Jeremy L. Berg

Proper 25: Mark 10:46-52

Listen to this reflection instead HERE.

His name, Bartimaeus, means “son of honor” but his disability would have kept him socially ostracized and the object of others’ pity and scorn. “What horrible thing must he or his parents have done for God to curse him with this ailment?” would have been the thinking of many who passed by this blind beggar.

I passed by a beggar with a sign on a street corner this week on my way home from teaching about Jesus’ compassion and love. I almost wished this beggar was blind so I didn’t have to make eye contact with him and feel bad as our eyes met that I didn’t have any cash to give him, or didn’t want to. I’m always conflicted in these situations, wanting to show compassion, but not wanting to enable the person or be conned, or whatever. You know what I mean.

My default thought is usually: I wish he would take his sign and walk to the nearest church and find a welcoming faith family who will adopt him in to community and make sure he never goes needy again. The generosity in the early church was such that Acts 4:34 says, “There was not a needy person among them.” But just as quickly as this thought comes, so does another thought that many churches would sadly turn him away or pass him on to the nearest social service agency which he has no doubt already hit up too many times. 

This week’s Gospel reading has us on the road with Jesus and blind Bartimaeus, a desperate man is not ashamed to beg and cry out in a way that is noisy and off putting to many. It’s fascinating — even shocking — how Jesus interacts with the man:

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. When he heard that it was Jesus of Nazareth, he began to shout out and say, “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!” Many sternly ordered him to be quiet, but he cried out even more loudly, “Son of David, have mercy on me!” 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.” So throwing off his cloak, he sprang up and came to Jesus. 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.” Jesus said to him, “Go; your faith has made you well.” Immediately he regained his sight and followed him on the way.

“Many sternly ordered him to be quiet, but he cried out even more loudly.” What evoked annoyance in the crowd, evoked deep compassion in Jesus. But now this is where something in this well known story jumped out at me for the first time. Jesus does something that I find a bit shocking, inconsiderate or even offensive at first glance. Jesus, a perfectly able-bodied man stands still and calls the disabled blind man to get up and come over to him! “Take heart; get up, he is calling you.” What?!

Isn’t this peculiar? Wouldn’t it be easier for Jesus to approach the disabled man? Wouldn’t it be more considerate? What is going on here? Perhaps there’s a deeper meaning and purpose to Jesus’ request. God takes the initiative and makes the first move toward us in His bountiful grace, but we need to be prepared to respond in obedience to His invitation. Often the call of discipleship comes with a demand, a sacrifice, a test of will or need to overcome some obstacle in our life. We are restored to wholeness, but we first need to take up our mat and leave our old life of begging. 

God doesn’t wave a magic wand of healing and salvation over our sin-stained lives, while we sit back and passively receive. We are invited into a dance. We are told to take up our cross. We are commanded to repent and follow. We must reciprocate and respond to Jesus’ advance. Faith is a give and take proposition. Yes, we receive infinitely more than we give in this Divine romance, but we still give our all. This new life of faith often requires new inconveniences and new challenges. All of this might be seen in this awkward scene of a blind man jumping up and shuffling, groping, feeling his way toward the Voice of Love who is offering him a new life on the other side of this desperate act of blind obedience. “So throwing off his cloak, he sprang up and came to Jesus.”

What hard thing or inconvenient act might lie between our current struggle and God’s healing power? What weighty cloak might we need to throw off in order to experience Christ’s healing touch? Is Christ’s presence and power so real in our life, that we can’t help but “spring up” to get over to him at every opportunity? Far from “springing up” like a child on Christmas morning, many of us today find ourselves dragging ourselves out of bed and to church on Sunday. What might that say about what or who we expect to encounter at church? Jesus always makes the first move, but are we willing to get up and come to Him when he calls us at an inconvenient time and with an inconvenient demand on our comfortable routines? 

Lord Jesus, open our eyes today and give us all a fresh vision of your Kingdom and presence among us. Amen.