Christ Twice Asked: What Do You Want Me To Do For You?

Three wishes.

We’ve all fantasized about finding that magic lamp, the one that could suddenly change everything, the one that would solve all of our earthly problems.

Whether for an abundance of riches, overnight fame, or perhaps everlasting good health, the thought often strikes us.

Especially since nothing much else would be required of us, other than our words.

How great would that be?

It’s a wonderful fantasy.

Even two of the disciples succumbed to this easy temptation, as we saw last week.

James and John approached Christ, as if believing by some magic of His they would be transported to certain spiritual bliss, without any further effort of their own (Mark 10:35):

“Teacher, we want you to do for us whatever we ask of you.”
He replied, “What do you wish me to do for you?”
They answered him, “Grant that in your glory
we may sit one at your right and the other at your left.”

What do you wish me to do for you?

What they clearly lacked in understanding and faith, they surely made up for in audacity.

And so they were admonished – not only by Christ but by the other disciples as well.

Today, just one week later, the story of blind Bartimaeus is recounted. Here we see a similar approach, and the exact same question posed by Christ in response.

Only this time, a different result (Mark 10:46):

On hearing that it was Jesus of Nazareth, he began to cry out and say, “Jesus, son of David, have pity on me.”

And many rebuked him, telling him to be silent.

But he kept calling out all the more, “Son of David, have pity on me.”

Jesus stopped and said, “Call him.” So they called the blind man, saying to him, “Take courage; get up, he is calling you.”

He threw aside his cloak, sprang up, and came to Jesus.

Jesus said to him in reply, “What do you want me to do for you?”

The blind man replied to him, “Master, I want to see.”

What do you want me to do for you?

Simple, undeterred, unwavering, humble faith.

And Bartimaeus was cured.

Now when analyzing this passage on its own, some commentators have wondered:

What is it that you would ask Christ if he stood before you? For what spiritual blindness would you seek a cure?

Those are perfectly good questions, as far as they go.

But there may be something a bit more challenging going on here as well – if, that is, we see some connection to last week’s reading.

John and James seem to have stepped forward out of both vanity and fear.

Vanity because they wanted to be immediately raised up in men’s eyes (perhaps most especially in the eyes of the other disciples).

Fear because they lacked faith enough on their own to commit to the hard road just before them.

Although ostensibly concerned with things spiritual, theirs was a request – a demand, really – firmly rooted in the present, fully grounded in this world, and very much like our desire for that magic lamp.

Bartimaeus, I think, understood things a bit differently.

For he not only recognized Christ’s extraordinary and divine lineage (“Son of David”), but he also approached with great humility, with great faith, and seemingly without any fear of what was just ahead:

Jesus told him, “Go your way; your faith has saved you.”

Immediately he received his sight and followed him on the way.

His was a humble request, focused well beyond the things of his day.

He sought not magic from a lamp, but mercy, hope, and a love without end.

So the challenge before us, I think, is not only how would we respond to the question “What do you want me to do for you?,” but to first grasp whether we have begun, finally, to align our will to His, and whether we have lifted our gaze towards the heavens above.

Before we dare answer that question, we need to know whether our hearts are truly ready to hear it.

For it’s only in that way that we might begin to understand what it means to utter those words which are so deceptively easy to say, but which are so very difficult to make our own: