The sermon today is from the Gospel of Mark, the 10th chapter, verses 51 and 52. "And Jesus said to him, ‘What do you want me to do for you?’ And the blind man said to him, ‘Master, let me receive my sight.’ And Jesus said to him, ‘Go your way; your faith has made you well.’ "
Jericho is about as far away from Jerusalem
as a twenty minute drive.
It’s a mere fifteen miles.
That’s pretty close, unless you’re walking as Jesus was.
For him it was a day away, at most.
A good walker could cover it in four or five hours.
If a person took his time
it would take longer.
Jesus probably wasn’t in a hurry.
For three years he had headed toward Jerusalem,
and he knew what waited for him there.
He was only a day away, now,
and according to Mark,
this would be his last stop for a miracle.
After Bartimaeus, the cross.
Bartimaeus.
It’s a name more famous than any here,
a name recorded in Holy Scripture forever.
He was a blind beggar,
the son of Timaeus, whoever he was.
Bartimaeus sat by the roadside,
day after day after lonely day.
People passed him by like he was part of the landscape, no doubt:
a tree,
a bush,
a boulder along the road.
He had been there so long, no one paid him any particular attention.
That’s life.
People get used to things as they are.
We accept life, with its cruelties.
If we don’t, our choices for happiness seem limited.
Blind Bartimaeus.
Don’t picture him in your mind now
unless you’re ready to make a judgment about him.
Don’t form the image.
Let him fade.
Let him drift away like a vapor,
Let him go
as we’ve let so many other pictures go:
the children with bloated stomachs in foreign lands;
the children asleep on a sidewalk,
abandoned by a parent either too poor to feed,
or too weak to care anymore.
Turn the page, let the mind drift,
but do not look
and do not stop
unless you’re ready to make a judgment.
It was no longer possible to ignore him.
The page wouldn’t be turned,
the picture wouldn’t fade,
and he started to move,
and he started to shout:
"Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me."
Shhh.
That’s what they said.
Shhh. Be quiet. Shut up.
He was an embarrassment.
He was annoying.
He wouldn’t go away,
and they couldn’t turn the page.
Their only hope was to keep moving,
keep on going,
don’t stop,
not here,
not now.
And like a fog horn from the dark sea he sounded again:
"Son of David, have mercy on me."
And again: "Son of David, have mercy on me."
And again.
And again.
The embarrassment and annoyance were gone now.
The situation was much too intense.
Anger swelled up within them,
like boiling thunder clouds.
Anger, righteous anger.
They had come to hear Jesus,
and this blind beggar was interfering.
They wanted to hear the old old story
of love divine,
of truth and mercy,
of God’s great acts on earth.
Who can fault that?
What’s wrong with the word of life?
Who dares criticize?
It’s Jesus - on his way to Jerusalem!
Every word he utters changes a life.
Every teaching is a gem.
Every step is holy.
Every blink of his Godly eye is a miracle.
They wanted to hear the truth.
They wanted to know the Lord.
And Bartimaeus said it again: "Jesus, Son of David,
have mercy on me."
And Jesus stopped.
As beautiful as the words, "Jesus wept,"
Jesus stopped.
The cross would come in time.
Pilate and Caiaphas
and the soldiers and Judas would wait.
So would this great multitude.
So would the disciples.
History itself must wait for a blind beggar.
Jesus stopped.
He wouldn’t turn the page or let the picture fade.
He had heard the voice,
and the voice would not be still.
Business would have to wait.
The class, the teaching, would be delayed.
The trip to Jerusalem would be detained.
Jesus stopped and said, "Call him."
And they called the blind man, saying to him,
"Take heart; rise, he is calling you."
What would you do but what he did!?
He jumped to his feet,
threw off his coat
and ran.
Ran.
Stumbling, falling, running.
It must have been beautiful.
Like a child running out to meet his dad returning from a long trip.
Bartimaeus.
No pride.
A lifetime of begging had made pride impossible.
Begging.
What do we think about begging?
Crippled men on sidewalks.
Hats with pencils.
A tin cup.
A guitar and an outstretched hand.
Beggars.
Rags.
Lice.
Dirt.
Loneliness.
That must be the worst.
Loneliness.
The dark was horrible,
but the loneliness was bitter.
"Take heart; rise, he is calling you."
Well of course he ran.
So would you. So would I.
And Jesus said to him,
"What do you want me to do for you?"
It probably wasn’t really a request for information.
The blindness was evident enough,
as evident as your blindness and my blindness.
Bartimaeus had the advantage of knowing that he was blind.
Sometimes we pretend to see too well.
Sometimes we think we see.
We see things our way; not his.
And Bartimaeus said, "Master, let me receive my sight."
And Jesus said to him,
"Go your way; your faith has made you well."
Is that the end of the story,
the end of the miracle?
It seems so.
What difference, really,
does one blind beggar’s healing make?
Does it matter?
Is it only the story of Jesus’ last miracle
before Jerusalem in St. Mark?
To many who saw what happened,
that’s all it was.
To many who hear the story now,
that’s all it is.
But listen.
There’s more.
Much more.
We dare not forget those people who tried to silence the beggar.
We dare not forget the glossy page
filled with hunger,
and poverty, and unemployment.
If we do then we are part of the crowd that said: "Shhh.
Not now.
We’re in church.
We want to hear the words of Jesus.
We want to hear him teach and preach.
We want to follow him,
love him, serve him, trust him."
Every time we try to make the faith too’ heavenly God puts a beggar in our path.
Every time we think we are listening and believing in the truth,
God sends us a blind Bartimaeus.
If we do not stop,
as Jesus did,
and if we turn the page and pass the duty by,
then we have joined the multitude that clamors, "Shhh.
Give us the faith without the cost.
Let us believe without stopping,
listen without interruption,
follow without seeing."
Follow Jesus without seeing!
What a strange request.
That’s not what Bartimaeus asked for.
It’s what we ask for: Make us blind!
Do not let us see.
Do not make us see.
Get off our backs.
Go away, Bartimaeus, and be still.
The Master is speaking.
Let us sing our hymns of glory.
Let us pray our prayers of praise.
But please,
no more special offerings for the hungry.
We have our own needs.
Our own needs.
Our own needs.
And Jesus stopped.
On the way to the cross he stopped.
What needs did Jesus have?
A hundred unanswered questions, maybe more.
How would things go in Jerusalem?
What about poor Judas?
What about Peter?
He needed time for himself to get away.
He needed time for prayer,
time with his Father.
Gethsemane.
He needed to tell his disciples so much more.
They were still in the dark and hoped to be famous.
He would wash their dirty feet.
He would serve them bread and wine
and tell them it was he.
He would stand before Pilate
and refuse to answer his charge.
He needed a final word of assurance.
One more time he would ask,
"Father, if it be your will, let this cup pass."
And Jesus stopped.
Before any of that could happen,
before any of that should happen,
the people had to see.
It wasn’t Bartimaeus who was blind.
It was they.
It is we.
So he calls us to his side.
He knows our problem, but he asks us anyway:
"What’s the matter?
What do you want me to do for you?
Are you sure you want to see?"
Scripture says that Bartimaeus received his sight and followed him on the way.
One must wonder, forever,
if Bartimaeus followed and watched,
or followed and saw.
Too many times we have seen without seeing,
and observed without comprehension.
Sight is given only to those who want to see,
dare to see,
care to see.
Not often will we find God where we want him.
He refuses to be captured in doctrines or dogmas,
in teachings or truths.
His simple command is clear: "Stop.
Slow down.
You’re going too fast."
I’m not lost in the meditations of your mind.
I’ll not be found in the ramblings of your work,
unless, and until, you stop.
Now then, come, you are chosen to see,
receive your sight,
and see this world as it really is, and care."