I Want to See: Reflections on Mark 10.46-52

 

RCL Proper 30B

27 October 2024

 

Anglican Church of the Epiphany

Surrey BC

 

[Jesus and his disciples] 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. [1]

 

            I come from a family whose collective eyesight is not particularly good.  For example, it was only after I graduated from high school that I learned that I have one far-sighted eye and one near-sighted eye.  Had my parents and I known this at an earlier age, it might have been remedied and I would not have grown up never being chosen first for games that involve throwing and catching balls.  For me, the ball would start in one place and then suddenly, as it drew closer, would be somewhere else!  But now my eyes were working together instead of against one another.

 

            My sister drew the winning hand in our family poor eyesight card game.  We grew up in a small city at the foot of a mountain that is 4300 metres (14,110 feet) and visible from more than 100 kilometres north, south and east.  All my friends and I talk about growing up with a mountain in our backyards.  But it was only at the age of seven or eight when my sister received her first pair of glasses that she realized that Pikes Peak was visible from our front porch.

 

Jesus and his followers came into Jericho.  As Jesus was leaving Jericho, together with his disciples and a sizable crowd, a blind beggar named Bartimaeus, Timaeus’ son, was sitting beside the road.  When he heard that Jesus of Nazareth was there, he began to shout, “Jesus, Son of David, show me mercy!”  Many scolded him, telling him to be quiet, but he shouted even louder, “Son of David, show me mercy!” [2]

 

            I have always loved the story of Bartimaeus.  For example, we really don’t know the blind beggar’s own name; we only know that he is called ‘son of Timaeus’ (‘Bar-Timaeus’).  But even the name ‘Timaeus’ can mean two different things.  If ‘Timaeus’ comes from the local Aramaic language of Jesus’ time, then our blind beggar is ‘son of the unclean one’.  If it comes from the widely-spoken Greek of the same time, it means ‘son of the honourable one’. 

 

            It all depends upon how we look at this blind beggar.  Is he a local person that his neighbours think is unclean because of something his father has done?  Or is he an unlucky man from a good family who has been afflicted with some sort of eye disease that has brought him into poverty.  Where is his family in all of this?  One of the worst things that could happen to anyone in Jesus’ time, even in our time, is to have no family to support one. [3]  It’s somewhat the biblical version of having one far-sighted eye and one near-sighted eye!

 

            Then there’s the crowd.  They’ve all come to see the great miracle-working teacher from Galilee.  They are not interested in an annoying blind beggar who insists on getting Jesus’ attention.  ‘Look,’ they seem to say, ‘you’re interrupting the main event, so pipe down and let us enjoy the show.’  Did you noticed, though, how quickly they change their perspective on events when it is clear that Bartimaeus becomes the ‘main event’?  ‘Don’t dilly dally, Bartimaeus,’ they now say, ‘go on to Jesus.  Let’s see what’s going to happen?’  A religious parade has suddenly become a possible healing miracle.

 

            But what always captures my heart, soul and mind is Bartimaeus’ response to Jesus’ call to come forward.  He throws away his cloak.  In the midst of an unfriendly crowd where there are likely a few more beggars like Bartimaeus whose need for warmth is as acute as Bartimaeus, he throws away what may be his only source of shelter and comfort.  He takes what a later Christian theologian will call ‘a leap of faith’.  In my imagination I hear Bartimaeus saying to himself, ‘I have nothing left to lose.  I’ve heard wonderful things about this man and now he is calling me to him.  I will take the risk.  I want to see.’

 

Jesus asked him, “What do you want me to do for you?”  The blind man said, “Teacher, I want to see.”  Jesus said, “Go, your faith has healed you.”  At once he was able to see, and he began to follow Jesus on the way. [4]

 

            In the Gospels the verb ‘to see’ is a many-faceted jewel.  It can simply mean the ability to see.  But it can also mean the ability to understand God’s purposes in the present moment or the ability to envision God’s future or, as is the case here with Bartimaeus, the choice to have faith in Jesus and to become his disciple.

 

Jesus does more than cure Bartimaeus’ physical blindness.  With his eyes now able to perceive what is going on in the ministry of Jesus, Bartimaeus uses this new insight to choose to follow Jesus ‘on the way’.  Let’s remember that the earliest followers of Jesus called him ‘the Way’ and themselves ‘followers of the Way’.  It’s not by chance that the next chapter of Mark’s gospel tells us of Jesus’ triumph entry into Jerusalem, an event that will trigger his arrest, trial and execution, an event that will signal his resurrection and ascension and our own salvation.

 

            Shortly before I entered theological college, my optometrist prescribed bifocals for my use.  It was no longer a simple matter of balancing the near and the far; I had to add new ways to see the world more clearly.  It took a while for me to get used to them, but they proved to be invaluable for my studies and the health of my eyes.  In more recent years with the growing use of computer technology, I’ve started using ‘progressive’ lenses that enable me to see even more clearly whether near or far or in-tween.  I’m tempted to think that there is a spiritual quality as well as a physical one to the glasses I wear.

 

            My friends, we are living through a time of transition in the life of our Parish and in the life of our Church.  How we look at these times requires us to be both near-sighted, that is, attending to the immediate affairs of our Parish life, and far-sighted, that is, shaping a vision for the future of our witness to the Way of Jesus here in Guildford and beyond.  There may be even need for us to identify some mid-range goals.  While we might wish for a simpler ‘either/or’ answers to our questions and concerns, it is far more likely that we have to face the complicated path of ‘both/and’.

 

·      How do we respect the traditions of previous generations of Anglicans and welcome the needs and concerns of newer Christians who do not have the same history and experiences?

·      How do we respect the needs of our older members and discern how to provide nurture and support for our younger members?

·      How shall we shape worship and music that celebrates our identity as Anglicans and that is open to the use of resources our Church has developed over the last thirty years in collaboration with Anglicans and other Christians throughout the world?

·      How will we decide together what we embrace and what we set aside?

 

These are not easy questions to answer.  Christian community is not now, nor has it ever been an easy way of living in the world.  If we do not talk with one another with love, with humility and with gentleness, then we will find the coming months and years troubling.  More importantly, we will find it difficult to come to a shared and collaborative vision of our future.  This coming Tuesday, for example, the leadership of our Parish will gather to hear the final report of our development consultants.  Then we will need to determine how best to share this information with the whole congregation and how to decide together what the next steps will be.

 

Like Bartimaeus, we want to see.  We want to see because we want to follow Jesus on the way.  May God give us the grace to take this risk.  May God give us the grace to see clearly – near, far and everything in between.

 

 

 

---

[1] Mark 10.46-52 (NRSVue)

 

[2] Mark 10.46-50 (CEB).

 

[3] See https://aprilfiet.com/my-thoughts/fill-my-cup-lord-the-story-of-bartimaeus accessed on 20 October 2024.

 

[4] Mark 10.51-52 (CEB).

 

The Symbolism of Evil: Reflections on Job 2

 

RCL Proper 27B

6 October 2024

 

Anglican Church of the Epiphany

Surrey BC

 

       In my final year of seminary I was privileged to participate in an advanced seminar in theology facilitated by Fr Jim Griffiss of blessed memory.  Fr Griffiss was quite particular about who could register for his advanced senior seminar, so places in his course were a hot item on the school’s calendar.  Not only was Fr Griffiss a great teacher, but it was rumoured that he always had cold beer on hand for the seminarians who participated!  I’m able to say that both were true:  Fr Griffiss was a great teacher whose influence on me I still feel and treasure AND he had a commitment to great local craft beers.

 

       He kept the topic of the seminar a bit of a secret until the first week of class.  As we gathered in the seminar room, Fr Griffiss unveiled with a bit of a dramatic flourish the books for the semester.  ‘This seminar is going to be evil,’ he said.  At first we thought he meant that it was going to be really good, but he really meant ‘evil’.  For the next three and a half months we dove into an exploration of ‘evil’.  We spent the first session debating whether we should call the seminar ‘a theology of evil’ or ‘the problem of evil’ or ‘the question of evil’ and any number of other names.  With each new name Fr Griffiss would quickly point out the twists and turns hidden in each possible title that we would need to navigate.  So, by the end of the first session, all of us having enjoyed a beer or two, we settled on simply calling it ‘the Evil Seminar’.

 

       I do not tell you this story lightly.  I tell you this story because every human being who has ever lived, every human culture that has ever existed, every human religion that has ever been founded, has wrestled with what we call ‘evil’.  There is an entire branch of theology devoted to exploring the relationship between God and evil.  Pages and pages, book after book, have been written trying to understand why bad things happen to good people and why human beings seem to be unable to shake off evil despite all the progress we have made.

 

       You and I are keenly aware of evil in its many expressions.  We are made more aware because of our access to all the various forms of contemporary media – the internet, social networks, digital news, printed media, radio, television and podcasts.  There are some who think that evil is more prevalent in our times than at other times in human history, but I think that evil has always touched the lives of human beings in many and various ways.  Our curse is that we know about, read about, talk about in ways that are faster than our ancestors.

 

       We are probably all familiar with the story of Job.  A wealthy man who is known to be a righteous man, a generous man, becomes the object of attention in the heavenly court.  The scene is set almost like a Hollywood movie:  God, here called the ‘Lord’, has called together the heavenly beings.  Among those heavenly beings is one whose is called ‘the accuser’, ‘haSatan’ in Hebrew.  This being is not the Satan of horror movies; this being is not in themselves evil, is not seeking souls to steal from God.  Their job is to go throughout the world checking up on how human beings are keeping faith with their Creator.  When they find someone who is not behaving faithfully, it’s their job to bring that person to God’s attention.

 

       For whatever reason the Lord decides to bring dear Job to the accuser’s attention and to hold Job up as an example of faithfulness.  The accuser simply states the obvious – why wouldn’t a wealthy man be faithful to God, someone who has everything they could want or need.  ‘Just put Job to the test,’ the accuser says, ‘and you’ll soon find out how deep his faithfulness goes.’  And so the Lordaccepts the accuser’s dare, and Job experiences the reality of suffering that he does not deserve, that he does not comprehend, that he does not accept as fair.

 

       There are no words to explain why bad things happen to good people.  There are no words to explain why evil prospers while the good struggles.  There are no words to explain the violence consuming the Middle East, the war between Ukraine and Russia, the violence that is experienced by so many people throughout the world.  There are no words to explain the desperation that causes thousands of people to flee their homes, to sell their possessions and to trust themselves to people-smugglers who put to sea in over-crowded, danger-ridden boats that capsize in the Mediterranean Sea and the English Channel.

 

       There are no words to explain why young people are drawn into the world of drugs that kill.  There are no words to explain why people have to live on the streets.  There are no words to explain the whole litany of tragedies, disappointments and injustices we have seen, we have known, we have experience.

 

       Evil is not a problem that can be solved; it simply is.  Evil is not a question that can be answered; it simply is.  Evil is not a theological category; it simply is.  Why do bad things happen to good people?  I do not have nor do I think that anyone has an answer to that question that will satisfy those whose homes have been destroyed by terror from the skies.

 

       But at the end of today’s reading, we are given a hint of what ought to be the question we ask:  “Then his wife said to him, ‘Do you still persist in your integrity?  Curse God and die.’  But he said to her, ‘You speak as any foolish [person] would speak. Shall we receive good from God and not receive evil?’  In all this Job did not sin with his lips.”  (Job 2.9-10 NRSVue)

 

       When we read, “Job did not sin with his lips,” the writer is telling us what Job, a good man, did when bad things happened.  It is not in our power to banish evil from our world.  We may ponder in the depths of our souls and in the recesses of our mind the question as to why God permits evil to continue, but we are unlikely to receive an answer that we satisfy us or that will heal broken hearts.

 

       But we can direct our minds, our hearts, our souls and our strength towards answering this question:  “What do good people do when bad things happen?”  Good people, despite evil, do justice in our neighbourhoods and wherever our resources permit us.  Good people, despite evil, love kindness extended towards friend and stranger, towards family and neighbours, towards those whom we have never met but whose needs call us to action.  Good people, despite evil, walk humbly before God trusting that God is working God’s purposes out even when we cannot the traces of God’s handiwork as clearly as we might wish to see.

 

       Good people can be angry with God, but they will still press on.  There is a story told about St Teresa of Avila, a sixteenth -century nun, who faced many difficulties in her efforts to reform the monastic communities of her time.  It is said that once, during prayer, she asked Christ why she was facing so many difficulties. She heard Jesus say, ‘This is how I treat my friends.’  Teresa is said to have answered, ‘If this is how you treat your friends, no wonder you have so few of them!’  But she did not stop the work that she believed God has given her to do.

 

       Friends, evil is real.  Evil has touched all of us in some manner or another.  It is a mystery that we cannot yet see into clearly.  But good people do not let the evil of the world stop them from doing justice, loving kindness and walking humbly with God.  Our prayer is the prayer of Archbishop Desmond Tutu, certainly someone whose experience of apartheid made him well-qualified to know how to face evil:

 

Goodness is stronger than evil;

Love is stronger than hate;

Light is stronger than darkness;

Life is strong than death;

Victory is ours through Him who loves us.