Grace Episcopal Church, Monroe, La
One of the things I was required to do in the process of preparing for ordination to the diaconate was to complete a unit of Clinical Pastoral Education. That means being a chaplain in a medical facility of some kind for a few months.
I did my CPE at Jefferson County Medical Center in Pine Bluff, Ark., under the direction of a man whose name I have been trying unsuccessfully to recall since I began writing this sermon Saturday morning!
He was an excellent teacher and much of what he taught me is indelibly imprinted on my brain, even if his name is not. One of those memorable teachings was that when you go into a hospital room to offer to pray with people, always ask people what they want you to pray for. Do not assume you know, even though it might seem obvious to you what they need.
The story he used to illustrate the point was his own experience of being called to the surgical suite one day at the hospital where he worked as chaplain. An older man had been admitted through the emergency room and he needed emergency surgery.
This chaplain met him as he lay on a gurney, about to be rolled into surgery. Would you like me to pray, asked the chaplain. Yes, said the man. And then, in spite of what seemed perfectly obvious that he should pray for, the chaplain asked, What would you like me to pray for?
A woman! the man on the gurney exclaimed. I need a woman in my life! So the chaplain prayed for relief for the man’s loneliness, since his wife had died a few years earlier, and for him to find companionship.
Seeing is, by and large, a very good thing. We have many sayings in our culture that convey this: “Show me,” we say, when we want to understand or become convinced of something. “I see,” we say, when understanding happens. “Seeing is believing,” we say, to explain the role of seeing in our lives.
Clearly, blind Bartimaeus wanted to see. But notice, that is not what he first asks for. Rather, he cries out for mercy. Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me! he says. And when others try to shush him, he cries out even louder: Son of David, have mercy on me!
Here’s a few things I love about this story. First, blind Bartimaeus will not be silenced by the perhaps well-intended but ultimately clueless people who want order and quiet--and to not be disturbed by someone else’s pain and distress. People who do not want their own comfort zone invaded by someone else’s manner of protest, someone else’s manner of calling for relief from oppression.
So in their own blindness they seek to silence blind Bartimaeus, but he calls out all the more. Jesus hears him and stops. I take heart from this. We do not need to go easy on God. God is not put off by the loud, raw cries of the distressed and the oppressed.
Second, blind Bartimaeus does not have his theological ducks all in a row. He does NOT cry out, “Jesus, Son of God,” as we might think he should. Rather, he cries out, Jesus, Son of David.
Well, Jesus was a son of David, sort of, but that, to us, is not what matters in this context. We might wonder why Jesus would even respond to a person who got it wrong, who apparently did not understand who he really was.
We might say, Sorry, buddy, come back when you believe all the right things. We’re Christians here; here’s what you must believe if you want to be one of us. We saw that mentality in action among the disciples just a couple of Sundays ago when they complain to Jesus that someone NOT a member of their little in-group was casting out demons in Jesus’ name.
But Jesus is quite unperturbed by that. Over and over, he taught that he was in search of followers, not people who have all the right beliefs. I take heart from this, because I fear I will never have all of my theological ducks in a row either. I have too many questions. I love the questions.
The third thing I love about this story is that Jesus does not take for granted that he knows what blind Bartimaeus needs from him. What do you want me to do for you? he asks.
Now blind Bartimaeus has already demonstrated the depth of his desire and longing. Notice that when Jesus invites him close, he does not merely get up and go. He flings aside his cloak and springs to his feet.
I wonder: What was the nature of that cloak blind Bartimaeus throws off? We humans wrap ourselves in so many cloaks to ward off the things we fear, to ward off the things that threaten our comfort and security.
We wrap ourselves in bank accounts and investments to ward off the panic zone of financial insecurity—a place where many people in our society live, full time. We wrap ourselves in communities of like-minded people—including our online social media communities—to ward off the anxiety of learning that people we actually know see the world in radically different ways than we do.
We cling to familiar narratives that make sense of the world in our terms. We surround ourselves with people who tend to look and think like we do, because difference can be so… uncomfortable. Learning that the social and cultural systems that have served us well, are oppressive, infuriating obstacles in the paths of others is downright painful. We might have to resist seeing it.
Blind Bartimaeus wanted to see. He flings off his cloak, springs to his feet and goes to Jesus. And when Jesus says, Go; your faith has made you well, he doesn’t actually go. What he does is follow Jesus on the way.
I’m guessing that among the things blind Bartimaeus had to learn along the way is that seeing is a double-edged sword.
Blind beggars sit by the wayside, wrapped in their cloak of blindness, and beg for mercy.
Those who see, truly see, through the eyes of Jesus have their hearts broken by the suffering and pain they encounter in the world.
Those who see, truly see, through the eyes of Jesus.. must do something about it—because that’s what following Jesus means.
I have mentioned before that I am a big fan of the online ministry of the Brothers of Saint John the Evangelist, especially their daily meditation, “Brother, give us a word.”
A few days ago, the word was “Perception,” and the meditation went like this:
"When we label others, [like 'the poor' or 'the protestors,'] we stop seeing them as they are. We see them only as we are determined to see them, as we have decided that they must be. It’s important, then, to ask ourselves, as Jesus [once] asked Simon Peter: "Do you see this woman?" Who is it that I have difficulty seeing? Is there a person – or group of people – whom I refuse to see? Can I set aside my labels and take a fresh look?"
To which I add, do I have the courage to throw off the cloaks that protect me, spring to my feet and go see the world through the eyes of Jesus?
In the name of God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit. AMEN.
