Listen to Bartimaeus

In a world seemingly rocked by endless conflicts from Gaza to Ukraine, and in communities from Matelot to Cedros, the ancient story of Bartimaeus—a blind beggar who refused to be silenced—resonates with striking relevance.

The story of Bartimaeus in this Sunday’s gospel serves as a powerful metaphor for our contemporary struggles. Like the blind beggar on the Jericho Road, millions today find themselves pushed to society’s edges—refugees at borders, families in war zones, and citizens under oppressive regimes.

In Trinidad and Tobago, these modern-day Bartimaeuses take the form of unemployed youth in Maloney, struggling single mothers in San Fernando, and elderly residents in Tobago facing inadequate healthcare.

The parallel between ancient and modern times becomes particularly stark when examining how society responds to these voices. Just as the crowd attempted to silence Bartimaeus, today’s calls for justice often face harsh pushback.

Whether it’s environmental activists in Point Lisas, journalists exposing corruption, or community leaders fighting against gang violence, these voices frequently encounter attempts at suppression.

Yet, like Bartimaeus’s persistent cry, “Son of David, have pity on me,” today’s calls for justice, peace, and human dignity only grow louder.

What makes the Bartimaeus narrative particularly relevant is its emphasis on the transformative power of genuine listening. When Jesus stops and asks, “What do you want me to do for you?” it represents more than a mere pause in His journey—it exemplifies the kind of responsive leadership our world desperately needs.

This approach to human suffering stands out as a model for meaningful engagement with societal problems.

The beggar’s request to “let me see again” transcends physical sight, speaking to our collective need for clarity in a world clouded by misinformation and polarising rhetoric.

Whether in the global context of international conflicts or the local reality of T&T’s struggle with crime and corruption, we need to see beyond surface-level divisions to recognise our shared humanity.

This will become particularly apt with silly season next year, where we hope not to have a repeat of the social media commentary of hate and filth that was spewed in the last General Elections.

The gospel’s conclusion offers hope in an age of cynicism. Just as Bartimaeus received his sight and chose a new path, there’s potential for transformation in our modern struggles.

This hope is evident in the countless community organisations working for change, in youth programmes fighting against gang culture, and in global movements for justice and human rights.

There is a need for the same courage demonstrated by Bartimaeus—the courage to speak up despite opposition, to persist despite dismissal, and to believe in the possibility of change.

The message transcends time and culture: real transformation begins when we have the courage to cry out, the wisdom to listen, and the faith to believe in the possibility of a better world.

The ancient narrative of Bartimaeus challenges us to examine our role: Are we among those attempting to silence uncomfortable voices – or are we willing to stop, listen, and engage with the cries for justice and change that echo around us?