Leprosy and blindness and deafness — oh, my. The disabilities cured by Jesus in his public ministry really are quite something, aren’t they? Vividly symbolic and rich food for reflection. It just wouldn’t be the same if Jesus had cured eczema or athlete’s foot or compulsive nail-biting.

Blind Bartimaeus, sitting by the side of the road, in particular captures my imagination. Because I have a confession to make, sometimes, I like to sit in the darkness, even though I know it isn’t very good for me.

I thought it often in my first year as a mother, when I was every day discovering what this new life of parenthood looked and felt like: doing anything with kids is a hundred times harder than doing it without kids. But it’s a thousand times better. From eating dinner to going to Mass to taking a walk around the block — every single outing, even the simplest ones, had an extra level of logistical complexity.

This week we hear of the man who inquires of Jesus how to obtain eternal life. He rejects Jesus’ invitation to sell his goods, give to the poor, and follow Jesus. Mark tells us this devastatingly sad line, “At this saying, his countenance fell and he went away sorrowful; for he had great possessions” (Mark 10:22).

As a young pastor years ago, I met with a middle-aged couple who had been divorced and civilly remarried. They were frustrated that an annulment had to precede a Church marriage. Sympathizing with their plight, I promised to walk with them along their journey. Once as we sat in my office, the man said to me, “Why is the Church so difficult on marriage?” I replied, “Actually, Jesus’ teaching is what’s difficult.” He furrowed his brow and asked what I meant.