Seeing with the Eyes of Love (Mark 10:46-52)

Rev. Bob Oshita, a minister in the Buddhist Churches of America once shared the story of a woman from his own congregation who had been blind for many years and finally underwent an operation, that was able, with new medical advances, to restore her sight. After the surgery, she could see again for the first time in many years. As she stepped outside and began looking at the world with her newly restored vision, she found herself overwhelmed with awe and love. Everything around her appeared radiant—more beautiful than she had ever remembered or imagined. The trees, the sky, the flowers, the people—they all seemed to sparkle with life. Even the rubbish lying on the street seemed beautiful to her.

What struck Rev. Bob was how this woman’s experience mirrored something deeper—a shift not just in physical vision, but in her capacity to see the world in a new, more profound way. Through her restored sight, she encountered everything around her with a sense of awe and love. He described her as seeing with ‘enlightened eyes’, what Eknath Easwaran calls, ‘seeing with the eyes of love’. 

This story resonates with the Gospel passage we are reflecting on today, the healing of blind Bartimaeus in Mark 10:46-52. Like the woman in Rev. Bob's story, Bartimaeus experiences a moment of transformation where his blindness is lifted, allowing him to see the world anew.

Bartimaeus, a blind beggar sitting by the roadside, cries out to Jesus, "Son of David, have mercy on me!" He is rebuked by the crowd, but he persists, crying out even louder. When Jesus hears him, he calls Bartimaeus forward and asks, "What do you want me to do for you?" Bartimaeus responds simply, "Rabbi, I want to see." Jesus tells him, "Your faith has healed you," and immediately, Bartimaeus receives his sight and follows Jesus along the road.

As I have said previously, the Gospel are not simply histories of the life of Jesus.  They are symbolic narratives, designed to communicate symbolically the deeper meaning of Jesus life, ministry and teachings.  And so we need to look beneath the surface of each story. And when we do so in this passage we see that there is a deeper significance here beyond the physical restoration of sight. Bartimaeus’s cry, “I want to see,” reflects a universal human desire: the longing to perceive reality as it truly is, to see beyond the surface and into the heart of life. The crowd initially tries to silence Bartimaeus, much like the distractions of life often silence our deeper longing for the Divine. But Bartimaeus persists, crying out even louder. This persistence symbolizes the deep, inner yearning of the soul that refuses to be silenced.  And so Bartimaeus’s healing symbolizes more than just the ability to see the world with physical eyes; it is an awakening of spiritual vision, of seeing with the eyes of love, what Paul in Ephesians speaks of as the opening of the eyes of the heart (Eph 1:18).

This story of Bartimaeus stands in stark contrast to other figures in Mark’s Gospel who remain spiritually blind. The Pharisees and religious leaders are blinded by their rigid adherence to tradition and their obsession with the minutiae of the law, unable to see the way of compassion that Jesus embodies. The rich young man, who comes to Jesus earlier in the chapter, is blinded by his attachment to his wealth  and walks away grieving, unable to release the things that hold him back from fully seeing the Kingdom of God. Even the disciples, James and John, are blinded by their desire for status and power, asking to sit at Jesus’s right and left in glory. Each of these figures, while physically able to see, remains spiritually blind—unable to perceive the deeper reality of the Kingdom of God that Jesus is inviting them into.

But Bartimaeus, in his physical blindness, already sees more clearly than many of those around him. He knows who Jesus truly is, calling him “Son of David,” a Messianic title that acknowledges Jesus’s divine mission. He recognizes that Jesus has the power to restore not just his sight, but his whole being. And most importantly, Bartimaeus, is willing to ask for help, to cry out for mercy.  His openness, his faith, and his deep desire to see allow him to experience the transformative power of God’s love.

In many ways, Bartimaeus represents each of us. We, too, are often blind—not in the physical sense, but in the way we fail to see the world through the eyes of Christ and the lens of love. We are blinded by our egos, our attachments, our fears. We may see people, but we don’t always see them as they truly are. We may look at the world, but we fail to recognize the sacredness in each moment. Like Bartimaeus, we need healing—not just of our physical sight, but of our spiritual vision.

And what does it mean to be healed? To see with the eyes of love is to see the world as God sees it, as Christ sees it: with the eyes of wisdom and compassion, with understanding, and with an awareness of the inherent unity that connects all beings. When we see with love, we begin to see beyond surface differences—beyond race, class, status, or beliefs—and recognize the common humanity that binds us together. We become more patient, more forgiving, more willing to extend mercy to others, just as Bartimaeus, whose name means, ‘Son of the unclean’, knew his own need and sought mercy from Jesus. 

This is what Eknath Easwaran calls “seeing with the eyes of love.” He writes:

"When we see with the eyes of love, we see a different world. Where others see divisions and separateness, we see unity and togetherness. Where others see differences, we see the same self in all."

This way of seeing transforms our relationships, our communities, and our world. Instead of focusing on what divides us, we begin to recognize something of our shared humanity, our shared struggles, and our shared potential for growth. We no longer view others constantly with suspicion or judgment but with greater compassion and empathy seeing more clearly our common human tendency to be lost in spiritual ignorance and spiritual blindness and in the process bringing suffering upon ourselves and others. 

Bartimaeus, once healed, immediately follows Jesus along the road. This is no small detail—it signifies that true spiritual sight leads to action. Once we see with the eyes of love, we are called to walk the path of love, to live in a way that reflects the truth of what we have seen. We are invited to follow Jesus, not just as a historical figure, but as the embodiment of love, wisdom, and compassion.

Eknath Easwaran also reminds us:

"As this awareness grows within us, we begin to live in harmony with this unity, as we are able to love without distinction, without any reservations. This is the supreme vision of love, and it has the power to transform everything in our lives."

And so, like Bartimaeus, may we have the courage to cry out for mercy, to ask for the healing we need, and to open ourselves to the possibility of seeing the world with new eyes—the eyes of Christlike love. And once we have received that sight, may we follow the path of compassion and wisdom, transforming ourselves and the world around us. Amen.

SUNDAY SERVICE - AUDIO RECORDING

The Way of Jesus, the Tao, the Bodhisattva & JRR Tolkien -  Mark 10:35-45 

Today marks the 69th Year since JRR Tolkien published the book ‘The Return of the King’, third and final book in his Trilogy ‘The Lord of the Rings’.  The series of books grew out of Tolkien's traumatic experiences of participating in World War 1 and became a cathartic way for him as he worked through the trauma he had experienced.  In doing so, Tolkien also revealed the power of mythology to express deep archetypal truths about human existence.  Most specifically the book is a commentary on the ability of power to corrupt and to bring out the darkness within us.  Corrupted by power human beings have inflicted the most terrible atrocities on one another. This is symbolised in the book by the magical ring of power and that those who wear it for too long get drawn into darkness and evil. 

And this brings us to our Gospel Passage today from Mark 10:35-45.

In last week’s Gospel Passage we encountered a man who was blinded by his attachment to his material wealth so that he was unable to experience the deeper life of the spirit. 

In today’s Gospel Passage we now encounter two of Jesus closest disciples who are blinded by their desire for role and status, the desires of the ego, that likewise have become an obstacle to understanding and entering the life of the Spirit and the Way of Jesus. 

The story of the rich young man who is blinded by his attachment to wealth ends with Jesus saying to his disciples: “The first will be last and the last will be first.” He then tells them of his impending suffering and death in Jerusalem, but James and John show a complete failure in understanding. 

They imagine that Jesus is going to Jerusalem to over-throw the occupying forces of the Roman Empire and to re-establish the Jewish state of kingdom of Israel as a political entity bringing back the glory days of David.  They think that Jesus has come with a Jewish nationalist agenda and that his aim and purpose is to make Israel great again, to put them back on the map and to destroy and drive out their enemies.

And so James and John come to Jesus secretly, because they do not want the other disciples to over-hear what they are about to ask as they put this special request to Jesus: 

“Let one of us sit at your right and the other at your left in your glory”. 

Now we must be clear, when they refer to the glory of Jesus, they are not referring to some heavenly glory in the after-life, in world to come.  What they have in mind is something much more worldly. They are very specifically thinking of Jesus in his worldly political glory with all the political pomp and ceremony and power that goes with that.  They are imagining themselves to be Jesus right and left hand men when Jesus re-establishes the throne of David and reconstituting the political entity of the Kingdom Israel. 

Jesus replies with these words: “You have absolutely no idea of what you are asking”.  In other words, they have completely misunderstood the values, aims and intentions of Jesus. 

This becomes clear and explicit at the end of the passage. By this time the other disciples have got wind at what James and John have asked of Jesus and in verse 41 we read that they have become indignant with James and John. 

The Greek word is aganakteó and it means to be aggrieved, to be indignant
to be angry, to be incensed. It is how you might feel when someone slips in first and steals a parking that you have been waiting for.

Why are the other disciples aggrieved, indignant, angry and incensed?  Because they have been eyeing out the positions for themselves.  They too have completely misunderstood who Jesus is and what his values, aims and intentions.  The disciples reveal to us the danger that every Christian faces when our Christian faith becomes wedded firstly to a nationalistic agenda, and secondly when we follow the ego’s desire for power, role, status and control. 

And so Jesus, with infinite patience, explains to them yet again the Way of the Reign of God, the Kingdom of the Heart, the Reign of Divine Love: 

Firstly he points to the way of the Gentile rulers, the Rulers of the Nations. In other words, he is pointing to the Way of the Roman Empire and all the empires of the world.  These are the ways of domination, ruling with force and with power, clearly establishing who is boss, ‘lording it over others’ with an iron rod and threats of violence.

“Not so with you” Jesus says to them.  In other words, this is not they Way of the Reign of God. It is not the Way that Jesus is modelling for them. 

“Instead,” he says “whoever wants to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wants to be first must be the slave of all.”

And so the Ways of Jesus, the Way of the Reign of God, turns the way of power on it’s head.  It is why the Way of Jesus has often been referred to as the ‘Upside Down Kingdom’ because the Ways of divine love work from the bottom up rather than dominating and controlling from the top down. 

And Jesus goes on to say, “For the Son of Man did not come to be served but to serve and to give his life as a ransom for many.”   Here, the term ‘son of man’ does not refer only to Jesus, but in fact refers to the universal divine consciousness that resides in every human being as our highest self.  Jesus is therefore modelling what it looks like when people begin to live from their deepest spiritual identity.  Instead of grasping for power which corrupts those who live from the place of their higher divine self and allow the divine to reign within their hearts quite naturally begin to walk in the ways of humility and love, taking on the role of a servant of others, giving of themselves often at great cost for the sake of others. Jesus expresses it thus “For the Son of Man did not come to be served but to serve and to give his life as a ransom for many.”   True greatness lies not in asserting one’s individual will or ego but in surrendering it to the great whole and to the reign of Divine Love. 

And so in our passage today, Jesus challenges all our previous authoritarian notions of God as the dominating, controlling force who watches threateningly over us. Jesus is clear, the Way of God is not the way of domination over others. Rather it is to be seen in the ways of gentleness, kindness and redeeming love, the way of selfless love and humble service.

This Way of Jesus, of humble and loving service towards all people is not unique to Christianity, even though it is very profoundly embodied and expressed in Jesus.  It is  echoed very profoundly in Mahayana Buddhism in the ideal of the Bodhisattva. The Bodhisattva is one who stands on the edge of final spiritual attainment, and instead of entering the bliss of Nirvana makes a vow to delay their spiritual attainment for the sake of helping to liberate all beings who are lost in the great ocean of suffering.  This is very profoundly expressed in the legendary and mythical figure of Ksitigarbha who vows not to enter into the bliss of Nirvana until all the hell realms have been emptied and all beings trapped there have been liberated from their sufferings and they come to realise that they too are Buddha’s in disguise.  

This Way of Jesus, of selfless love and service rather than following the way of status, control and domination is also beautifully expressed in that ancient book of Chinese Wisdom called the Tao Te Ching. At the heart of the Taoist philosophy, we find the same humility and letting go of control. The Tao Te Ching teaches that the sage leads by serving, that the soft and yielding is superior to the hard, dominating and controlling.  We find it expressed beautifully in chapter 30 

Whoever relies on the Tao in governing people
doesn't try to force issues
or defeat enemies by force of arms.
For every force there is a counterforce.
Violence, even well intentioned,
always rebounds upon oneself.

And again in chapter 8: 

The supreme good is like water,
which nourishes all things without trying to.
It is content with the low places that people disdain.
Thus it is like the Tao.

In dwelling, live close to the ground.
In thinking, keep to the simple.
In conflict, be fair and generous.
In governing, don't try to control.
In work, do what you enjoy.
In family life, be completely present.

When you are content to be simply yourself
and don't compare or compete,
everybody will respect you. 

And finally the Way of Jesus, or the Reign of God is expressed profoundly in J.R.R. Tolkien's Lord of the Rings in a quote that speaks of using power for healing rather than destruction:  

“For it is said in old lore: The hands of the king are the hands of a healer, and so shall the rightful king be known.”

Amen. God bless you as you reflect more deeply on these things. 

Trusting the Process of Letting Go  – a reflection on Mark 10:17-31 

One of the great privileges of ministry is journeying with people through all the phases of their lives, but what often feels like the most privileged moment is journeying with congregation members in their final days and hours.  It often feels like an angelic voice whispers as with Moses at the burning Bush, that one should take one’s shoes off because one is standing on sacred ground. 

A few years ago, Wendy read a book by Stephen Levine entitled ‘A Year to Live’. He invites the reader to imagine that one only has a year to live and to work through what that might mean for you.  What changes would you make?  What relationships would you nurture? What things would you let go of, knowing that within the space of a year, you are in the end going to have to let go of everything? 

In today’s passage from the Gospel of Mark, we meet a man who asks Jesus a question many of us have probably asked in some form: What must I do to inherit eternal life? Modern, contemporary people would probably phrase the question:  What is the meaning of my life? How do a find true fulfilment, and a deeper sense of connection to something beyond the everyday world. For the man in the story, this question represents a sincere spiritual seeking—a desire to live in alignment with what is most true and lasting.

Yet, when Jesus gives him an answer—sell what you own, give to the poor, and follow me—the man goes away grieving. His wealth, his possessions, his attachments, are too great to let go of.  They become barriers to his deeper spiritual life. If before we die, all of us are going to need to do some serious letting go, this Rich Young Man is not ready to let go, not ready to start the shedding process that will bring him true spiritual freedom.  

This story, though situated in a specific Christian context, speaks to a universal human experience that resonates with all the great spiritual traditions of the world. At its heart, it’s a teaching about loosening the grip of worldly attachments, transformation, and the search for true fulfilment—a wisdom echoed in many of the world's spiritual traditions.

The rich man in Mark’s Gospel is not unlike many of us. He has done well for himself, followed the commandments, and likely lived a respectable life. But it is not enough. There is something missing. He is seeking eternal life, which we might understand as the search for that which is timeless, meaningful, and real. In a world of constant change, he is seeking that which changest-not to quote the hymn writer.  Yet, when asked to let go of what he has accumulated—to release his attachment to wealth—he finds it too difficult.

In all the great spiritual traditions of the world, this theme of attachment is central. Whether we look at the teachings of Jesus, the Buddha, or Hindu sages, the message is clear: the things we cling to, whether material possessions, ideas, or even our self-image, are often the obstacles to experiencing deeper spiritual freedom. The Buddha teaches that attachment to worldly impermanent things   is the root of much of our suffering, because when we hold onto impermanent worldly things —whether wealth, relationships, or status—we limit ourselves, tethering our identity to the impermanent trying to find security in things that are constantly in a state of change, like ever shifting sands. 

In this story, the man’s wealth represents more than just material goods. It symbolizes the layers of identity we build around ourselves—the roles we play, the status we achieve, the things that give us a sense of security. But these external things, no matter how much comfort they provide, are not lasting. As the mystics and sages remind us, they can obscure the deeper truth of who we are.
Jesus’ invitation to the man—sell what you own, give to the poor, and follow me—is not simply about money or charity. It’s about the willingness to let go of whatever it is that holds us back from experiencing the deeper truth of life. On the spiritual path, letting go is not an act of loss, but and act of freedom. It’s about releasing our grip on things that prevent us from living fully in the present, connected to the larger flow of life.

 In our Christian traditionm, this letting go is described as dying to self so that we might live in union with the Divine.

The invitation to the rich man is, therefore, a universal call to all of us: to consider what we are holding onto that might be preventing us from living more freely, more lovingly, more fully. Is it material wealth? Is it a particular identity or role we feel we must uphold? Is it an old wound that has come to define us or is it fear of change? Whatever it may be, the spiritual wisdom across the ages tells us that true transformation begins when we are willing to release these attachments and trust the unfolding of life and in a Higher Power or Wisdom that in our tradition we call God. 

When the man walks away grieving, Jesus acknowledges the difficulty of what he is asking: “How hard it is for the rich to enter the kingdom of God!” In fact, he says, it’s easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich—someone attached to the things of this world—to enter into the deeper reality of life.

The rich man’s grief shows us the pain of clinging to what is familiar, even when it no longer serves us. 

And yet, this seemingly impossible task is followed by a word of hope: “For humans/mortals it is impossible, but not for God; for God all things are possible.” This is a reminder that, though letting go can feel impossible from our limited perspective, we are not alone in this journey. The words of Jesus suggest that God, the Higher Wisdom of Life is not in fact working against us. The Great Mystery we call God is in fact on our side, infinitely benevolent, constantly working on our behalf drawing us all every onward and upward, constantly filling us with the inner power and resources to do things we thought we were unable to do. “For humans/mortals it is impossible, but not for God; for God all things are possible.”  In all the great spiritual traditions there is always the recognition that we are part of something much larger than ourselves. Whether we call that God, the Divine, the Universe, or the Tao, we are reminded that there is a deeper wisdom and grace that constantly supports us in the process of transformation. In the Christian tradition, it is the belief that the mystery God’s grace works through us, even in our weakness, helping us to release what we cannot on our own.

And so as we reflect on this story, we are invited to consider our own lives. What are we holding onto? What attachments or fears keep us from living more fully, more freely, more lovingly? And what might it look like to trust in the process of letting go?

Seeds of Potential - A Harvest reflection on Mark 4:3-9

Friends, today on this Harvest Sunday, I wish to reflect on a well known parable of Jesus, but I am hoping we might see it with new eyes today. 

The Synoptic Gospels, Matthew, Mark and Luke, make it clear that Jesus primary method of teaching was to tell parables.  He would tell a parable, normally it would seem, without explanation.  The parable or the story would be left like a seed buried in the mind of the listener. And there, the opportunity was given for the listener to chew on the story, like a cow chewing on the cud, and for the story to gradually grow and unfold for new insights to emerge.  And so one can expect that different people might have received different insights from the parables of Jesus, because each listener was given space to listen to the parable from within their own unique circumstances.  And so a parable by it’s nature is a story that is potentially open to many different interpretations and perspectives.  Today, I invite us to listen to this parable with fresh eyes and fresh ears. We begin by hearing the parable itself: 

"Listen! A sower went out to sow. Some seed fell on the path, and the birds came and ate it up. Other seed fell on rocky ground, where it did not have much soil, and it sprang up quickly, since it had no depth of soil. And when the sun rose, it was scorched, and since it had no root, it withered away. Other seed fell among thorns, and the thorns grew up and choked it, and it yielded no grain. Other seed fell into good soil and brought forth grain, growing up and increasing and yielding thirty and sixty and a hundredfold. And he said, ‘Let anyone with ears to hear listen!’"

Harvest time is when we come together to celebrate the gifts of the Earth and reflect on the work, both seen and unseen, that brings forth the abundance we enjoy. This parable from the Gospel of Mark speaks to us today not just as an agricultural metaphor but as a profound reminder of the interconnectedness between the seeds we plant and the ground we prepare—within ourselves, our communities, and the world.

The sower in this story might be seen as each of us, casting out seeds of kindness, hope, justice, and love. The seeds we plant are our actions, words, and intentions—the countless ways we contribute to the larger garden of life. But the parable also invites us to ask, "What kind of soil are we cultivating?"

Some seeds fall on the path, quickly snatched up by birds. These are moments when our efforts seem fruitless, lost to the winds of circumstance, or perhaps crushed by the pace of a busy world that doesn't take time to nurture what truly matters. It reminds us that not every seed takes root immediately. Sometimes the conditions are beyond our control, and it's okay to acknowledge the disappointments along the way.

Then there’s the rocky ground, where seeds sprout up quickly but wither without deep roots. This can symbolize those times when we act without reflection or when our efforts, though full of enthusiasm, lack the depth and staying power needed for lasting impact. In these moments, we are called to ask ourselves: Are we nurturing our inner life, our core values, so that we can be resilient when challenges arise?

And what about the seeds that fall among thorns—where external pressures, negativity, or fear choke out growth before it even begins? This is a powerful reminder that the forces of doubt and division can prevent the flourishing of good intentions. Our task is to create spaces in our lives and communities where thorns of misunderstanding and mistrust are cleared away, making room for growth.

Finally, we come to the good soil, the fertile ground where seeds take root, grow, and multiply, yielding abundance. This is where hope resides, where we see the fruits of our labour, not just in the literal harvest but in the deep satisfaction of knowing that something we nurtured has come to fruition. But here’s the catch: good soil doesn’t just happen by itself. It requires preparation, care, and attention. It requires a commitment to tending the garden of our lives, our communities, and our world with patience and diligence.

In this season of harvest, we are reminded that we are all gardeners, both of the earth and of the human spirit. The seeds we cast out may not all flourish, but the soil we prepare through acts of compassion, openness, and love can make all the difference. Just as the sower in the parable continues to sow, without knowing where each seed will land, so too must we continue to nurture our relationships, tend to our inner lives, and engage in the work of justice and peace, trusting that some of those seeds will indeed find fertile ground.

Harvest is not just a time of reaping what we have sown; it is a time to recognize the ongoing cycle of planting, nurturing, and growth that sustains us all. Let us be mindful of the seeds we plant in the world around us. And let us tend to the soil of our own hearts, making space for the flourishing of all that is good and true.

May this be a harvest not only of the earth's abundance but of the abundance of the spirit. May we celebrate both the fruits of our labour and the potential for new growth yet to come.

Amen.

A Harvest  Blessing: 

May the Spirit of Life and Love
fill our hearts as we go from this place.
Just as the fields are ploughed and the seeds scattered,
may we sow compassion,
nurturing kindness wherever we walk.

May the harvest we gather be one of peace,
faithfulness, and understanding,
and may the abundance of the earth remind us
of the shared responsibility we hold
to care for one another and all creation.

Go in the spirit of gratitude,
carrying the seeds of love into the world.