It's a warm day. The smell of dust and animals in the air — the sounds of a small, bustling Palestinian town in the background. Jesus is on his way from one place to the next, when in the distance he hears someone shouting his name. The disciples hear it too. Their sound is desperate, but the disciples are tired. Must they stop again? Soon the shouting prevails as they see their master locating the source of the cries. Two blind men. Two brave, reckless blind men, being hushed by passers-by. But Jesus stops. He asks what they want, as if it weren't obvious. But he wants to hear them say it. They need to speak their needs to Jesus. His answer, "According to your faith may it be done to you."

These words confront me like a fist confronts a jaw. I don't want this to be true. I want Jesus to say, "according to my power, may it be done to you." Or, "according to my mercy, may it be done to you." This word faith disrupts me to the core. I'd much rather live in a world where God just made it all happen, and I, like a floating leaf, meandered down the river. But this verse cries, "Swim!"

But that's not how it works. Not with Jesus. Jesus chooses our participation with our growth. He enables and inspires faith, and then he demands it of us. When I become like the blind men, desperately weary of my own blindness and wholly convinced of Jesus' power to heal, I'll cry out to him in faith too.

The real question is, then, what am I desperate for? Because it seems to me that desperation is the foundation of miracle-enabling faith.