NRSV MARK 10:46-52
46 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. 47 When he heard that it was Jesus of Nazareth, he began to shout out and say, “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!” 48 Many sternly ordered him to be quiet, but he cried out even more loudly, “Son of David, have mercy on me!” 49 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.” 50 So throwing off his cloak, he sprang up and came to Jesus. 51 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.” 52 Jesus said to him, “Go; your faith has made you well.” Immediately he regained his sight and followed him on the way.
The last Sunday in October has traditionally – by some churches anyway – been set aside as “Reformation Sunday.” It’s a day, like many other days, that comes as a mixed blessing, at least for those who have an appreciation for an out-of-the-ordinary kind of day like this one. It comes with feelings and emotions attached, for good and for ill. I love it – but then I am a full blown history nut, with a college degree and countless trips to museums and battlefields to prove it. And I have the blessing of serving a congregation full of (I think) fellow history nuts who are just as much in love with studying what happened way back when as I do.
So I can get away with celebrating Reformation Sunday. But there are a lot of people who don’t, or who don’t want to. For one thing they have a suspicion of the past – why look backward when we should be looking forward? Hard to argue against that line, inasmuch as I have used it myself to counter various political and theological positions that I felt were not helpful. Some feel that the Protestant Reformation was not exactly a bright spot – again, a hard line to argue against. It did result in countless wars, people being tortured and/or lynched because they lined up on the wrong side of the religious divide, innumerable people being pitched out of their homes and countries, of families being ripped apart; a conflict which is still going on in places like Northern Ireland. Even our own country with its constitutional guarantee of religious freedom has not been immune to this – in some Protestant churches this can be a day to engage in Catholic bashing; certainly not an activity which we in the church universal need in these days of diminished church attendance and influence.
Even at its best the divide is a simmering one. I heard a wonderful, succinct explanation of the difference in how we and our Catholic friends view this day. It goes: “Protestants don’t understand why the Reformation was a tragedy, and Catholics don’t understand why it was necessary.” That sums up this day pretty well.
But sometimes a little light appears. In keeping with this beautiful story of Bartimaeus, this hinge story that appears just before Jesus’ passion, we like that blind beggar yearn to see again – to see each other as the other truly is; to see our differences of opinion and respect them; to see that grace of God which holds us all together, no matter how we pray, to whom we pray, whether we think God’s grace comes uninvited or with a little influence from us.
When we get to see again we notice that the Protestant Reformation was a wonder in that it gave the church a new birth. It had to go through quite a bit of death to happen. But that’s the way it is in God’s Kingdom. There is always the life-death-resurrection cycle, or order-disorder-reorder, as Richard Rohr points out. New life comes, but it comes after struggle and suffering. But now many years later both sides can embrace that struggle as something that opened us all up to God a little more. Even that wonderful man from Argentina, Pope Francis, has affirmed what Martin Luther said and did back in the 16th century as a way of pointing all Christians to the grace of God in Jesus Christ alone.
One of the things that has always impressed me since Dr. Catherine Gonzales of Columbia Seminary led us in a study of those days is that the Protestant Reformation was just one part of a time of political as well as religious ferment in Europe. It’s enough to give those who think politics and religion should be kept separate a headache. There was no separation; the political life of the people of Europe was changing and evolving, and the religious life went along with that movement, again for good and for ill. Also, this effort to reform the church was nothing new; devout Christians through the years, from the Cappadocian fathers in modern day Turkey to the monastic movement which burned steadily even in the days of the so-called Dark Ages, Thomas Aquinas in his writings, these and others were movements to make changes in the church. People got tired of the status quo; they didn’t like being part of a stuck in the mud religiosity which did the same old things the same old way without question. They recognized that to serve in Jesus’ name is to follow the Christ where he leads us. And Jesus in his life did not stay stuck in old, accepted roles. He didn’t go to the cross for being a good boy who minded his manners and practiced his religion like everyone else. Jesus was on the move, in Mark and everywhere else. In the early days of the church Christians were known as “The People of the Way.” In places where people seek to get a fresh burst of energy into their spiritual lives, among communities which want to feel a fresh movement of the Spirit of God, that still holds true.
In other words, people want to see again. They want to feel the love of God again. They want to follow Jesus again. They want to experience the gifts of the Spirit of God again. Just like Bartimaeus.
I read from the late Eugene Peterson’s The Message as a tribute to that great pastor of pastors. But one word was missing from his translation that appears in the New Revised Standard Version that we usually read. When Jesus asks Bartimaeus what he wants, the blind beggar replies, “Teacher, I want to see again.”
That is no small item. Bartimaeus could see once upon a time. He could take in the expressions on people’s faces, the beauty of a sunrise and a sunset, the texture of the food set before him. Now all that was lost to him, and there he sat, by the side of the road. Marginalized, shoved off to the side, reduced to being a beggar, one who could only lay his cloak out there for people to charitably give a shekel or two.
And yet the fire for seeing again burned within him. So much so that when Jesus and his entourage comes by on the way out of Jericho, Bartimaeus in his darkness feels the energy. He asks who it is, and when he is told we get the sense that he launched right away into crying out for this one he had undoubtedly heard of; this one who could give him his sight back. His words are interesting: “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me.” Son of David – a title given to the expected Messianic one. A title which is kept under wraps in Mark’s Gospel, but not here.
For another, it’s interesting to compare what he wants with others who have appeared before him in the 10th chapter of Mark. The rich young ruler wanted eternal life; the disciples James and John wanted eternal glory. But blind Bartimaeus only wants mercy.
And who doesn’t? Who doesn’t want God’s mercy? Who doesn’t want to be given a break, to be given a chance, to be listened to? Who doesn’t want to know that our sins, our blindness, our brokenness is not the end of the road. Bartimaeus wants what we all want – mercy. And he knows who is the only one who can truly give it.
But there are those – aren’t there always – who want him to be quiet. To Bartimaeus, one of the powerless ones, is given the miracle of the tongue. But many are those who want him to be silent, to stay on the margins, “Oh, just stay in your place and be quiet; you’re there because you sinned and God is punishing you.” Those who are without power know full well that the forces that seek to keep them quiet and oppressed are legion.
And yet he keeps crying out, which is a very good thing because Jesus himself is the one who stops the parade to Jerusalem, and calls him. Now the oppositional voices get it and encourage him to get up and go to Jesus, which he does. It’s a powerful image, that of him throwing off his cloak, the one piece of property he had, the item that tied him to his impoverished present, which is shed away so that he can embrace a new, vision-filled future.
Rather than assuming what he needs, Jesus asks him, another powerful image for us to emulate. Rather than assuming that we know what others want, rather than us telling them what they need, we would all do well to listen, to be silent, to leave room for the other to share what their needs truly are. In this case, “Teacher, I want to see again.”
He is given his vision, along with an assurance from Jesus that his faith has made him well. And off Bartimaeus goes, following Jesus.
During my time in Montreat I had the blessing of meeting someone whose writings I have enjoyed while preparing sermons. Dr. Karoline Lewis is a professor of preaching at Luther Seminary in Minnesota. She also noted the connections between this story and Reformation Sunday, and wrote:
“The church desperately needs a ‘take courage, get up, he is calling you,’ kind of reformation. A reformation with courage and heart at its center, that doesn’t sit there silently, but answers God’s call to resistance and persistence and then follows along the way. Recognizing an ecological God instead of an economical God. Believing in a creational God instead of a transactional God. Trusting in a Trinitarian God instead of a binitarian God. A reformation that doesn’t listen to the loudest voices, those voices that simply support the idols of prestige and privilege, of patriarchy and power, but challenges those voices, insisting that the Gospel word is the liberating word that might truly save the world.”
Teacher Jesus, I want to see again. Teacher Jesus, we all want to see again. To see with your eyes, rather than just our own. To see others with love, not as objects for us to use. To see the value of mercy rather than the idol of undiminished power. To see you in others.
We need that, probably in not so much as any other time but this one, these days leading up to an important election. We are in days of constant yelling and polarizing and divisiveness – in the culture, in our nation, in the church. People have different viewpoints, that’s fine. But it’s not so fine when we use our position to keep from seeing – truly seeing – the other. To see them as the child of God that they are. To see them as people of worth. To see them as people who hold true to their positions and, while we may not agree with them, have a right to those positions as long as they do not demean and hurt others. We do not need to threaten each other. We are called by Jesus to love one another, and to follow him on his way.
But remember where his way goes. It goes to Jerusalem, to the place of giving up yourself for others. To the place where we take up our own crosses of self-giving love. To the place where we meet God in the deepest places of who we are and where we are, and in that, where we truly see the face of God in the face of the other. Amen.