Homily on Mark 10:46–52 – “Throwing Off the Cloak”: A Reflection on Bartimaeus and the Leap of Faith
Praise be to Jesus Christ
Long ago, in a cold monastery in Desert, a young monk began to question his place. He had left everything, family, friends, his past life, to follow Christ. But now, years later, he found himself restless. Every morning, he would sit before the crucifix, not with deep devotion, but with silence and heaviness. One winter morning, while sweeping the snow outside the chapel, he dropped his broom, looked up at the sky, and whispered, “I gave You everything… but I kept my heart.” That day, something in him changed. He went into the chapel and stayed there until evening, weeping, praying, surrendering not just his vows, but his soul. And from that moment, the other monks said, something in his face began to glow.
In today’s Gospel, one line stands out quietly, tucked in between the action and the healing. It says: “Throwing off his cloak, he jumped up and came to Jesus.” (Mark 10:50)
That cloak was not just a piece of clothing. It was the blind man’s everything. His shelter from cold nights. The mat he sat on during the day. His only belonging. The place where people tossed coins when they pitied him. It was a symbol of his survival and of his identity as a beggar.
But when he heard Jesus call him, he threw it off. He didn’t fold it gently or carry it with him. He didn’t cling to it “just in case.” He threw it off and jumped toward Jesus. That moment, for me, is the true miracle. Before Jesus ever said a word or touched his eyes, Bartimaeus had already seen something. He saw hope, He saw possibility and He saw a life no longer chained to the roadside.
That throwing off of the cloak so simple, so quick, was his act of faith. It was his yes, his I’m ready. He didn’t ask, “What if He doesn’t heal me?” or “What if I need this again?” No. He leapt. And that is what faith sometimes looks like—not long prayers, not pious words, but a sudden, risky leap.
Many of us, in our own way, still sit by the roadside. Maybe we’re not blind, but we carry our own cloaks. Our old wounds, our excuses, our labels: “I’m not good enough.” “This is just how I am.” “It’s too late for me.” These things cling to us like familiar garments. And when Jesus passes by—through a word, a crisis, a moment of grace—we hesitate. We want to go to Him, but we also want to hold on to our cloak.
Saint Francis of Assisi heard Christ speak to him from the crucifix: “Rebuild My Church.” He didn’t just fix stones. He stripped off his rich clothes in front of his father and bishop, standing naked in the town square, saying, “From now on I call only God my Father.” He, too, threw off his cloak.
To follow Jesus, we must risk leaving behind what has become too comfortable. Whether it is pride, anger, bitterness, or shame, there comes a moment when we must let go.
And here is the beauty. When Bartimaeus threw away his cloak, Jesus gave him something better—not just sight, but a new path. The Gospel ends by saying, “He followed Jesus on the way.” He became a disciple.
So today, ask yourself: what cloak do I need to throw off? What am I clinging to that keeps me sitting still, begging, when Jesus is calling me to stand and follow?
Do not be afraid to let go. What Jesus gives in return is always more than what we surrender.
Lord Jesus, help me to throw off whatever keeps me from following You with all my heart.
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God Bless…
