Bartimaeus is thought to mean “son of the unclean.” Was he being punished for his father’s sins? It was a popular notion. But God doesn’t hold a man responsible for being born blind. He is responsible, however, for staying blind when Jesus passes by.
He was blind. And a beggar. He had no hope for a cure; and, in that day, no hope for anything resembling a fulfilling life. For him, hope had been reduced to sitting beside the road wishing that passersby would have sufficient pity on him to part with a few coins. We don’t know how many days, or months, or years Bartimaeus had spent in this grim occupation. But we do know that that day was to be like no other.
Of all the people who might have walked past Bartimaeus that day, none could truly help him. None, save One. Had Caesar or Caiaphas come by, it might have been interesting—possibly exciting—but after their passing, Bartimaeus would have been unchanged. But this was no Caesar or Caiaphas. This was the Christ. And one of the marks of the Messiah was, “the eyes of the blind shall be opened” (Isa. 35:5).
When Bartimeaus heard who it was who was passing by, his plea was simple and eager: “Jesus, Thou son of David, have mercy on me” (Mk. 10:47). There was no appeal to his works, or to his merit, or to his religion. In humility he begged for something far greater than money: the mercy of the Saviour. And whether or not he knew it before, on that day Bartimaeus learned that God is rich in mercy (Eph. 2:4).
The response of the Lord Jesus was equally simple: “Go thy way; thy faith hath made thee whole” (Mk. 10:52), and immediately Bartimaeus regained his sight. It’s a lovely picture of salvation; of what happens when a sinner, who has spent a lifetime walking in darkness, acknowledges his need, casts himself on the mercy of the Son of God, and becomes a child of light.
We have another picture. For the next verse tells us that, after curing Bartimaeus, our Lord approached Jerusalem. We call it the Triumphal Entry. And it fulfilled Zechariah 9:9, “Rejoice greatly, O daughter of Zion; shout, O daughter of Jerusalem: behold, thy King cometh unto thee: He is just, and having salvation; lowly, and riding upon an donkey.” The prophet had commanded them to “behold” their king—to see! And so the Lord opened the eyes of Bartimaeus.
But there is more. Because, as we read on, we discover that Bartimaeus wasn’t the only blind man to meet the Lord. Our Lord Jesus was riding into a city of blind men. Not physically blind, of course—something far worse. Of all the cities on earth where Messiah ought to have been recognized, surely Jerusalem was the one—His city—the city of the great king. And yet the Lord Jesus came into the very temple where men studied the Scriptures, and they did not recognize Him. They were blind. In the events that followed, members of each group of Jewish leaders came to the Lord Jesus to reject Him. In response, no fewer than five times He referred to them as “blind,” blind to who He was and who they themselves were. And that wilful blindness led them to crucify the very One they claimed to be looking for.
That was no chance meeting with Bartimaeus. Just before entering a city of blind men, the Lord met a blind man who truly saw: a man who saw himself in his desperate need and who saw the Lord Jesus as the only One with the power and love to save him. And so our Lord opened his eyes, as a sign that He would be willing to open the eyes of blind Pharisees, too. And that, one day, He would open our eyes.