Jesus stopped in his tracks. “Call him over”. They called him. “It’s your lucky day! Get up! He’s calling you to come!” Throwing off his coat, he was on his feet at once and came to Jesus. Jesus said, “What can I do for you?” The blind man said, “Rabbi, I want to see”. “On your way,” said Jesus. “Your faith has saved and healed you”. In that very instant he recovered his sight and followed Jesus down the road. (Mark 10: 49 – 52) 

I sat slumped in my pew listening to the drone of the priest’s sermon. “How do I always get this guy?” I carped to myself. “Please don’t lecture us. Must you sap the life out of every gospel?” the uncharitable complaining inside my head continued.

By the end of the homily I had resolved never to put myself through this torture again, but by the end of Communion I realized I had a lot to learn from this guy. It all started with a commotion at the back of church. People were filing up to the altar to receive Communion when one of the ushers began speaking in loud tones to a man in a wheelchair who had just come in off the street. The usher was refusing to let the very dirty man go up the aisle. The man in the wheelchair couldn’t speak, but he was groaning in angry, anguished tones.

The priest kept looking to the back of church as he was distributing Communion, trying to figure out what was going on. Finally, he motioned to the usher to let the man through. He met the man halfway up the aisle and asked, “What is it you want?” The man pointed to the ciborium and then put his hand to his mouth. The priest walked up to him, said, “Body of Christ,” served the man Communion, and blessed him. That’s when my eyes were opened.