Spirituality

In today’s reflection, based on Mark 8, I ask you to imagine yourself one of Jesus’ new followers. You’re not sure about him yet, not sure what it is you’re supposed to believe and feel. But your eyes are wide with wonder and your heart is open. Pray with this reflection, maybe read it a couple of times, and then ask yourself the question that Jesus asks his followers: Who do you say I am?

If you’d like, and if it will aid you in prayer, you can listen to this recording I made reading the reflection: Mark 8 — Who Do You Say I am?

You are not what anyone would call a disciple of this man yet, but here you are trailing along behind him and his followers, listening to his stories and staring open-mouthed and astounded as the most unusual and unbelievable things happen. You don’t know what to believe for sure, but there’s something going on here that is beyond anything you have ever experienced before. Something about him that urges you to follow just to see what happens next. If nothing else, he’s one heck of a teacher and magician. So you guess you’re a follower in that sense. You’re the quiet one at the back of the pack.

Just ahead, you hear his disciples bickering. Evidently, no one remembered to bring any bread to eat and there seems to be some confusion about whose responsibility that was. The teacher turns around and looks at them, disappointment on his face, as if he is dealing with a group of unruly children.

“Why are you worried about bread?” he says to them. “Don’t you know we’re about bigger things here? Don’t you get it? Have you forgotten a few days ago when I took five loaves of bread and fed 5,000 people? Do you not remember the baskets and baskets of leftovers?”

They stand looking at him with sorry, embarrassed eyes.

You remember, you think to yourself. That was your first day with him. Seven baskets of leftovers. That was some trick.

“We didn’t forget,” one of them says, “But we didn’t want to bother you again…”

“We don’t expect miracles every day,” says another, laughing.

“It’s not about the bread,” he responds, his eyes soft now with compassion. “It’s about the trust. Trust me. Every day is a miracle.”

You arrive at Bethsaida. As you have seen happen in just about every town he enters, he is quickly surrounded by people wanting something from him. They want a story. They want to see a miracle. They want to be healed or see him heal. They want proof. As do you. This never gets old, you think.

Up through the crowd comes a trio of people pulling behind them a blind man on a rope. He stumbles behind them, his arms stretched out in front of himself, grasping at air and preparing for any abrupt stop. “Please, heal our friend,” they say.

Jesus turns and looks at the man, compassion and love on his face. First, he unties the rope and takes him by the hand, leading him back out of the village and away from the noise and crowds.

Then he does the most remarkable thing. He spits in his own hands and then gently rubs the spittle into the man’s eyes. He embraces the man’s head, cradling it like a treasure. You inch closer, longing to hear what is being said. Jesus asks the man: “Do you see anything?”

The man looks up and his once-sightless face glows red-orange in the late afternoon soon. “I see men,” he says, looking around at you and the disciples, smiling and trying to find the right words for something he has never seen before but only imagined. “They look like walking trees.”

Jesus smiles at his words and stretches out his arms once again. “I can make it perfect,” he says, once again taking the man’s face into his hands. The man clings to Jesus, as if he doesn’t ever want the embrace to end, afraid that his lack of faith might push him back into darkness.

“Go straight home and show yourself to your family,” Jesus says. “See them perfectly.”

The man backs away from Jesus and the look on his face tells you all you need to know. He sees you. He sees you looking at him. “How can this be?” he whispers to you, and you have no response worthy of what you have just experienced.

You are on the move again, walking in the wilderness and headed out for the villages around Caesarea Philippi. As you and the others pause and gather around him, Jesus asks: “Who do the people say I am?”

One of his disciples answers, “Some are confused and say you are ‘John the Baptizer. Some say Elijah. Others say you are one of the prophets.”

“And you,” he says, looking straight at you, the quiet one at the back of the pack. Who do you say I am?”