102724, Lectionary 30, Year B 

(Let us take a deep breath, in and out.)

The story from Mark is about a blind beggar named Bar-timaeus.

We first see this person on the road from Jericho to Jerusalem sitting on his cloak begging—as, no doubt, he did every day.  Somehow, he had become blind.  Was he blinded by an accident, a disease, or a fight?  We don’t know, but somehow, he had become blind, and he had to beg to all who passed by.  Begging was his business.  Blindness was his way of life.

Now, some people are burdened by physical blindness, but many are not.  Even so, cries for mercy are worldwide.  In the blinding power of suffering, we cry for mercy.  Often the cry for mercy is our business.  And when crying out, we use all the skills and information available to us.

In today’s drama, Mark says that Bartimaeus heard that Jesus of Nazareth was passing by.  And using all the skills and information available to him, he shouts, “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!”

Hear it?  The son of Timaeus calls Jesus, the Son of David.  Son of David is a dangerous title to use in Roman culture.  A cry for mercy to the Son of David would be a cry to the rightful king of Israel.  And this sort of cry would be a sign of insurrection and in the Roman way it would be dealt with. In any ancient Roman colony, peace came through violence.

Nervously, “Many sternly ordered him to be quiet.”  No one would openly risk such terror, except Bartimaeus, a blind beggar.  Again, he courageously cried out, “Son of David, have mercy on me!”

Thus, in the very center of the story of Bartimaeus, Jesus stands still.  He is the still point of this story.  Jesus, the disciples, the crowd, and the blind beggar, Bartimaeus are still.  The sound of his urgent cry echoing in their ears.

For a moment, I want you to note this silence and the human cry for mercy echoing in your ears. Jesus is the still point of the blind universe, and there, God hears our cries.

Then, watch what happens on this roadside when Jesus calls Bartimaeus.  The blind beggar throws off his cloak, springs up from his business of begging, leaves behind his old worldview littered with suffering, and comes to Jesus.  Such beautiful movement.

And there, face to face with The Teacher, Jesus enacts God’s mercy.  Important and deep healing happens.  Jesus knows him, loves him, and saves him.  And Bar-Timaeus sees the pacific mercy of God and is made well.

Let me say it again.  Jesus loves the blind beggar.  He experiences mercy, and he is healed.  Mercy gives him a new business.  Bartimaeus learns that his health and his way of life are fully formed in mercy—a mercy that stretches mind, imagination and will—a mercy that enables him to be sure sighted and sure footed.

According to Mark, “He regained his sight and followed him on the way.”

Dear friends, there are other ways to think of blindness and begging.  There are people who have been blinded by selfishness, greed, and apathy.  In the drama of blindness, there are people who can’t see that they are loved, who beg for it, and who cry out for mercy.  On the roadside of your life, have you experienced a sort of inner blindness and met the mercy of God?

Consider, when someone hurts you, you may be blind with rage, and you may want to retaliate.

But that doesn’t fix things, does it?  It usually makes things worse.  And just there, in your blindness, is the presence of Jesus’ Spirit and the merciful word of forgiveness transforms you.  You don’t forget the hurt, but you forget the resentment and the urge to retaliate.  To forgive in the name of Jesus is to let go of the urge for retaliation and violence.   And this is an amazing grace.

Let me say more.  Over the years on the roadside of my life, I have betrayed people who were friends.  The reason I have is because I was selfish, and some friendships have ended.  I am very sorry for what has happened, and in my heart, the hurt isn’t forgotten.  But I have the conviction that God can and will hear my lament and make us whole.  Every time I think of these people and my betrayals, I imagine Jesus there interrupting the blindness and mediating forgiveness.  And I pray, God let our friendship see again.  This revelation from God is a revolution.  The mercy of God comes to blind sinners.  Dear followers of Jesus, the drama of Mark’s story indicates that we can see again.

For Lutherans, this Sunday celebrates the Reformation.  In 1517, Johann Tetzel, a Dominican monk was selling indulgences for Pope Leo X to finance the renovation of St. Peter’s Basilica in Rome.  Indulgences were documents that reduced the amount of time in penance one must undergo for sins.  A saying attributed to Tetzel says, “As soon as the coin in the coffer rings, the soul into heaven springs.”  And with the power of Indulges the Roman Church made a lot of money.

Martin Luther, an Augustinian scholar was outraged that people were paying money for what was theirs by right as a gift from God.  He insisted that such forgiveness was God’s alone to grant.  Supposedly, on October 31, 1517, Martin Luther on the door of Wittenberg’s Castle Church, nailed “95 Theses on the Power and Efficacy of Indulgences.”  These theses outlined items to be critically discussed.  In short order, they became the talk of Germany.  The outcome was reform concerning the gracious gift of forgiveness and made the church see again.  Mercy disrupts the church to the core.  It is as unsettling as it is comforting.

Karl Barth, an important 20^th century Swiss theologian wrote about his own inability to find faith.  He wrote about his blindness and how he was unexpectedly transformed, how God’s unmerited mercy reformed him.  He said that he was like a man climbing in the darkness of a winding staircase in the steeple of an ancient cathedral.  In the blackness he reached out to steady himself and his hand laid hold of a rope.  He was startled to hear the clanging of a bell.  In the blackness, the clanging of bells, that sort of surprising reform came to Karl Barth.

Thus, dear beggars who cry for mercy, imagine climbing a winding staircase in the steeple of the ancient cathedral of suffering and death.  In the blackness you reach out to steady yourself and your hands lay hold of a rope.  Imagine the wild joy of hearing the clanging of bells.  Imagine you and all creation resting in peace and rising in glory.  Imagine throwing off the business of sin and coming to Jesus.

Dear beggars, I invite you to decolonize your minds, hearts, and wills and rewild them further.  Whether it is the cry, “Have mercy on me,” and seeing again, or scattering the darkness by the ringing of bells, God reformed Bartimaeus, God reformed Martin Luther and Karl Barth and God is reforming the church.

Moreover, here and now, God is wildly reforming you.  For God is involved with you, knowing you, and loving you just as you are.  And God’s mercy is calling you to follow into a vocation of mercy, a vocation of voluntary self-giving love.  So too, God’s mercy enables you to be sure sighted and sure footed in following Jesus on the way to the cross and to the resurrection of your life.

(Let’s take time to be silent and still.)