Ironically, sometimes it's not much better when we try to act charitably! You've heard the story of the frail old woman standing at the street corner. A gallant young man takes her by the arm and propels her across the street, brushing off her feeble protests. Safely on the other side, she glares at him and says, "Now take me back over there before I miss my bus!"
Poor people complain that their input often isn't sought about welfare reform, new bus routes, or urban renewal projects that directly impinge on their lives. Sometimes people "talk past" a person in a wheelchair or hospital bed, as if that person had neither ears nor brains. Many people -- perhaps you -- have been patronized, talked down to, or offered inadequate, inappropriate, or downright insulting assistance.
There are scads of people who are regularly abused, ignored, or insulted because other people deem them unworthy of respect or recognition. And of course, it's not a new problem. Just look at how the Passover holiday crowds treated the blind beggar, Bartimaeus, at the Jericho gate as Jesus began the last part of his journey to Jerusalem. As soon as Bartimaeus started shouting to Jesus, everybody around him sternly ordered him to be quiet! "Sit down, beggar! Shut up! Be happy with the coins we throw you! Don't bother the famous rabbi with your problems!"
You'd think the crowd would have known by now. You'd think they'd have seen Jesus healing the sick and caring for the lowly. You'd think they'd have heard his words. At the very least, you'd think his disciples would have remembered what he'd so recently told them. "The Son of Man comes not to be served, but to serve ..." (Mark 10:45). You'd really think everybody would have known that as soon as he started yelling, Bartimaeus the beggar should have been helped to his feet and brought to Jesus' side!
But "everybody" was blind, deaf -- and dumb. When they looked at Bartimaeus at all, they saw only a blind beggar. They saw someone who ought to know his place. When they heard his voice, loud above even the excited crowd that followed Jesus as he spoke, they heard only noise. He was an embarrassment, an interruption, an annoyance to be shut down quickly so that his betters could hear. They listened to and walked with Jesus, but didn't seem to think he could, or should, be interested in the affairs of Bartimaeus. Maybe they thought that Jesus should be as blind and deaf to his cries as they were. Dumb!
We can be equally oblivious, of course, even as we gather for worship. It's a little embarrassing that many churches didn't become handicapped-accessible until government laws forced them to modify stairways and bathrooms. Didn't we think that people with disabilities might want to hear the gospel and receive the gift of forgiveness and salvation, just like the able-bodied?
Wouldn't we squirm uncomfortably if odd-looking people wandered into our worship services or interrupted the sermon or prayers with some question or plea that was overwhelmingly important to them? Our first -- and very human -- impulse is often to shush them, hustle them off to the side, and make sure they're "under control." It's a struggle to push past our fear and discomfort enough to remember that our Savior stops to hear and respond to their cries. It's even harder to ask ourselves how we can help bring them to their Savior's side.
We might never see, hear, ask, or do rightly on our own. Like the crowd that followed Jesus but shushed Bartimaeus, we can be blinder, deafer, and dumber than the most wretched beggar! And yet in infinite mercy, Jesus enacted a double healing on the Jericho road. In the midst of the loud, excited, yet blind-deaf-dumb crowd that tried to silence Bartimaeus, Jesus stopped dead in his tracks. He stood still, and listened to the shrill voice the others wanted to ignore. Even blind beggars may receive a hearing before the throne of divine mercy.
And oddly, Jesus kept standing still! He could have pushed through the crowd to Bartimaeus' side. He could have ignored the crowd that had demonstrated its own ignorance. But he didn't. He gave the people in the crowd a command, a task, and a dignity beyond their deserving. He said to them, "Call him here" (v. 49). He invited them to participate in what he was doing. He began to heal them, there in his stillness and his simple command. Call him here. You, who did not or could not see or hear or intercede for this blind beggar, go now to him in the strength of my seeing, my hearing, my will to intercede and heed and heal. And call him here.
And they did! In simple obedience, they called to Bartimaeus, and they used a lovely phrase that Jesus himself spoke to another poor soul in need of his care: Take heart. "Take heart, get up. He is calling you" (v. 49). In their obedient calling to Bartimaeus, the people in the crowd recognized that they were simply voicing Jesus' gracious call. And they spoke with his graciousness on their own lips! What a marvel of healing this was, before Bartimaeus even stood up.
Call him here! It's strange to think that the healing we need, can come as a command to do the very thing we couldn't do on our own. Call him here! Go back to the ones you ignored, silenced, disdained, or insulted. Go back and see them with your Lord's eyes. Hear them with your Savior's ears. Speak to them with your Redeemer's very words. Your healing will come in the moment of your obedience. It may not be dramatic. You may still have qualms and fears. But go. Call your sister or brother. Call your fellow blind beggar. And you may both be healed.
We know how Bartimaeus' story concludes. When the crowd speaks to him, he immediately leaps to his feet, casts his cloak aside, and runs -- good grief, how did he manage this without falling or crashing into people! -- until he comes before Jesus. And Jesus, modeling to us a deep humility, waits. He does not immediately restore the man's sight. With respect and sensitivity, Jesus asks this poor blind beggar, "What do you want me to do for you?" (v. 51). He waits to hear the plea of Bartimaeus. He doesn't assume only one possible response. He allows for the possibility that Bartimaeus might say, "Lord, forgive my bitter envy of those who can see." Or, "Give me a silver coin, that I may not have to beg today." Or something else, something unexpected but welling up from the depth of his need.
To Jesus, Bartimaeus was not a problem to be solved, an embarrassment to be hustled away, or even a poor dumb beggar on whom one could inflict one's charity at will. Bartimaeus was a human being -- sinful, surely; theologically inadequate, probably; but a man created in the image of God. And God would show him honor, respect, and compassion. God's Son would wait and would listen. And out of the waiting and listening would come deep healing. "Go; your faith has made you well." And out of that healing would come discipleship: "Immediately he regained his sight and followed [Jesus] on the way" (v. 52).
That deep healing is there for us when we are slapped down, hustled away, ignored, insulted, or abused. When we cry out from our deepest need in those times, our Lord waits and listens. He restores our voice, dignity, and hope. He heals us to follow him. He does this in the deep stillness of prayer; in the familiar words of absolution; and in the gracious giving of himself in the humble gifts of bread and wine.
It's said that the last thing Martin Luther wrote was a short sentence on a scrap of paper that was found after his death. "We are all beggars; that is true." He was right, of course. We're all in need of our Lord's compassion and healing. We're all hurting -- and hurtful. We're all blind, deaf, and dumb in various ways. We're all ignorant of our neighbor's need or our Lord's intentions from time to time. We none of us have the grace, humility, compassion, or strength to love God or neighbor as we ought. We all of us can only see and hear and speak and live rightly on the strength of our Savior's unutterable love for us.
And for all of us, as for Bartimaeus, our Lord stands still. He listens. He commands us -- or our neighbors -- with a word that begins to heal our unseen, unconfessed blindness: You call him here. With another word he exalts even the poorest and lowliest of us: What do you want me to do for you? And he heals the deepest needs and hurts of our souls, making us fit to follow him on his way of self-giving love: Go; your faith has made you well.
Will the real blind beggar please stand up? That's me -- and you. Fellow beggars, let's go to him. All we need is in his wounded hands, there for the asking. Take heart; he's calling for us. Amen.