Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY
Br. Robert James, OHC
Proper 25 B - Sunday, October 24, 2021
Our passage begins as Jesus is on his way out of Jericho, which is only about 15 miles down the road from Jerusalem, with half the town tagging along. A local and known blind beggar, Bartimaeus, cries out, “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me.” This is the first time that anyone, but a demon or a disciple has called Jesus by this title. In proclaiming Jesus, Son of David, he is alluding to the Messiah who is the Davidic king that will restore Israel. This is borne out in the following chapter with Jesus’ triumphant entry into Jerusalem.
Those surrounding Jesus discouraged Bartimaeus from seeking him. They make it difficult for this outsider to get close. However, he is not dissuaded by their rude rebukes. Despite Jesus just talking to the disciples about the first being last, Mark reports that none of the disciples raised any objection when Bartimaeus is ordered to be quiet. Only when Jesus calls him do they offer encouragement. Jesus doesn’t upbraid them for their blindness to someone in need. He simply lets them be. By him having them call Bartimaeus, he points the way for them to be the disciples they need to become.
Bartimaeus refuses to be defined by his circumstances or the judgements of others. He persists until his shouts are recognized. His persistence sets in motion a wave of mercy, blessing, and change. Jesus calls him. Those around him call him. They become witnesses to and vessels of mercy. The cry of need that caused Bartimaeus to be shunned becomes the occasion for them all to glimpse God’s final intention for all of creation. This glimpse is the miracle. It is what turns our vision to what really matters, pointing beyond the one before us to the One who created all for love’s sake. Bartimaeus throws off his cloak, his most treasured possession, springs up, and comes to Jesus with great hope and disarming clarity.
Mark locates the power of this encounter in the initiative of Bartimaeus. He calls out. He comes to Jesus. He articulates his desire. Jesus enables the process by asking, “What do you want me to do for you?” It’s not a rhetorical question. He wants to hear Bartimaeus say exactly what he wants, exactly how much he believes Jesus can do. Bartimaeus speaks straight from the heart: “Teacher, let me see again.” Jesus heals him immediately with a word. No mud, no spittle, not even a touch. “Go, your faith has made you well.” “Go”, Jesus tells him, but he doesn’t go. He decides on the spot that Jesus’ way is his way and follows him to Jerusalem. There’s no ambivalence. He’s not only able to see physically but is also granted the grace to see the way of salvation. He’s held up as a model of Christian discipleship.
Physical blindness is something that most of us cannot imagine, what it’s like to live in darkness, or having learned to do that, what it would be like to suddenly see, to have to make sense out of color, depth, distance, perspective, and all those things that most of us take for granted. A book titled Space and Light by Marius von Senden records strange and moving interviews with people who were born blind and received their sight through the first successful cataract surgeries. Not everything was beautiful for these patients. For many, the change they experienced was overwhelming, depressing, and frightening. Some longed to return to the dark safety they had known. After being rescued from a life in the dark, after being hauled into the light and presented with a world full of color, depth, movement, space, sights---it can feel like too much.
Often for us, change, seeing things about ourselves and others, can trigger the same reactions. The world turns out to be much bigger than we thought, bigger and more complex. We see ourselves for the first time, making us self-conscious. We can choose to stay where we are. We can sit in the familiar dark where all the edges are rounded off so that we will not hurt ourselves, where we need only what keeps us in the dark. We can feel that there is no sense getting our hopes up; no sense seeing ourselves in another way. It can feel safer to stay with what we know, concern ourselves with what is within our reach.
On one level this is a story about one man who wanted out of his personal darkness. It’s a story that holds clues for those who want the same thing. This is a kingdom story, and we want it for our own: to encounter Jesus, to be called to him, to find words to tell him what we want, and to be made whole. To trade in our spiritual blindness so that we can see again---see ourselves, our world, Jesus clearly, without shadow. What a leap of faith: to cry out, spring up, and ask for our heart’s desire. Are we willing to learn, like Bartimaeus, our way around the obstacles and through the newness of it, into the mystery of it? Are we willing to see everything there is, the good along with the bad, the beautiful along with the ugly---in ourselves, in others, in the world? Having regained our sight, we may, like Bartimaeus, see that our way may no longer look as appealing as Jesus’ way which leads to Jerusalem, through a garden, past a cross, to an empty tomb.
Take heart, get up, he is calling you.
+Amen.
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