"Blind"

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. 

Mark 10:46-52

"Blind"

This story of Bartimaeus, so often called Blind Bartimaeus by scholars and readers alike, is a story about many things—about a man who is desperately sick and sad and poor and left out and lonely, a story about a Savior who hears him and heals him. It is a story about being blind—both physically blind like Bartimaeus, a story about being figuratively blind, like so many of the rest of us. This story about Blind Bartimaeus is story of hope, a story of humility, a story of challenge for all of us who read and hear it. It is ultimately a story of restoration, restoration from a Savior who is walking his way towards his death on the cross.

Jesus and the disciples are leaving Jericho, winding their way towards the Palm Sunday processional waiting for them, when they pass by a man on the street. We aren’t told much about Bartimaeus, just that he is a blind beggar, but that description tells us enough. It is pretty safe for us to assume that he is lonely and outcast and poor, judged harshly because of his blindness. During this day and time, it is assumed that any physical ailment is a punishment for sin, and so Bartimaeus is not just seen, but judged as a sinner, someone unworthy of time, help, or love. Bartimaeus is sitting by the side of the road, more than likely by himself. He can’t see what is coming his way, but he senses that something great, something very important, is about to happen. Jesus is on his way—by this time, stories about Jesus and his healing have spread, and when Bartimaeus hears that it is indeed Jesus who is coming his way, he rightly senses that this is his chance for healing, for restoration. “Jesus, Son of David,” he says, “have mercy on me!” “Shut it, Bartimaeus,” you can hear the others who have gathered around them whispering. But he ignores them, knowing this is his chance, pleading again, “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!” Jesus is running short on time and has every right to keep on walking through Jericho, but he doesn’t. He hears those words—“have mercy on me”—and stops, stops himself, stops everyone around him, and calls Bartimaeus to come to him.

Without skipping a beat, Bartimaeus throws off his cloak and makes his way to Jesus. “What do you want me to do for you?” Jesus asks, as rhetorical question as has ever been asked. Jesus knows that Bartimaeus needs healing, needs love, needs restoration, but Jesus wants to hear it straight from him, wants to hear his faith, wants to hear his trust, his hope. “My teacher, let me see again,” the answer comes. “Let me see.”

“What do you want me to do for you?” I think this part of the story is fascinating, especially when compared to our Gospel story from last week. Last week, we heard from James and John, heard from them immediately after Jesus had predicted his death and resurrection for a third time. But instead of being true disciples and being concerned about walking with Jesus through this last part of his life, James and John are thinking only about themselves. With more boldness and stupidity than we could ever imagine, John and James say to Jesus, “Teacher, we want you to do for us whatever we ask of you. Grant us to sit, one at your right hand and one at your left, in your glory.” Instead of looking out for their friend, their Christ, their Savior, James and John are looking out for themselves, their legacy, their glory. Jesus rightly puts them in their place—“whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all.” These words echo Jesus’ words from chapter 9: “Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and 

servant of all.”

The stories are so different here, the questions so different. John and James ask, demand really, for Jesus to do something for them—not something for their healing, but something instead for their glory. We want you to do for us whatever we ask of you. Their faith is shallow and childish and incomplete. They are figuratively blind—blinded by their ambition and need and desire. They demand to be first, not caring or thinking a bit about the last, the ones who need help the most. Which brings us to Bartimaeus. He is certainly the last, certainly the least, certainly the lost. Physically blind, not by choice or sin or circumstance, Bartimaeus comes to Jesus as well, but reaches out to him in deep faith and desperate hope. His faith is hopeful and deep and impeccable. Jesus knows that he is desperate for healing, desperate for restoration, desperate not to be last and least anymore. The demand of “Jesus, do this for us” turns into the question of “What can I do for you?” The reply is simple: “My teacher, let me see again.” And the teacher lets him see, heals blind Bartimaeus right there on the spot, brings him to new sight and new life.

You know, I think that is pretty tempting for us to stop here at this good news, this news of restoration, of sight for the blind. Jesus has healed this man, made him whole, brought him from being a nobody to being someone, called him from a life of lying prostrate on the street to standing on his own two feet, brought him from a life of desperation to a life of fullness. Jesus has done so, so much for Bartimaeus, and it truly is wonderful news. And he does the same for each of us. It’s so very tempting for this preacher to stop here at this wonderful, happy, fulfilling news and let us all go home with warm fuzzies in our hearts.

But there is more to the story. I have read this story so many times, heard many sermons on it—but something new jumped out to me this time. Bartimaeus does indeed regain his sight, but something more happens at the very end, something heard in the very last few words. Bartimaeus follows Jesus on the way. He follows him on the way. On the way to Jerusalem for the triumphal entry, on the way to Golgotha for the horrific ending.

Think about James and John one more time. Think about Bartimaeus one more time—the difference between them and their stories. John and James have followed Jesus from the very beginning of his ministry. Although it must have been hard for them to leave their families and livelihoods behind to follow Jesus in such an uncertain way and time, these disciples didn’t really know what they were walking in to. They hadn’t yet seen the full picture of what was going to happen; they walked into this new and fascinating and different life hopeful for something great, hopeful for an adventure, hopeful for a new way of life. And now, at the end, even though they have heard the predictions, they are still hopeful, not really understanding what these predictions mean, hoping that everything they have left behind and done in Jesus’ name means glory for them.

But Bartimaeus is different. After he is healed, after the blindness falls from his eyes, even though he has also heard the predictions about what will happen to the teacher, he still decides to follow. He could very easily and simply say, “Hey, thanks teacher. I am truly thankful for everything you have done. Now I’m gonna go home and hang out.” But he doesn’t. He has a choice of whether to simply be thankful or to be thankful and live thankfully. And he chooses the latter. He becomes one of them—a disciple, a follower. So many of them have followed Jesus from the very beginning, not truly understanding how hard it will be along the way, all the way to the end. But Bartimaeus chooses to follow Jesus almost at the very end of his life, a very bold and courageous and faithful move. He has heard the predictions. He has to know that following will not be easy, that it will be fraught with danger and peril and really hard stuff along the way. He has to know, especially now that he is no longer blind, that the stuff he will see along the way to the cross will be awful and ugly and quite gruesome. But Bartimaeus follows anyway—he has been faithful from the beginning and will be faithful until the end, all the way to the new beginning of resurrection. The lost one has been found. The one with the least has been given the most. The one who was blind now sees—sees more clearly than almost anyone else following Christ.

And that is our choice, as well. In so many different ways, Jesus takes away the things that blind us, blind us from how he tells us to live, who he calls us to be. If we truly open ourselves up to listen to what Jesus says to each of us, our lives are bound to change. We are bound to be challenged about how we are living, about the stuff we have, about how we spend our time each and every day, about how we treat each person we meet, about how we forgive and love in a world that tells us to only look our for ourselves and our glory. This is the challenge that James and John had, the challenge that even blind Bartimaeus had, the challenge that we all have.  As hard as it can be, Jesus changes things for us—he pulls the blinders away from each of us and says, “OK. Now you have to see the world how it is. You can go back to your old way of life and ignore all of the pain and the hurt, all of the ways you can help, all of the opportunity around you to live and love. You can shut down if you wish. Or you can follow. It’s true that the following won’t always be easy or pretty or fun, but it is life giving, life altering, life sustaining.”

I love how Barbara Brown Taylor, a professor at Columbia Theological Seminary, puts it:

How will you have it? You can stay where you are. You can sit in your familiar dark, where all of the edges are rounded off so that you will not hurt yourself, where you need only concern yourself with what is within your reach...No sense getting your hopes up; no sense thinking of yourself as a person who might see. Stay with what you know. Or you can cry out, spring up, and ask for your heart’s desire. Damn the torpedoes and good riddance to caution, to propriety, to the fear that keeps you in the dark. Take heart! Get up, he is calling you! Are you willing to see or not? And if you are willing, are you willing to see everything there is, the good along with the awful, the lovely along with the monstrous—in yourself, in everyone you meet, in the world? Are you willing to bruise your shins…to bruise your heart? Then go your way, because your faith has made you well.

I love that! Go, Jesus says. Go on your way, because your faith has made you well. Whether we have been following from the very beginning or are just discovering and following now at the very end, we are called to go as faithful people—to see and follow and go along the way to Jerusalem, to the cross, to the resurrection and restoration that awaits each one of us. Go. Amen.