are full of guilt and fear, he
calleth you,
"Come ye weary, heavy laden,
Lost and ruined by the fall."
Come ye that have no hope, no righteousness; ye outcast, ye desponding,
ye distressed, ye lost, ye ruined, come! come! to-day. Whoever will, in
your ears to-day doth mercy cry, "Arise, he calleth thee!" O, Saviour!
call ye them effectually. Call now: let the Spirit speak. O Spirit of
the living God, bid the poor prisoner come, and let him leap to lose
his chains. I know that which kept me a long time from the Saviour was
the idea that he had never called me: and yet when I came to him, I
discovered that long ere that he had invited me but I had closed my
ear, I thought surely he had invited every one else to him, but I must
be left out, the poorest and the vilest of them all. O sinner! if such
be thy consciousness, then you are one to whom the invitation is
specially addressed. Trust him now, justly thou art, with all thy sins
about thee, come to him and ask him to forgive thee; plead his blood
and merits, and thou canst not, shalt not plead in vain.
V. We proceed towards the conclusion. The man has come to Christ, let
US LISTEN TO HIS SUIT. Jesus, with loving condescension takes him by
the hand and in order to test him, and that all the crowd might see
that he really knew what he wanted, Jesus said to him–"What wilt thou
that I should do unto thee?" How plain the man's confession, not one
word too many, he could not have said it in a word less–"Lord that I
might receive my sight." There was no stammering here, no stuttering,
and saying, "Lord I hardly know what to say." He just told it at
once–"Lord that I might receive my sight."
Now if there be a hearer in this house who has a secret faith in
Christ, and who has heard the invitation this morning, let me beseech
you go home to your chamber, and there, kneeling by your bedside, by
faith picture the Saviour saying to you–"What wilt thou that I should
do unto thee?" "Fall on your knees, and without hesitation tell him
all, tell him you are guilty, and you desire that he would pardon you.
Confess your sins; keep none of them back. Say, "Lord, I implore thee
pardon my drunkenness, my profanity, or whatever it may be that I have
been guilty of;" and then still imagine thou hearest him saying–"What
wilt thou that I should do unto thee?" Tell him, "Lord I would be kept
from all these sins in the future. I shall not be content with being
pardoned, I want to be renewed;" tell him thou hast a hard heart, ask
him to soften it; tell him thou have a blind eye, and thou canst not
see thine interest in Christ. Ask him to open it; confess before him
thou art full of iniquity and prone to wander; ask him to take thine
heart and wash it, and then to set it upon things above, and suffer it
no longer to be fond of the things of earth. Tell it out plainly, make
a frank and full confession in his presence; and what if it should
happen, my dear hearer, that this very day, while thou art in thy
chamber, Christ should give thee the touch of grace, put thy sins away,
save thy soul, and give thee the joy to know that thou art now a child
of God, and now a heir of heaven. Imitate the blind man in the
explicitness and straight-forwardness of his confession and his
request,–"Lord, that I might receive my sight."
Once again, how cheering the fact, the blind man had no sooner stated
his desire than immediately he received his sight. Oh! how he must have
leaped in that moment! What joys must have rushed in upon his spirit!
He saw not the men as trees walking, but he received his sight at once;
not a glimmer, but a bright full burst of sunlight fell upon his
benighted eyeballs. Some persons do not believe in instantaneous
conversions, nevertheless they are facts. Man! a man has come into this
hall with all his sins about him, and ere he has left it has felt his
sins forgiven. He has come here a hardened reprobate, but he has gone
away from that day forth to lead a new life, and walk in the fear of
God. The fact is, there are many conversions that are gradual; but
regeneration after all, at least in the part of it called "quickening,"
must be instantaneous, and justification is given to a man as swiftly
as the flash of lightning. We are full of sin one hour, but it is
forgiven in an instant; and sins, past, present, and to come, are cast
to the four winds of heaven in less time than the clock takes to beat
the death of a second. The blind man saw immediately.
And now what would you imagine this man would do as soon as his eyes
were opened. Has he a father, will he not go to see him? Has he a
sister, or a brother, will he not long to get to his household? Above
all has he a partner of his poor blind existence, will he not seek her
out to go and tell her that now he can behold the face of one who has
so long loved and wept over him? Will he not now want to go and see the
temple, and the glories of it? Does he not now desire to look upon the
hills and all their beauties, and behold the sea and its storms and all
its wonders? No, there is but one thing that poor blind man now longs
for–it is that he may always see the man who has opened his eyes. "He
followed Jesus in the way." What a beautiful picture this is of a true
convert. The moment his sins are forgiven, the one thing he wants to do
is to serve Christ. His tongue begins to itch to tell somebody else of
the mercy he has found. He longs to go off to the next shop and tell
some workfellow that his sins are all pardoned. He cannot be content.
He thinks he could preach now. Put him in the pulpit, and though there
were ten thousand before him, he would not blush to say, "He hath taken
me out of the miry clay, and out of the horrible pit, and set my feet
upon a rock, and put a new song into my mouth and established my
goings." All he now asks is, "Lord, I would follow thee whithersoever
thou goest. Let me never lose thy company. Make my communion with thee
everlasting. Cause my love to increase. May my service be continual,
and in this life may I walk with Jesus, and in the world to come all I
ask is that I may live with him."
You see the crowd going along now. Who is that man in the midst with
face so joyous? Who is that man who has lost his upper garment? See he
wears the dress of a beggar. Who is he? You would not think there is
any beggary about him; for his step is firm and his eye glistening and
sparkles, and hearken to him; as he goes along, sometimes he is
uttering a little hymn or song; at other times when others are singing,
hearken to his notes, the loudest of them all. Who is this man, always
so happy and so full of thankfulness.? It is the poor blind Bartimeus,
who once sat by the wayside begging. And do you see yonder man, his
brother, and his prototype? Who is it that sings so heartily in the
house of God, and who when he is sitting in that house, or walking by
the way is continually humming to himself, some strain of praise? Oh!
it is that drunkard who has had his sins forgiven, it is that swearer
who has had his profanity cleansed out, it is she who was once a
harlot, but is now one of the daughters of Jerusalem,–'tis she who
once led others to hell, who now washes her Redeemer's feet and wipes
them with the hairs of her head. Oh, may God grant that this story of
Bartimeus may be written over again in your experience, and may you all
at last meet where the eternal light of God shall have chased away all
blindness, and where the inhabitants shall never say, "I am sick."