Sermon for 20 Pentecost
October 26, 2003
St. Luke’s Church, Jamestown, NY
Sandra Dower*
Mark 10:45-52
When my
daughter returned home from her high school graduation trip to Colombia, SA,
where she had visited one of our exchange students, she told me, “Mom, I knew it
was time to come home when I no longer saw the beggars.” At first she had been
appalled at the pitiful plight of the street people, with their terrible
disfigurements and disabilities. The scenes and the sounds of the streets had
frightened her.
But, the
longer she stayed, the more she became inured to them, the blind, the legless,
the bent, the crippled. She could step over and around them with the same
unseeing carelessness as her friends.
In a
culture with no health care, no safety nets of public assistance, no social
service agencies, and bare existence, beggars are just part of the scenery.
They are not only faceless, but they are nameless. But then there was
Bartimaeus. He was one of the lucky ones; he not only had a name, but the
Gospel also records his father’s name.
Bartimaeus had been able to see at one time. The Gospel doesn’t tell us when or
how he lost his sight. But somewhere along the line he had. So he had a memory
of being able to see. Bartimaeus also had something else: he had knowledge of
an itinerant teacher named Jesus. We don’t know how he had heard of him, but he
knew Jesus was called the Son of David. And he knew that this Jesus of Nazareth
had healed others.
Jesus and
the disciples were no doubt tired when they turned to leave Jericho. Not only
had they been walking for days on hot and dusty roads, but huge crowds were
following Jesus wherever he went. Jesus was weary. The people Jesus counted on,
his disciples, were arguing over who was the greatest and who should have the
honor of sitting beside him in glory, and no one seemed to understand his
references to the cup he was to drink. Jesus was probably a little discouraged
at the blindness of his disciples.
So it
wasn’t too surprising that when this beggar, wrapped in a cloak, sitting on the
side of the dusty road, called out to him, the crowds rebuffed him. And Jesus
ignored him. But Bartimaeus had something else going for him: he was
persistent. He knew this was perhaps his only chance to have his sight
restored.
Bartimaeus was insistent. Persistence had worked before in the Gospels; remember
the Syro-Phoenician woman who debated with Jesus over her sick daughter and
won? Remember the woman in Luke who keeps pestering the unbelieving judge until
he grants her justice against her opponent? Like the Psalmist, Bartimaeus,
sought the Lord and the Lord heard him.
Bartimaeus calls out more loudly, “have mercy”, and Jesus stops in his tracks.
This man means business. “Call him here.” Jesus says. “Chin up!” says the
crowd to the beggar, “he is calling you.” Bartimaeus wastes no time. Throwing
off his cloak he springs up and runs to Jesus. Amazing. This beggar, sitting
in the dust and lost in the crowd, springs to life. Now is his chance and he
isn’t going to blow it!
“What do
you want me to do for you?” If only this question would come so clearly for us
when we petition God. Bartimaeus is ready; he has no doubt been waiting for a
long time for this moment. “My teacher, let me see again.”
How did he have the courage to ask for such a thing? Perhaps it was because
there is a lot more at stake here than sight. Somehow he knows Jesus, the High
Priest, has power to do more than save his sight; he can save his soul.
There was something resolute in his voice that caused Jesus to respond. “Go,”
says Jesus, “Your faith has made you well.” And Bartimaeus could see again.
This
makes me think about my own inability to see. How many times have I been
oblivious to the plight of my elderly neighbor, wondering why I haven’t seen her
lately, and saying that little arrow prayer, “I hope she’s all right.” But not
intentionally petitioning God for her, or knocking on her door to see if there
is something I can do.
Or am I not seeing that my quirky
cousin who drives me crazy needs someone to say loudly and insistently, “Lord,
heal her”? Or what about the children I pass on my way who are shivering at the
bus stop; you know, the ones who live in that tiny hovel with a mother who is
too sick to really provide a living? Have I inquired of neighbors how I might
help? Have I pleaded loudly and persistently that I may find a way to help
without hurting the mother’s dignity?
Have I
stood by while a young mom has struggled to keep her two lively little boys from
getting into trouble in the supermarket, instead of offering to help? I could
say to her sympathetically, “I remember how hard it is to get groceries with two
little ones in tow.”
And then
there is the school program that could use a hand. Am I saying, loudly, “Lord,
open my eyes to their plight and show me how to help?” And if the answer is,
“Come to me”, do I spring up and run to a new way of living and being? How many
opportunities for seeing do I miss?
I am very afraid that we have become as a society, like my daughter’s friends in
Colombia, oblivious to the pain of the world. Perhaps it is because the
problems are so enormous that we feel we cannot possibly solve them. Perhaps it
is because those who are suffering are faceless and nameless. Or maybe we just
don’t know enough about the causes behind the misery that inflicts so much of
the people of the world.
We give
our money. We support organizations that try to help. Americans are known as
being personally very generous with their money. And that’s important. But we
must begin to think about how to help make the systemic changes that are needed
to protect the starving, the oppressed and the environment. As loudly as the
developing countries call out to us, do we stop? Do we hear? Like Job, do we
finally see, or does our own blindness get in the way of our hearts.
This
little Gospel story is about a not-so-little message. Do we have the faith to
overcome our own blindness? We need to pray earnestly and insistently to find
ways to help heal the downhearted, the lost and the lame. Bartimaeus had the
faith to ask: do we? Bartimaeus had the faith to respond to the call, “Come to
me”. Do we have the faith to respond when Jesus calls us?
We have
many opportunities in this church to respond to Christ’s call by giving a little
of ourselves. In the Voice this past week you read about one of them; the
parent support group we are beginning in cooperation with Head Start. This
program will provide child development and parenting information for Head Start
parents each Friday morning for the next few weeks. Shepherding this group is
part of my Clinical Pastoral Experience. However, we hope it will become a
longterm project. Head Start will be providing the child care workers, but we
could use a few volunteers to act as aides to the caregivers. I hope someone
will see these needs and spring forward.
Now, how
does Bartimaeus fit into the Gospel account? One of the difficulties with
getting only bits and pieces on Sunday is that we can lose sight of the big
story. Leaving Jericho, the next stop we will hear about concerning Jesus’
travels will be at Bethany. There Jesus asks for the colt for his ride into
Jerusalem. The healing of Bartimaeus comes a short while before the supreme
sacrifice that heals the whole world. This dusty beggar becomes a symbol of a
world that is broken and that is redeemed on the cross by this same Jesus of
Nazareth.
There is
a powerful postscript to this little story. “Immediately he regained his sight
and followed him, Jesus, on the way.” This is the real message of this Gospel.
Once we have accepted Christ through our baptism, we must demonstrate our new
life by following him on the way.
Bartimaeus asked.
Jesus
called.
Bartimaeus sprang to action.
Jesus
healed him.
Bartimaeus followed Jesus on his way.
This,
then, is our mission. We must ask, persistently. And when Jesus calls, we must
spring into action. And when our blindness has been healed, we must follow him
on his way.
* Sandra is a senior at Bexley Hall Seminary in Rochester, NY and a candidate
for Holy Orders in the Diocese of Western New York. She is sponsored by
St. Luke's Church and resides in Bemus Point, NY with her husband David.
