Jericho was alive. It was days before Passover, the roads thick with travelers streaming toward Jerusalem, and Jesus was passing through with a great crowd. Somewhere along that road sat a blind man named Bartimaeus, a beggar whose whole purpose had shrunk to surviving until he died. And then he did the one thing no one else in that crowd did — he called out. We tend to remember him as blind Bartimaeus. After sitting with this passage, it’s hard not to call him bold Bartimaeus instead.
The right question
“Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!” In one sentence he says everything. He knows Jesus’ name, he confesses who He really is — “Son of David” is a messianic title, the God who came to save — and he asks for mercy. Mercy is when someone could be done with you and should be done with you, and chooses to help you instead. Bartimaeus is saying, “I know You could write me off, and I know You’d be within Your rights to — but I know Your heart, and You won’t.”
Most of us hesitate to pray that boldly because we’re asking the wrong question: who am I that God would do anything for me? And honestly, the answer is humbling — we’re sinners; on our own merits, nobody. But that’s the wrong question. The right one isn’t “who am I?” It’s “what is He like, that He’d be willing to?” How deep is His grace, how wide His mercy, how patient His love? Stop measuring your worthiness and start marveling at His kindness.
Bold faith, not polite faith
The crowd tried to shush him. They weren’t cruel — they were reminding him of his place: You’re a beggar, He’s a rabbi; quit making a scene. But people who are content to sit in their own pond of fear rarely want you to step out in faith, because your boldness challenges their comfort. And here’s the quiet truth underneath it: sometimes good people, with good intentions, give you bad direction. Learn to test it with a simple question — is this pulling me toward the Lord, or away from Him, or is it about to make me sit still and watch the miracle walk right by?
Because that’s what fear does. Call it timidity, intimidation, doubt — at the root it’s fear, and it keeps even capable people from stepping into good things. Bartimaeus refused. “He cried out all the more.” Notice the Bible never actually asks us for powerful faith — the power belongs to God. It asks for bold faith. Israel didn’t have the power to topple Jericho’s walls; they just had to be bold enough to march and shout. You’ll never have the power to move a mountain — but you can have the boldness to ask, and let God bring the power. Polite faith will let a miracle stroll past and walk you out the back door. Unashamed faith — the kind willing to be a little embarrassed for Jesus — sees miracles happen in its own life. A fair question to sit with: do the people around you even know you’re a believer?
Throw off the old coat and come
Jesus stopped. The Creator of heaven and earth, days from the cross with crowds pressing in, halted mid-stride for one poor beggar — because God will stop heaven and earth to help His children. And the fickle crowd flipped in an instant: “Be of good cheer. Rise, He is calling you.” We really do only need to live for one voice.
Then a small detail with a big message: Bartimaeus “threw aside his garment” and came. Think about that — a blind man tossing away the one possession he’d need if nothing changed. That old cloak was filthy, worn, see-through at the edges — and also familiar, molded to his shape, comfortable like a blanket. That’s exactly how the old life feels. It’s nasty, but going back to it sometimes just sounds nice. Your friends and family might tell you to keep it; Jesus will even meet with you while you’re still wearing it. But when your soul knows better, throw it off and come.
“What do you want Me to do for you?” Jesus asked. Could you answer that? Would you — or would you deflect into something safer? Bartimaeus didn’t hedge: “Rabboni, that I may receive my sight.” Not “Rabbi,” the polite word of respect for any teacher — Rabboni, “my teacher,” personal and dear. And the story doesn’t end with “he could see.” It ends with “he followed Jesus on the road” — the very road that led up to Jerusalem and the cross. He got new eyes, and he used them to follow.
So the question lands on us. Are you carrying a polite faith that will quietly watch Jesus pass by today — or a bold faith that calls out, throws off the old, and follows? He’s still stopping for beggars. Cry out. He could be done with you; He should be; He isn’t.
This article is drawn from the message “Bold Bartimaeus” (Mark 10:46-52), part of our study through the Gospel of Mark at Calvary Chapel Star. Watch the full message on our YouTube channel.
