October 24, 2021
William G. Carter
They came to Jericho. As he and his disciples and a large crowd were leaving Jericho, Bartimaeus son of Timaeus, a blind beggar, was sitting by the roadside. When he heard that it was Jesus of Nazareth, he began to shout out and say, “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!” Many sternly ordered him to be quiet, but he cried out even more loudly, “Son of David, have mercy on me!” Jesus stood still and said, “Call him here.” And they called the blind man, saying to him, “Take heart; get up, he is calling you.” So throwing off his cloak, he sprang up and came to Jesus. Then Jesus said to him, “What do you want me to do for you?” The blind man said to him, “My teacher, let me see again.” Jesus said to him, “Go; your faith has made you well.” Immediately he regained his sight and followed him on the way.
One of the ways for us to understand Jesus is remember how that Mark understands him. In this Gospel, Jesus is a healer who restored human life to its original shape.
Sounds like the script of the Gospel of Mark. That man who couldn’t speak now speaks. The one who couldn’t walk jumped up from his sickbed. The one who could not hear is opened up. And today, the sightless man can now see.
He has a name: Bartimaeus. He has a place: on the road leading out of Jericho. He has become a fixture there, spreading out his cloak to collect the coins of those who take pity on him. Sitting in the dust in a high traffic area, somehow robbed of sight, everybody knew who he was. By the sound of it, if he discovered who you were, Bartimaeus was a relentless beggar.
At least, that’s how he gets the attention of the Messiah. “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me! Jesus, Son of David, over here. I’m over here. Have mercy on me. Son of David, I’m talking to you. I’m right here. Have mercy on me.” And Jesus, true to form, invites him forward and gives him sight.
Twice there is a hint that is an act of restoration. Bartimaeus doesn’t only ask for sight. He says, “Give me my sight again.” When Jesus makes that happen, Mark says, “He regained his sight.” Not only did he get it; he got it back.
A good friend was nervous before cataract surgery. I said, “I’m sure it’s going to be fine.” “Maybe so,” she replied, “but I hope nothing goes wrong. I don’t like anybody messing with my eyes.” A week later, here he comes, an aura of brightness around her. I didn’t need to ask how it went. She told me, “I had no idea how much I was missing.” There’s a grateful woman. She decided to celebrate by driving to the library to check out a few books. In regular print, too!
At the humanitarian level, what Jesus did for Bartimaeus was a gift. Pure gift. In the words of the favorite hymn, “Was blind, but now I see.” But this is the Gospel of Mark. The more we look at this story, the more we begin to perceive.
Here’s something to notice: the man takes the initiative to be healed. He is not passive. He does not sit and wait. He is not content to beg. When he hears that the One Person who can do something for him is available, he calls out. Does what he can to get his attention. Raises his voice. And he makes a specific request: give me my sight back.
For the Gospel of Mark, the man shows more than chutzpah. He professes his faith. And it’s more than merely calling out, “Jesus, Jesus, Son of David.” It’s putting the request right there and trusting it will be met. Bartimaeus turns to Jesus who can heal – and he participates in his own healing.
How different this is, say, than the pew sitters in the synagogue at Nazareth. Jesus went back there, to his hometown, to preach and teach. It seems the press releases were more impressive than the results. The people yawned, and said, “He was supposed to be something special. But we know who this is – it’s Mary’s kid, the carpenter. His brothers and sisters are our neighbors. Big deal.”
And the Gospel says, “He could not do a single deed of power there. He was stunned at their unbelief.” By contrast, Bartimaeus says, “I want your help, Jesus. I want to get healed.” That’s what did the trick – he believed.
Here’s a second thing to see: there is more going on than eyesight. When Jesus calls him forward, he throws off his cloak. That is, he leaves behind the money that people have tossed to him out of pity. He leaves behind the money – and his one possession, his cloak. How different that is from the rich man who knelt before Jesus to ask, “What must I do to gain eternal life?” He could not leave behind his money, or his many possessions. But Bartimaeus could.
In the same way, Jesus asked him, “What do you want me to do for you?” It’s the same exact question he asked in the story we heard last week, which is immediately before this one. He said to James and John, “What do you want me to do for you?” Remember what they said? They wanted status. Bartimaeus wants vision. His request is honored. Theirs is not. Because there is a world of difference between those two requests.
Bartimaeus is willing to give up everything to see. He doesn’t care about the financial gain. He doesn’t care about exaltation, self-promotion, and getting his name tweeted ten million times. What he wants is infinitely greater: vision, depth perception, the ability to perceive color, and absolute, complete clarity. No visual distractions for him. No optical illusions. To see is so much more than merely looking.
One more thing to watch for: vision comes with a cost. When we see clearly, we must do something with what we’ve seen. Sight is the invitation to engage. When Bartimaeus gets his vision back, he sees Jesus – and he “followed him on the way.” In the Gospel of Mark, that’s code language for the road to the cross, the highway of self-sacrifice. He sees Jesus, he sees what lies ahead if he follows Jesus, and he sees the mission that the Christ has come to inaugurate. He chooses to engage.
It is a remarkable move. In my experience, it’s rare. Bartimaeus moves from beggar to disciple. He never steps off to the side to watch.
It’s like that silly old joke I remember from childhood. Somebody asked the comedian Flip Wilson about his religion. “Oh, haven’t you heard?” He said, “I’m a Jehovah’s Bystander.” A what? Never heard of that. To which Wilson replied, “They asked me to be a Witness, but I didn’t want to get involved.”
You know, it’s quite easy to watch and not see. We watch the neighbors on our streets, but do we know their names? We observe the person at the store, struggling to reach something on the top shelf, but do we ever ask if we can help. We look at the names in the newspaper, some of them going through great trouble, but it might never occur to us to pick up the phone and ask if they are OK. It’s easier to watch than it is to see.
The sermons this fall focus on the question of what kind of Christians we are going to be – what kind of church we will be – particularly in the ongoing disruption of this pandemic. The story of Bartimaeus offers an invitation for all of us to see. To perceive and not merely observe. Should we ever pray to Christ, “Lord, let me see,” it’s kind of like praying to learn patience – these are two prayers that are always answered. If we want to learn patience, he will teach us that. And if we want to see, it could profoundly change our perception.
We’ve been blessed to have Glynis Johns to speak here a few times. A brilliant young scholar, she is the founder of the Black Scranton project. Her research into the city’s history has uncovered the rich and vital history of African Americans that has been (shall we say?) “out of sight” for too many of us. She sees so clearly that she is fearless.
Just the other day, she had the opportunity to chat with the President of the United States when he was in town. She said, “Mr. President, you’ve been telling people there were no Black folks in Scranton when you were growing up. Here, let me help expand your view.” I guess he had not seen them, just as I haven’t – and many of us have not. We cannot love as neighbor those we cannot see.
In the past couple of years, that same request, “Lord, let me see,” has become one of my prayers. And it has been a challenge, especially regarding race. Thanks to some of you, I’ve been reading a number of books on Honest American History, which I define as the kind of American history that many Americans don’t want to ‘fess up to admit. So much of the resistance is rooted in willful blindness, in deciding not to have your eyes opened. And it reinforces the lie that some people are better than others, which is simply not true.
All of us have our hurts, just as all of us have our blind spots. So if we pray like Bartimaeus, “Lord, let me see,” it challenges us to embark in unexamined territory. We will become more attentive to the real damages that we have done to one another, and others have done unto us. This is the first step to undertaking the work of healing. And I see that healing as one more dimension to the restorative work of Christ.
The good news is that the same Jesus who opened the eyes of Bartimaeus is the living Christ who offers to open ours. He is alive and very much at work. And he wishes us to be well. Trusting in him is what promises to restore the world as it was created to be. The journey begins with the simple prayer, “Lord, let me see.”
(c) William G. Carter. All right reserved.
They came to Jericho. As he and his disciples and a large crowd were leaving Jericho, Bartimaeus son of Timaeus, a blind beggar, was sitting by the roadside. When he heard that it was Jesus of Nazareth, he began to shout out and say, “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!” Many sternly ordered him to be quiet, but he cried out even more loudly, “Son of David, have mercy on me!” Jesus stood still and said, “Call him here.” And they called the blind man, saying to him, “Take heart; get up, he is calling you.” So throwing off his cloak, he sprang up and came to Jesus. Then Jesus said to him, “What do you want me to do for you?” The blind man said to him, “My teacher, let me see again.” Jesus said to him, “Go; your faith has made you well.” Immediately he regained his sight and followed him on the way.
One of the ways for us to understand Jesus is remember how that Mark understands him. In this Gospel, Jesus is a healer who restored human life to its original shape.
- A man who was banished because of a skin disease is healed and restored to the community (1:42).
- The woman who bled so much she was considered perpetually unclean is healed and restored to her family (5:34).
- The young man who was driven out of his skull by voices he could not control is now seated, dressed, and in his right mind. (5:15)
Strengthen the weak hands, make firm the feeble knees.
Say to those who are of a fearful heart, “Be strong, do not fear!
Here is your God … he will come and save you.
Then the eyes of the blind shall be opened, and ears of the deaf unstopped.
Then the lame shall leap like a deer, and the tongue of the speechless sing for joy. (35:3-6)
Sounds like the script of the Gospel of Mark. That man who couldn’t speak now speaks. The one who couldn’t walk jumped up from his sickbed. The one who could not hear is opened up. And today, the sightless man can now see.
He has a name: Bartimaeus. He has a place: on the road leading out of Jericho. He has become a fixture there, spreading out his cloak to collect the coins of those who take pity on him. Sitting in the dust in a high traffic area, somehow robbed of sight, everybody knew who he was. By the sound of it, if he discovered who you were, Bartimaeus was a relentless beggar.
At least, that’s how he gets the attention of the Messiah. “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me! Jesus, Son of David, over here. I’m over here. Have mercy on me. Son of David, I’m talking to you. I’m right here. Have mercy on me.” And Jesus, true to form, invites him forward and gives him sight.
Twice there is a hint that is an act of restoration. Bartimaeus doesn’t only ask for sight. He says, “Give me my sight again.” When Jesus makes that happen, Mark says, “He regained his sight.” Not only did he get it; he got it back.
A good friend was nervous before cataract surgery. I said, “I’m sure it’s going to be fine.” “Maybe so,” she replied, “but I hope nothing goes wrong. I don’t like anybody messing with my eyes.” A week later, here he comes, an aura of brightness around her. I didn’t need to ask how it went. She told me, “I had no idea how much I was missing.” There’s a grateful woman. She decided to celebrate by driving to the library to check out a few books. In regular print, too!
At the humanitarian level, what Jesus did for Bartimaeus was a gift. Pure gift. In the words of the favorite hymn, “Was blind, but now I see.” But this is the Gospel of Mark. The more we look at this story, the more we begin to perceive.
Here’s something to notice: the man takes the initiative to be healed. He is not passive. He does not sit and wait. He is not content to beg. When he hears that the One Person who can do something for him is available, he calls out. Does what he can to get his attention. Raises his voice. And he makes a specific request: give me my sight back.
For the Gospel of Mark, the man shows more than chutzpah. He professes his faith. And it’s more than merely calling out, “Jesus, Jesus, Son of David.” It’s putting the request right there and trusting it will be met. Bartimaeus turns to Jesus who can heal – and he participates in his own healing.
How different this is, say, than the pew sitters in the synagogue at Nazareth. Jesus went back there, to his hometown, to preach and teach. It seems the press releases were more impressive than the results. The people yawned, and said, “He was supposed to be something special. But we know who this is – it’s Mary’s kid, the carpenter. His brothers and sisters are our neighbors. Big deal.”
And the Gospel says, “He could not do a single deed of power there. He was stunned at their unbelief.” By contrast, Bartimaeus says, “I want your help, Jesus. I want to get healed.” That’s what did the trick – he believed.
Here’s a second thing to see: there is more going on than eyesight. When Jesus calls him forward, he throws off his cloak. That is, he leaves behind the money that people have tossed to him out of pity. He leaves behind the money – and his one possession, his cloak. How different that is from the rich man who knelt before Jesus to ask, “What must I do to gain eternal life?” He could not leave behind his money, or his many possessions. But Bartimaeus could.
In the same way, Jesus asked him, “What do you want me to do for you?” It’s the same exact question he asked in the story we heard last week, which is immediately before this one. He said to James and John, “What do you want me to do for you?” Remember what they said? They wanted status. Bartimaeus wants vision. His request is honored. Theirs is not. Because there is a world of difference between those two requests.
Bartimaeus is willing to give up everything to see. He doesn’t care about the financial gain. He doesn’t care about exaltation, self-promotion, and getting his name tweeted ten million times. What he wants is infinitely greater: vision, depth perception, the ability to perceive color, and absolute, complete clarity. No visual distractions for him. No optical illusions. To see is so much more than merely looking.
One more thing to watch for: vision comes with a cost. When we see clearly, we must do something with what we’ve seen. Sight is the invitation to engage. When Bartimaeus gets his vision back, he sees Jesus – and he “followed him on the way.” In the Gospel of Mark, that’s code language for the road to the cross, the highway of self-sacrifice. He sees Jesus, he sees what lies ahead if he follows Jesus, and he sees the mission that the Christ has come to inaugurate. He chooses to engage.
It is a remarkable move. In my experience, it’s rare. Bartimaeus moves from beggar to disciple. He never steps off to the side to watch.
It’s like that silly old joke I remember from childhood. Somebody asked the comedian Flip Wilson about his religion. “Oh, haven’t you heard?” He said, “I’m a Jehovah’s Bystander.” A what? Never heard of that. To which Wilson replied, “They asked me to be a Witness, but I didn’t want to get involved.”
You know, it’s quite easy to watch and not see. We watch the neighbors on our streets, but do we know their names? We observe the person at the store, struggling to reach something on the top shelf, but do we ever ask if we can help. We look at the names in the newspaper, some of them going through great trouble, but it might never occur to us to pick up the phone and ask if they are OK. It’s easier to watch than it is to see.
The sermons this fall focus on the question of what kind of Christians we are going to be – what kind of church we will be – particularly in the ongoing disruption of this pandemic. The story of Bartimaeus offers an invitation for all of us to see. To perceive and not merely observe. Should we ever pray to Christ, “Lord, let me see,” it’s kind of like praying to learn patience – these are two prayers that are always answered. If we want to learn patience, he will teach us that. And if we want to see, it could profoundly change our perception.
We’ve been blessed to have Glynis Johns to speak here a few times. A brilliant young scholar, she is the founder of the Black Scranton project. Her research into the city’s history has uncovered the rich and vital history of African Americans that has been (shall we say?) “out of sight” for too many of us. She sees so clearly that she is fearless.
Just the other day, she had the opportunity to chat with the President of the United States when he was in town. She said, “Mr. President, you’ve been telling people there were no Black folks in Scranton when you were growing up. Here, let me help expand your view.” I guess he had not seen them, just as I haven’t – and many of us have not. We cannot love as neighbor those we cannot see.
In the past couple of years, that same request, “Lord, let me see,” has become one of my prayers. And it has been a challenge, especially regarding race. Thanks to some of you, I’ve been reading a number of books on Honest American History, which I define as the kind of American history that many Americans don’t want to ‘fess up to admit. So much of the resistance is rooted in willful blindness, in deciding not to have your eyes opened. And it reinforces the lie that some people are better than others, which is simply not true.
All of us have our hurts, just as all of us have our blind spots. So if we pray like Bartimaeus, “Lord, let me see,” it challenges us to embark in unexamined territory. We will become more attentive to the real damages that we have done to one another, and others have done unto us. This is the first step to undertaking the work of healing. And I see that healing as one more dimension to the restorative work of Christ.
The good news is that the same Jesus who opened the eyes of Bartimaeus is the living Christ who offers to open ours. He is alive and very much at work. And he wishes us to be well. Trusting in him is what promises to restore the world as it was created to be. The journey begins with the simple prayer, “Lord, let me see.”
(c) William G. Carter. All right reserved.
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment