Prior to our monthly department head meetings here at the chancery, we always spend a few minutes discussing Sunday’s Gospel. This month it was the story of Jesus healing the blind beggar.

"He spat on the ground and made clay with saliva, and smeared the clay on his eyes, and said to him, ‘Go and wash in the Pool of Siloam.’ So he went and washed, and came back able to see."

One of the questions we are asked is how the Gospel is reflected in our lives. I got to thinking about how the story would have played out had the beggar been someone, well, a bit more like me. The beggar is not named, so we’ll just call him Ed.

We join the story already in progress where Jesus is telling Ed the beggar, "Go and wash in the Pool of Siloam." Let’s listen in:

So he went and tried to find the Pool of Siloam, but found it not within his neighborhood, and soon grew vexed.

"Does anyone know where the Pool of Siloam is?" Ed asked a group of sheepherders on lunch break. "Does anyone even know Siloam? And if so, does he have a pool? Look, this is really important. You try walking around with clay on your eyes for a while. It itches like crazy."

But answers came naught to Ed, who continued to wander hither and yon, occasionally uttering unto himself that if Jesus could raise the dead and turn water into wine, then surely he could have steered him in the right direction.

The hours turned into days, the days into weeks, the weeks back into days, and then the days skipped the weeks and turned directly into months. And still the clay stuck firmly to Ed’s eyes as he continued his important search for the Pool of Siloam, praying often for guidance.

And it came to pass while walking along 47th Street in midtown Jerusalem he caught wind of an opening for a salesman. Being empty of pocket and hungry of stomach, Ed applied for, and was offered the position of sales trainee in the sandal department.

With the Pool of Siloam still swimming in the back of his mind, Ed would often inquire of his would-be customers about the whereabouts of said pool, to which most would reply, "Dude, you got clay on your eyes."

As his pocketbook grew, his interest in finding the Pool of Siloam diminished. Soon he was able to rent an apartment, complete with a loft and a fireplace. He bought all the modern comforts: a sleeping mat, a sitting mat, and an extra mat, just in case. And lo, he even purchased a year’s membership to the Roman baths, wherein he did scrub. But still the clay adhered like Amazing Superglue to his eyes.

As the weeks passed, Ed became bored with his life and its riches, and began frequenting Bathsheba’s Bar & Grille, where he acquired the nickname, "Good Time Eddie."

And thus, the sun did not rise nor set on the corner grille without Ed therein to bear witness. The alcohol flowed like wine and he partook of complimentary pretzels until there were none to be had until the next shipment came in on Tuesdays. Women, noting Ed’s generosity with a prutah, lavished him with attention, fighting over who would get to flick the salt from his beard and comb his eyebrows.

The more Ed possessed, the more he wanted – more wine, more women, more mats; but alas, he wanted to do less and less to earn them. He grew lazy and indignant. Nothing was good enough for him; nobody treated him with the reverence or respect befitting a man of his wealth and stature. He no longer showed up for work and cared little when he received his pink slip. He lost his apartment, and his eyebrows became unkempt. His mind and heart became void of goodness, and he was beset with despair.

And it came to pass that when Ed was feeling the very, very lowest, he knelt down in the muddy street, raised his arms and shouted unto the heavens, "Lord, God of Heaven and Earth, Father of humanity, this is all your fault! You couldn’t stand to see me happy! Am I not deserving of the good things in life? What have I done to earn your wra – "

Suddenly there came a commotion from down the street. People were crying and shouting. As they grew closer, the acrid smell of blood left Ed’s skin tingling. The cries grew louder and louder until Ed was nearly enveloped by them. He reached out to shield himself and felt the dry, rough surface of wood brush against his hand.

The sudden realization stole all strength from his legs, and he fell to the ground. He began to weep, tears pooling in the dirt. As he did, the clay from his eyes broke away, and light slowly filtered in.

When he looked up, his first sight was of a man silhouetted in the bright daylight, a crown of thorns upon his head, and a cross upon his back.