Short Story: The Mud Will Clean You
Bartholomew sat outside of his house’s porch on the side of the street like any other day. There wasn’t much he could do, here in his hometown, with all the hustle and bustle of the city happening right outside his home. That’s because Bartholomew was blind and moving around with so many people rushing down the street was near impossible. So most days, Bartholomew sat outside his home, waiting for his parents to come home from their days of work and being out and about.
Bartholomew would have been more sad about the state of his life except for the fact that it was all he had known. Bartholomew was born blind, so he knew no other way of life. He had grown used to the utterances and mean words as passerbyers walked by him, of the things neighbors whispered to one another about: that his condition was punishment for someone’s sin.
Bartholomew heard that accusation his whole life. Even growing up, at school, the kids would say the same thing. But Bartholomew could never figure out what he had done wrong in life if he was born this way. It’s not like he had a chance to figure out life without this impediment.
And if the others didn’t say it was because of his sin, they would say it was because of his parent’s sin. But Bartholomew’s parents were amazing – they were kind and had taken care of him his whole life, never making him feel like a burden. From what he had known, they hadn’t committed anything atrocious either. Even though, as the gossip and speculation continued, it became like a dark weight over him, a weight he had grown to accept would always be there. It had become something implanted in him, so much so that if someone had asked Bartholomew if he or his parents did something to deserve his condition of blindness, Bartholomew would have answered probably.
So there Bartholomew sat on his porch just like any other day, taking in the sounds of the city around him. As he sat, he heard a group of people approach. From the sound of their footsteps, it sounded like a large group of people all traveling closely together. Bartholomew tried to make himself as still as possible, hopefully avoiding any further whispers or gossip that he knew would occur. But that seemed out of the question today as he began to hear them conversing with one another about it. Bartholomew felt that weight of shame more than ever before, freezing him to his chair, almost choking him into silence.
One man spoke, “Rabbi, why was this man born blind?”
Bartholomew knew his condition as known around town. These men must be from around this area or had heard about his story from someone else. Bartholomew was used to being the talk of the town and braced himself once again for the painful teaching lesson that was about to take place with this rabbi between his students.
Another man spoke, “Was it because of his sins or his parents?” he asked.
Bartholomew’s stomach sank. He could never escape the shame people put on him. Bartholomew put his head down, acting like he didn’t hear the conversation in front of him.
A voice, closer than the others answered. It was as if the voice was not only right in front of Bartholomew but within his very heart as well. A voice that somehow, he knew – like he had heard before or he was waiting his whole life to finally hear.
“It was not because this man’s sin or his parent’s sin that caused him to be born blind. This happened so the power of God would be seen in him.” The close voice answered.
Without thinking, Bartholomew stood up, shocked by this Rabbi’s answer. Never before had Bartholomew heard anyone speak anything other than condemnation and death over his blindness. How could the power of God be seen in him?
As if knowing that Bartholomew was shocked by his answer, the Rabbi continued teaching, projecting his voice back to his students. “We must quickly carry out the task assigned to us by the one who sent us. The night is coming and then no one can work. But while I am here in the world, I am the light of the world.”
Light. That wasn’t something Bartholomew knew. Only in concept but never in reality. All he had known was dark, the dark of his eyes and the darkness of people’s judgment around him.
Bartholomew heard the rabbi take a step closer to Bartholomew on his porch.
“Son,” the rabbi said to him, “what is your name?”
“Bartholomew” he answered.
“I’m Jesus of Narazeth Bartholomew and it’s very nice to meet you. Do you want the power of God to be seen in you?” Jesus asked.
“Yes rabbi, more than anything,” Bartholomew answered.
“Then trust me,” Jesus said.
Then Bartholomew heard Jesus move around on the ground, pick something up, and then spit! Jesus then touched Bartholomew’s face. “Trust me,” Jesus said again as Bartholomew felt a cool wet substance put over his eyes. It dawned on Bartholomew, that Jesus was putting mud on his eyes!
If only that mud had felt healing. Instead, it felt as if it had spiritual effects on what Jesus was doing. The more Jesus put mud on Bartholomew’s eyes, the more the weight of shame Bartholomew knew his whole life grew over him. Every voice of accusation echoed in his head, from the kids growing up to the neighbors across the way. “Your fault,” they said, “your sin” phantom voices whispered in his ear. The mud Jesus put on Bartholomew felt like a physical representation of all the metaphorical mud people had slung on him his whole life.
“Now,” Jesus said, “go wash yourself in the pool of Siloam”
Bartholomew thought that sounded a little odd. “Really, Jesus?” He asked.
“Really,” Jesus whispered close to his ear. “Trust me.”
At this point, Bartholomew was desperate. So he grabbed his cane and began feeling his way out of his porch and onto the street, well aware that every eye from the people on the street and the group with Jesus were watching him. Bartholomew felt ridiculous walking across the city with mud on his face. But to be honest, Bartholomew felt for a long time that he already had mud on his face, dirtied by the remarks and mean words the people around him said.
The pool of Siloam that Jesus directed him to was in the center of town, where a lot of the townsfolk went for water and to be bathed. It was a very public place and Bartholomew knew he once again had to push through the heap of shame on him to accomplish what Jesus had requested of him. The few minutes walk to the pool felt like an eternity, especially as he heard the whispers of his neighbors and townspeople discussing the ridiculousness of Bartholomew walking with mud on his eyes.
But Bartholomew kept going, pushing through the fears of what others were saying about him and leaning on the last words he heard Jesus say to him, “Trust me.” Deep down to his core, he knew those words were true. That something good was on the other side of this task Jesus had asked him to do.
Bartholomew heard the bubbling waters of the pool of Siloam before he reached the end of the waters. Dropping his cane and crouching down, he reached down towards the waters and lifted a scoop of water onto his face. He scrubbed away at the layers of mud on his eyes and as he did, he began to feel the most peculiar thing. With every splash of water on his face, Bartholomew felt the weight of shame that followed him his whole life wash away as if being dissolved in the waters of mercy. The words of Jesus echoed once again in his head – this happened so the power of God would be seen in him. His condition was not his fault nor his parents. The only thing that mattered was that his condition occurred so that God’s power would be seen in his life.
Bartholomew washed his face one more time, washing away the last of the mud as well as the tears that had been streaming down his face.
And as he opened his eyes, he saw! He saw the flowing waters of the pool in front of him, the brown dregs of the mud at the bottom of the water, and the sun shining reflective light upon the waters. Bartholomew stood up and looked around, astonished at what he was experiencing for the first time in his life – seeing the world around him.
There was a crowd that had gathered around him, most likely to watch the odd thing that he was doing. One of his presumably neighbors screamed, realizing what had happened. “I can see!” Bartholomew declared, pushing past the crowd back to his home, this time, not having to remember his way back based on feel and sound but by actual sight.
A group followed behind him, this time, no longer whispering about the shame of his blindness but of the incredible possibility that they had just witnessed a miracle.
Bartholomew returned to his home where the people he no longer just heard through a world of darkness stood waiting, this time as real human figures. A man with dark hair and bright eyes met him, Bartholomew already knew this was Jesus before even needing to recognize his voice.
“I can see!” Bartholomew yelled again. The group of men around Jesus began to cheer, one of them in excitement, coming up to him to hug him, almost lifting him in the air in the process.
Jesus came close to Bartholomew and whispered to him, “I told you to trust me” and winked.
“Come,” Jesus said, looking directly at Bartholomew as well as the rest of his group, “We have much more to do today in this town.” He turned around and headed back to the street. The man who hugged Bartholomew said to him, “It looks like the Rabbi called you as well if you would like to follow,” he said. “Just be prepared, following him doesn’t always come easy, especially given what others will now say about what happened to you.” He remarked, gesturing to Bartholomew’s neighbors who already were now mumbling to each other, trying to figure out what exactly happened.
But Bartholomew knew any criticism or resistance he may face from people wouldn’t have a hold on him like it used to. Because far beyond him now physically seeing, Bartholomew felt free from the invisible weight that followed him his whole life. He felt empowered, like he could face anything while following this Man he had met.
Because he was blind, but now he could see!
