Gospel text for Sunday 24 October 2021

Mark 10:46-52        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.

Reflection        “What do you want me to do for you?”

I will never forget the first time I heard those words spoken to me through human lips. An Episcopal priest whom I had been pestering for months to be my spiritual director kept saying “No, absolutely not. I am not a spiritual director.”  Several months slipped by and I decided to call one last time. He answered the phone and after a bit of small talk he asked, “What do you want me to do for you?” I felt passed through to my core. 

“How can I admit the deepest desire of my heart? I don’t deserve such a generous invitation. I am not good enough. I am not holy enough. How dare I say what I really want?” This one question, “What do you want me to do for you?”  pulled back the curtain veiling a malevolent chorus of authoritarian voices bent on keeping me cloistered and divorced from God.

I stuttered and stammered until I finally squeaked out “I want you to help me see how God is working in my life and help me discover what I am to do about it.” The twisting in my stomach and the knot in my throat waved a crimson flag, “Oh Debra, what have you done? Life will never be the same.”

Which brings us to the curbside, outside Jericho.  Jesus and the disciples are coming and going to and from Jericho. Contrast that to Bartimaeus whose blindness sandbags him on the curb outside city limits, not only because he cannot see but also because the authoritarian voices of his culture insist that being afflicted with blindness is evidence he or his family have done something terrible which renders him unworthy. He has no voice, no place.

But a flare of faith deep inside Bartimaeus rebells against the chorus of afflicting voices, “You are not good enough, not holy enough. How dare you speak up and admit the deepest desire of your heart?” because when he hears that Jesus of Nazareth is nearby somehow Bartimaeus musters his mettle and shouts above those sternly ordering him to be quiet, “Son of David, have mercy on me.”

His spirited shout stops Jesus in his tracks where he stands still and watches blind Bartimaeus spring to his feet and throw off his cloak. Without a hint of hesitation Bartimaeus cast off what was likely his only worldly possession as well as every limiting social proscription about who he was, a blind beggar with no place nor value in society who had no business calling out to the prophet, the Son of David. How dare he?

From our twenty-first century perspective blindness is a biomedical problem resulting in the sightless person’s inability to function. Healing involves restoring the person’s ability to function. Two thousand years ago in Palestine blindness is a social rather than biomedical problem, therefore healing involves being restored to a place in society. Throughout the Gospel according to Mark we meet Jesus as he heals people which restores them to a place in society. 

Jesus heals a man with a dreaded skin disease, sends him to a priest to be ritually cleansed and return to community. (Mk 1.40-45)

Seeing the faith of folks who carry a paralyzed man to him, Jesus heals the man and sends him home.  (Mk 2.1-12)

When a woman who had been bleeding for twelve years touches Jesus and is healed, it is her breaking the taboo about touching that heals her and Jesus affirms, “Your faith has made you well.” (Mk 5:25–34)

When townsfolk come to tell Jesus that Jairus’ daughter is dead he says, “Do not fear, only believe” and the child is healed. (Mk 5:21–42)

After touching and healing the blind man at Bethsaida Jesus sends him away to his home. (Mk 8:22–25)

The overarching message is, faith makes us well by restoring us to right relationship with God and community. When we choose to live by faith we are able to break through the physical, social, emotional and religious taboos that curb and constrain us, prohibiting us from participating in the fullness of life. 

Belief or faith is kin to hope in the possibility of what can be. Belief or faith foster a kind of fearlessness that enables us to get off the curb at the side of the road, and boldly answer the question, “What do you want me to do for you?”

Do you dare to pause and admit the deepest desire of your heart? Are you willing to cast off all constraints that limit your idea of who and whose you are? Are you ready to live by faith and be restored to right relationship with your neighbors, the world and God? What do you want me to do for you?

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Gospel text for Sunday 5 July 2015

Mark 6:1-13        Jesus left that place and came to his hometown, and his disciples followed him. On the sabbath he began to teach in the synagogue, and many who heard him were astounded. They said, "Where did this man get all this? What is this wisdom that has been given to him? What deeds of power are being done by his hands! Is not this the carpenter, the son of Mary and brother of James and Joses and Judas and Simon, and are not his sisters here with us?" And they took offense at him. Then Jesus said to them, "Prophets are not without honor, except in their hometown, and among their own kin, and in their own house." And he could do no deed of power there, except that he laid his hands on a few sick people and cured them. And he was amazed at their unbelief.

Then he went about among the villages teaching. He called the twelve and began to send them out two by two, and gave them authority over the unclean spirits. He ordered them to take nothing for their journey except a staff; no bread, no bag, no money in their belts; but to wear sandals and not to put on two tunics. He said to them, "Wherever you enter a house, stay there until you leave the place. If any place will not welcome you and they refuse to hear you, as you leave, shake off the dust that is on your feet as a testimony against them." So they went out and proclaimed that all should repent. They cast out many demons, and anointed with oil many who were sick and cured them.

Reflection This week thirty-two year old Misty Copeland was named principal dancer for the American Ballet Theatre (ABT), one of the three major classical ballet companies in the USA. This news astounded many because Misty does not fit the idea of what a classical ballerina looks like. “The world of elite, professional ballet is tiny, brutal and exacting. It operates within a long history of well-established traditions to define excellence in the industry. In that world, ballet dancers are long, lean, have delicate waists, small busts, lithe legs and are white. And then there’s Misty Copeland: 5’2”, curvy, muscular and black.”* Because Misty does not fit the conceptual ideas about ballerinas many people could not “see” Misty as a principal ballerina for the prestigious ABT. This week many people were astounded by the “unlikely” ballerina.

When our minds are full of concepts about what a person should look, act or be like there is every chance we will not “see” them but rather be blinded by our concepts to who they really are. That is what happened to the people  in Jesus’ hometown who expected him to look, act and be like a carpenter. Instead of being about the business of wood and nails, tables and doorposts Jesus displayed deeds of power and words of wisdom, things that did not belong in the repertoire of a carpenter.  The people who were most familiar with Jesus could not contain him in the conceptual box they had about him and so they “took offense at him.” 

The stories of Misty and Jesus both point to a gap between what we can see and claim to know “about” a person and the mystery of who they truly are. The more familiar a person is or the more we think we know “about” a person the more difficult it is for us to see beyond what we think to what actually is. In other words, we are blinded by our thoughts and our ideas. Paradoxically, it is the people, the roles, the subjects that we claim to know the most about that we are least likely to experience as they truly are. 

Perhaps that is why Jesus said to his unbelieving neighbors, ”Prophets are not without honor, except in their hometown, and among their own kin, and in their own house.” Which begs the question, how do we set aside our litany of ideas, concepts and descriptions, our memories and imaginations in order to experience the mystery and gifts of a person as they truly are? I believe the answer is, by learning to be present with another person. 

Being present means consciously paying attention to another person without any judgment or story about them. When we begin to pay attention we notice our minds are constantly leaping ahead, falling behind or making up stories about the person. The invitation is, over and over again, to reel our minds back in, refocus on the present moment and wait to be surprised by the mystery of the person present with us.

*http://www.entrepreneur.com/slideshow/248015

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Gospel text Sunday 28 October 2012

Mark 10:46-52      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.

Reflection                                                                                              Have you ever felt restless or apprehensive, that things were just not right? A bit off center, uneasy, unclear making it hard to stand up and move on? I certainly have and I experience it as a kind of spiritual blindness. Although I have eyes to see the world around me, somehow I do not understand what is going on. I am spiritualy blind. In my blindness the best I can do is sit at the side of the road not sure which way to go. In the absence of self understanding where can I possibly go? When I do try to move I falter and stumble because, though I have eyes, I do not see. What is this unsettling mystery that is so difficult for me and the disciples in Mark’s gospel to see?

I believe this may have something to do with why the writer of Mark’s gospel tells the stories of  the blind man in Bethsaida and blind Bartimaeus and places them like bookends before the first and following the third time Jesus predicts his suffering, death and resurrection. The thing is, who can understand the mystery of Jesus, fully human and fully divine? Who can understand the mystery of a messiah whose glory is born in his consent to drink the cup of suffering and death? Who can understand the message that the last shall be first and the least shall be greatest? How can I follow Jesus if I am blind and do not understand? 

The best I can muster is joining blind Bartimaeus shouting, “Lord have mercy on me! I don’t understand and I don’t know which way to go. I am sitting on the curb watching life pass by because if I stand in my own power I will stumble and fall. Teacher, have mercy on me. Please call me and show me which way to go.”

Maybe it is all in that one word, teacher. When I call out asking for  the teacher’s mercy I am admitting that I do not know. I am making myself least in the relationship. From the position of open, empty receptivity I am ready and waiting for the teacher to pass by and call me. I am not so full of my self or my plans that I cannot see or hear the teacher call. That’s where I am today. Sitting on the curb with blind Bartimaeus. Though I am still uneasy I sit in faith with hope that the teacher will call, restore my sight and  show me the way.