Meeting the Real Jesus: when others look down on you

As promised, we continue to share the talks from our teen retreat a couple of weeks ago. Bishop Drew Williams’ gave this second talk on Luke 18:35-43 looking at how Jesus handles us when others look down on us:

Imagine the scene at the gates of Jericho. It is a high-energy, high-status parade. The city is buzzing because someone who they believe to be a local celebrity, Jesus of Nazareth—is passing through. But on the very edge of that excitement, sitting in the dust, is a man whose name doesn't even get recorded. To the Crowd, this man is not a person; he is actually considered less than human, and he is a problem.

The crowd clearly don’t get this. Their false thinking has given them a psychological "pass" to be cruel. They don’t see a human being in pain; the see a "sinner" getting what he deserved. They feel morally superior to his misery, and this made it really easy for them to treat him like a piece of garbage.

When the man begins to cry out for help, the crowd doesn't reach out a hand; they try to "mute" or shut him up. This is where we see the "Mob Mind" in action. Psychologist Gustave Le Bon famously argued that when people join a crowd, they don't just lose their personal space—they lose their personal conscience. They undergo a "mental unity" where they become a single, blunt instrument.

In a crowd, you experience what psychologists call “De-individuation”. It’s the feeling of being anonymous. You feel like a nameless face in a sea of people, and that "anonymity" acts like a mask. It gives you a sense of "permission" to be cruel, to shout down a peer, or to join in a character assassination online. You start acting in ways you would never act if you were standing alone, face-to-face with that person. The crowd doesn't just change your behavior; it temporarily deletes your empathy.

We see this fueled by what I call the "Karma Trap." The crowd at Jericho looked at this man’s blindness and assumed it was a spiritual "status update." They thought, “He’s at the bottom because he belongs at the bottom.” This is a heretical Retribution Theology—the lie that says you get what you deserve.

But I want to be very clear: This is not the heart of God. Jesus explicitly shattered this lie in John 9. When His disciples asked who sinned to cause a man’s blindness, Jesus didn't check a scorecard. He said: “Neither this man nor his parents sinned... but this happened so that the works of God might be displayed in him.” Jesus is telling us right now: Your pain isn't a receipt for your mistakes. It’s not "Karma." As Psalm 103:10 says, “He does not treat us as our sins deserve.” Our suffering isn't a receipt for your sins; it's the very place where God’s mercy meets us.

But the crowd don’t know that. They were locked into what Solomon Asch called the "Conformity” principal. If the ten people in front of you are rolling their eyes at the "annoying" beggar, your brain is hardwired to do the same just to fit in. They weren't thinking for themselves; they were just "reposting" the cruelty of the people next to them. So, when the more vocal members of the crowd begin to rebuke the man, everyone else joins in. The crowd is now operating with what is called a "Gatekeeper" complex. The “hive-mind” has decided that this man was "too much," too "cringe," and too "broken" to be a part of this moment.

And today, we see all of this amplified on the Digital Jericho Road. Social media is the ultimate “de-individuation” machine. Behind a screen, in a comment section, you are anonymous. You can join the "mob" and crush someone’s spirit without ever having to look them in the eye. But here is the scary part for us today: This "crowd cruelty" isn't just a Bible story. It’s our current reality. Research from the University of Michigan shows a 40% decline in empathy in young people over the last two decades. You aren't imagining it—the world is literally becoming unkinder. People around you are literally losing their ability to feel what you feel; to put themselves in your shoes; to feel compassion.

We often talk about social media as a place to connect, but for many of us, it’s actually the modern Jericho Road. We live on a Digital Jericho Road. Social media is the ultimate "crowd," and it is designed to dehumanize. On your feed, people aren't souls; they are "profiles." And the "Digital Jericho Road" isn't just staying on our screens—it is actively reshaping how physical crowds behave. We are seeing a "behavioral spillover" where the habits we learn online (muting, scrolling, and dehumanizing) are becoming our default settings in person.

In gaming, an NPC (Non-Playable Character) is just a piece of code that exists to fill space in the "Main Character’s" world. Psychologist Professor RJ Starr points out that digital culture creates a "collapse of relational context." Online, we treat people like "avatars." In person, that habit sticks. The crowd in Jericho didn't see a man; they saw a "glitch" in their parade. Today, when you are hurting at school, your peers don’t see a person; they see a "background character" who is ruining their "Main Character" vibe. We find ourselves being treated like we are not even “real”.

The bystander effect is a social psychological phenomenon where individuals are less likely to offer help to a victim when they are in a crowd. This happens because of a diffusion of responsibility, where each person assumes someone else should do something so nobody does anything. Social media has caused this bystander effect to mutate. We’ve all seen videos where a crowd stands in a circle around someone being bullied or hurt—not to help, but to film it. Because we are trained to "capture content," the phone acts as a literal shield that blocks our empathy. When you are in pain, the modern crowd doesn't just "ignore" you —they record you, they screen shot your texts, or re-post something to humiliate. They turn your worst moment into their "content." It is a deeper, more refined kind of cruelty.

Some of us feel like we are sitting on that curb today. Most of us have felt what it is like to be the victim of a crowd that has decided you don’t fit the "vibe".

I confess that I have always felt things deeply. I am well known for weeping during movies. All sorts of movies make me cry: Monsters’ Inc, Charlotte’s Web and Cinderella! When all the girls were much younger, we watched the ‘U’ rated classic movie “My dog Skip!” That movie should come with a health warning. I wept a river and at that time in our lives we did not even own a dog! The girls took it in turn to comfort me. Isabel leaned over and in a hushed tone she learned from her mother, said, “Dad, it’s just a movie!!”

All to say, my propensity to feel things deeply was a nightmare when I was a kid. If a teacher gave one of my fellow pupils a telling off, I went through the agony with them. Every angry word that the teacher threw at my classmate went straight to my heart. Sometimes the teacher would ask me to leave the classroom before they told another kid off. At parents’ evenings the teachers would say to my parents, “He feels things very deeply.” And then they would shake their heads despairingly and say in hushed tones, “He has a very gentle heart.” What was a seven-year-old boy supposed to do with that? I suspect that my parents hoped that I would grow out of it. I certainly did.

This gentle heart of mine got me into a lot of fights. Ironically, I started most of them. I would see some injustice in the school yard, and I would feel it so deeply I just had to do something about it. My friends would say, “Why do you always have to be the one to say something?!” I did not have an answer, but I suspected it had something to do with my wretched gentle heart.

On one occasion I recall observing a boy who was at least two foot taller than me (and two grades above me) walking toward me. He did not know me. To him, I did not exist. Not least I was two foot below his immediate field of vision. To be fair, he was minding his own business. The day before, however, I had watched him terrorize a friend of mine in the library. And so, as he lumbered toward me, like a mighty Nephilim in school uniform, I watched myself, in slow motion, reach up, grab Goliath’s collar and slam him against the wall of the art department. Standing on tip toes, looking up into his eyes and with my gentle heart lodged in my throat, I told him that his attitude was very wrong, and it had to stop. For about three seconds my shock and awe tactic worked. For three long seconds he was motionless. But then, without breaking sweat or even saying a word, he pulverized me. He rolled me up into a little ball and flicked me, and my gentle heart, across the school yard.

For a sensitive kid life was pretty tough! Even when I was in the fight, I found it difficult to throw a punch because I was already living the pain I would cause. I was a psychopathic pacifist. I seemed destined to a lifetime of brawls where me and my ridiculous gentle heart took a pounding from the crowd.

I am sure all of you know something of the pain that can be inflicted by the crowd. You’ve been "muted". You’ve been "blocked". You have been dehumanized and misrepresented by a “screen-shot”. You know what it is like to be treated like a background character in everyone else’s story.

The “in-crows” is telling you that you’re "too much," that your pain is "cringe," or that you just don't belong in the parade. Deep inside, you are shouting for someone to notice, but the crowd is just getting louder, trying to drown you out, telling you to stay quiet in your place at the roadside. It can really feel like the “Crowd” has this overwhelming, unstoppable momentum. It feels like a machine that has no "off" switch. You begin to wonder if the cruelty is just the way the world works—if the "main characters" will always keep running and you will always be left in the dust.

So what does Jesus do next? This is important because whatever He does next for this man sitting in the dust, is exactly what He promises to do for you – especially when we feel kicked to the curbside.

The impossible happens. Luke tells us simply: "Jesus stopped." I want you to feel the physics of mercy in that sentence. Jesus is at the center of a high-pressure, high-speed multi-person human machine. I was once caught up in a vast crowd that was overflowing the sidewalk walking down fifth avenue in New York City. I remember thinking if I fall, I am dead. The momentum of this crowd is such that they will simply walk right over me.

Jesus is surrounded by all the "important" people and religious gatekeepers who are all pushing forward. But with two words, He hits the emergency brake on the entire universe. Jesus has a divine specialism: He can silence the madness.

We see this pattern throughout the Bible. There is a powerful moment in Zechariah 3 where a man named Joshua is standing in "filthy clothes," and the Accuser—the ultimate voice of the crowd—is standing right there to point out every mistake he’s ever made. The noise of shame is deafening. But God doesn't let the Accuser even finish his sentence. He literally commands the silence: "The Lord rebuke you, Satan! The Lord... rebuke you!" God silences the accuser to make room for His rescue. Before the mercy could be given, the noise has to be stopped.

This is what happens at the gates of Jericho. The crowd is playing the role of the Accuser. They are the ones saying, "Be quiet, you don't belong here, you’re just a sinner in the dirt." But Jesus breaks the crowd’s hive mind. He doesn't ask the crowd for permission to stop. He doesn't check to see if stopping will "ruin His brand" or slow down his schedule. He does exactly what He did for the woman caught in adultery when He stood between her and a mob with stones. He does what He did on the Sea of Galilee when He looked at a "crowd" of crashing waves and said, "Peace, be still." He performs a Great Muting.

For all of us who feel like we are sitting at the curbside wondering if the cruelty will ever stop: Jesus is the one who has promised to shut down the machine. When He stops for you, the "NPC Syndrome" dies. You are no longer background code. He silences the "gatekeepers" in your school hallways, the "trolls" in your comments, and most importantly, the Accuser who lives in your own head. He creates a holy silence in the middle of a screaming world. He clears the deck. He shuts down the theater of the Jericho Road. And in that sudden, shocking silence, He looks at you—the one the world scrolled past—and He makes a space where you can finally be heard.

To the mob, you were a distraction. But to the Man who stopped the machine, you are the destination. The very reason Jesus came to this neighborhood to begin with. He knows the pain of being ignored, He sees the curb you’re sitting on, and He will halt the whole world just to tell you that you are seen, and you are loved. That you are more valuable and more precious than you have ever realized.

The crowd will always try to tell you where you belong—at the roadside. But Jesus stops the entire procession to bring you to the center.

So what does Jesus do next? And remember, this is important because whatever He does next for this man sitting in the dust, is exactly what He promises to do for you – especially when we feel kicked to the curbside. In the silence Jesus creates, something radical happens. The "physics of mercy" moves from stopping the crowd to starting a new life for the man on the curb. For any of us who feel ignored or passed over in this unkind of "scroll-past" culture, what Jesus does next is the ultimate restoration of agency and dignity.

Notice what Jesus does in verse 40: He orders the man to be brought to Him. The crowd wanted the man at the margin, in the dust, where he was "out of the way". But Jesus places him at the center. For any of us who feel invisible, this is a total identity shift. In Jesus’ presence, you aren't an "avatar" or a "profile" sitting in the background of someone else’s viral moment. You are His only focal point.

When Jesus looks at you, the "NPC Syndrome" is shattered. You aren't background code anymore. You are a soul with a seat at the center of the King’s heart. He gives you back the dignity that the crowd tried to steal with their "likes" and their "mutes".

Then, Jesus asks a question that seems obvious but is actually life-changing: “What do you want me to do for you?” Think about how rare that is in a digital world. The "crowd" is always telling you what you should want—what you should look like, how you should act, what you should buy. Social media algorithms are designed to tell you who you are before you even have a chance to speak. They strip away your agency—your power to choose and to be heard.

But Jesus creates a safe space. He doesn't just "fix" the man like he’s a broken machine; He treats him like a person with a voice. He gives the man the floor. In the holy silence Jesus has created, He leans in with undivided, loving attention. Psychologists call this Unconditional Positive Regard. It is the healing power of being seen by someone who isn't judging you, isn't "ranking" you, and isn't looking past you. In that moment, Jesus is essentially saying: “The crowd is muted. The Accuser is silenced. I am listening. Tell me your heart”.

Finally, the healing comes. But notice: Jesus says, “Your faith has healed you”. He doesn't just heal the man’s eyes; He heals his status. He validates the very thing the crowd ignored. The mob thought the man was a "sinner" in the dust, but Jesus reveals he was a "man of faith" on the threshold of a miracle. To any of us who feel lost at the curbside: Jesus doesn't just see the "blindness" or the "pain" that the crowd uses to label you. He sees the “you” that is buried under all the noise.

Imagine sitting there, feeling the dust on your skin, hearing the crowd’s whispers finally die down. You look up, and for the first time in your life, you aren't being "scrolled past". You are being gazed upon with a love that doesn't need an algorithm to find you. Jesus doesn't just give you your "sight" back—He gives you your life back. The crowd will always try to tell you where you belong—on the roadside, in the dark, being quiet. But Jesus stops the entire procession to bring you to the very center of His heart. He creates the silence, He gives you your voice back, and He says: “I see you. I hear you. And I am making you whole”.

We’ve looked at this story as a single event—a "one-time" miracle at the gates of Jericho. But for all of us, the "curb" isn't a place we sit once; it’s a feeling that can return throughout our entire life. There will be days when the crowd or the "Digital Jericho" feels louder than others. There will be seasons where the crowd seems to be moving faster, leaving you further behind in the dust.

There is in Jesus, in this lifetime, for you a repeating pattern of love, grace and mercy. I want you to know that Jesus' healing real and powerful and it a healing that exists across our entire earthly lives.

Years after my schoolyard fiascos, shortly after I had first encountered Jesus, I visited a church in London. Toward the end of the service, I took my courage in my hands and went forward for prayer. The prayer time was good, but as I walked away the person who had prayed for me called my name. “Drew,” they called, “There is something else I feel the Lord wants me to say to you this night”. They smiled and said, “Jesus would say to you, 'Drew, I love your gentle heart'”.

For us to grow in His image, is to take within us His gentle heart. Fortunately, this is what the Holy Spirit excels at, as promised in Ezekiel: “I will give them one heart, and put a new spirit within them; I will remove the heart of stone from their flesh and give them a heart of flesh…”

As you grow, His mercy goes deeper. It’s like a song that plays on loop in the background of your story. Every time you feel that cold "scroll-past" spirit of the world, Jesus performs the same divine rhythm:

He Silences: He mutes the noise of the crowd and the pressure to conform.

He Rebukes: Like in Zechariah 3, He tells the shaming voices and the Accuser to be quiet.

He Centers: He moves you from the margin of the "NPC" world and puts you in the center of His attention.

He Restores: He doesn't just call you a "human being" with rights; He calls you a beloved child with an inheritance.

The greatest part of this miracle wasn't just that the man could see the road; it was that he could finally see Jesus. The man didn't just go back to his old life; the Bible says he "followed Jesus, praising God". This is what Jesus wants to do for you as you navigate the "Digital Jericho" of the next few years. He wants to open your eyes so clearly that you start to see Him everywhere—even in the middle of your trouble. When the hallway gets mean, you’ll see the Man who stops the machine. When the comments get cruel, you’ll see the King who mutes the mob.

The crowd will always try to tell you where you belong. They will try to keep you on the roadside, in the dark, where you’re "easier to manage". They want you to stay quiet so they can keep their parade moving. But the parade has stopped. The noise has been muted. The Accuser has been rebuked. The "physics of mercy" have cleared a space just for you. Jesus is standing in front of you right now with unconditional positive regard. He isn't looking at your profile, your mistakes, or your "status". He is looking at your heart. He sees your pain, He knows your name, and He is asking you the most important question you will ever hear: “What do you want me to do for you?”

Don't let the crowd answer for you. Don't let the algorithm decide. Look into the eyes of the King who stopped the world to find you, and tell Him everything. He is here, and He is making you whole. Amen.