The Gospel Asks

This post is part of a series looking at moments where Jesus shows us what the gospel is actually about.

I have worked a few different customer service jobs, and one consistent observation is that the question “how can I help you?” is basically just a nicer way to acknowledge someone. In fact, I asked "how can I help you today?" so many times it stopped being a question. It became a formality, a doorway I opened out of habit, not a curiosity. Most days, I didn't actually want the real answer. The real answer usually meant more work, a problem I couldn't fix, or a complaint I'd have to escalate.

Conveniently, both sides of this exchange know the drill. The customer service employee asks the question, and the customer cuts straight to the point. They both know that the other doesn’t REALLY care about anything other than accomplishing the task of the moment. Customers gave the short answer. I accomplished the task. 5 stars all around.

It's not just retail. "How are you?" gets the same treatment everywhere. Nobody's really asking. We are all just upholding the social contract of being polite. This is why when someone asks you one of these questions, and actually cares to hear the answer, it’s jarring. It's rare enough to knock you off balance

Jesus is that He never operates by this social contract. He's not managing a line, working through a shift, trying to get to the next person waiting on Him. When He asks a question, He's not filling space or being polite. He's asking because He sincerely wants to know.

This is what a blind man named Bartimaeus experiences from Jesus. Mark 10 tells us that he is a blind beggar, which is about the best he could do for himself in that culture. When he hears Jesus is coming through town, he calls out for help. But there’s a problem:

“Many rebuked him and told him to be quiet, but he shouted all the more, ‘Son of David, have mercy on me!’” (Mark 10:48)

The crowd’s attempt to silence Bartimaeus didn’t work for him, but it also didn’t work for Jesus. He stops his journey and calls for the man. When Bartimaeus is guided to Him, Jesus doesn't ease into it, doesn't manage the moment. He just asks, sincerely:

“What do you want me to do for you?” (Mark 10:51)

Hold on. Jesus is on His way somewhere. He has a crowd with Him, a purpose ahead of Him. He has every reason to keep moving. And still, He stops to ask a blind beggar what he wants. Not what he needs, in Jesus's clinical assessment. What he wants. In his own words.

It would have been faster to just heal Bartimaeus. Jesus already knows he's blind. He doesn't need Bartimaeus to explain that part. He could have solved the problem and kept walking. Diagnosis, treatment, done. That's efficient. It's also the same transaction I used to do in customer service, just with better technology and lower stakes.

But Jesus asks anyway, because the gospel isn’t just about the outcome. It's about the asking.

This isn't even the first time Jesus asks that question in this chapter. Ten verses earlier, James and John stood in front of him with the same words in His mouth, "what do you want me to do for you", and asked for the best seats in his kingdom.

Now Jesus asks a blind beggar He just met the same thing.

Bartimaeus doesn't hesitate:

"Rabbi, I want to see." (Mark 10:51)

Notice what he doesn't say. He doesn't say "whatever you think is best." He doesn't preemptively qualify the ask with “I know this is asking a lot, but…” He doesn't minimize it into something smaller and safer, per the social contract of “how are you?”

He says exactly what he wants. No hedge. No filter. No apology for asking.

That's more difficult than it seems. Most of us have spent years training ourselves out of that kind of honesty. We learn early that specific wants can be denied, and vague ones can't. So we ask for "whatever's easiest" and call it humility, when really it's just self-protection. If you never say what you actually want, you never have to find out it wasn't given to you.

Bartimaeus skips all of that. A blind beggar, with every reason in the world to expect disappointment, answers directly to the one person who might actually help him.

And Jesus does.

“Go,” said Jesus, “your faith has healed you.” Immediately he received his sight and followed Jesus along the road. (Mark 10:52)

It was the faith of Bartimaeus that healed him. The same faith that refused to be silenced by the crowd. The same faith that asked for exactly what it wanted, no hedge, no filter, no apology. And that faith compels Bartimaeus to follow Jesus. The man who once sat on the roadside now walks it, right behind the one who asked him what he wanted and actually meant it.

I tend to give the short answer: to others, to God, and to myself.

"I'm fine."

“Nothing.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

After all, It's safer that way. Vague wants don't get denied, because they were never really asked for.

But Jesus doesn't deal in vague. He stops in the middle of a crowd, in the middle of a purpose, and asks a question He already knows the answer to. Because the asking itself is the point. Not efficiency. Not the outcome. The asking.

Here's what I keep coming back to: the gospel asks a question because it engages what you actually desire. Not what you should want. Not the polished version. Not the church answer. What you actually want, said out loud, to someone who's actually listening.

That's who Jesus still is. He is not managing a line. Not moving on to the next request. He loves you too much to give you the social contract. Instead, He is genuinely asking. And He’s genuinely listening.

I used to ask "how can I help you today?" hoping for the short version. I'd like to start meaning it again.

But more than that, I'd like to believe someone's actually asking me. And answer like I know it's true.

Thanks for reading. I appreciate you.

Philip