In our session meeting last week we talked about inclusivity, about bringing people in from the margins. Which isn’t always easy. Sometimes we just don’t know how to approach them. Usually it requires making some changes to how we do things, to accommodate the needs or comfort level of the ones we want to include.
We haven’t always thought about things this way; there was a time, not that long ago, when we didn’t worry too much about who was being excluded from our activities. When I was young there was no such thing as mainstreaming children with disabilities. They went to school somewhere else, if they went to school at all.
Back in Jesus’ day, if folks thought at all about disabilities, such as blindness, they were disturbed by it. So much that people like Bartimaeus were shunned. They believed blindness was a punishment dealt by God because of sin. With Bartimaeus, they might have assumed that he was blind because, somehow, he deserved it. Somehow, somewhere in his life he had lost his sight, and it must have been because of something he did.
They treated him accordingly. If he spoke, they told him to shut up. They generously allowed him to sit on the side of the road with his cloak in his lap, receiving the coins people might drop in it, but only because the law demanded it. That was it. He could exist, but not much more than that.
I find it surprising that Bartimaeus seemed to feel he had a right to more.
Have you ever noticed that the way other people see you can eventually change the way you see yourself? If people keep telling you not to sing because you are a lousy singer, pretty soon, you will start telling others, “I can’t sing. Don’t ask me to sing; I’m a horrible singer.”
If people are constantly saying what a klutz you are, you will probably start to drop things and trip over things even more than you did before. Because you are a klutz.
If people tell you to stop talking because no one wants to hear what you have to say, then you will probably, eventually, stop talking.
But Bartimaeus did not.
Actually, he probably stayed quiet most of the time. People would be more likely to drop their coins in his lap if he played his part right. The sight of him sitting beside the road in his poverty would have evoked their pity, or at least a reminder that giving alms was their duty. Maybe they didn’t give to him generously, but they gave enough. A blind man didn’t need much, they would have thought; just a bit of food to eat, and his cloak.
Everything was probably pretty normal that day, people coming and going, about their business. Bartimaeus, patient, beside the road with his cloak. until Jesus and his disciples came through. And they were followed by a large crowd. Perhaps Bartimaeus asked someone, What’s going on? What’s all the commotion? and he was told, It’s Jesus, from Nazareth.
And somehow, hearing this, Bartimaeus knew. Jesus of Nazareth is Jesus, Son of David. Jesus of Nazareth can heal him. Bartimaeus begins crying out, Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me! He has found his voice and he shouts, Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me! He won’t stop shouting. He won’t be quiet. He will be heard: Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!
His shouts are disturbing to the good people of Jericho, the good people following Jesus on his way. They sternly tell him to quiet down, but this time Bartimaeus ignores their commands; he shouts even louder, Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!
And Jesus hears him. He stops and listens. He speaks to his followers: Call him here.
Suddenly, everyone wants to help Bartimaeus! If Jesus wants to see this man, then they will make it their job to get Bartimaeus before him. They called out to Bartimaeus, Take heart, man; get up, he is calling you. Someone went to him to help him find his way to Jesus. Someone reached out a hand to him, to help him to his feet. But Bartimaeus sprang up, throwing off his cloak, and ran to Jesus.
What do you want me to do for you? Jesus asks Bartimaeus. And the blind man says, My teacher, let me see again.
Jesus tells him, Your faith has made you well. And the blind man’s sight is restored, because he is bold enough to ask.
And this is an important message for all of us who seek to be disciples of Jesus: to be bold. To listen to the urgings of our hearts, of the Spirit that whispers to us, even when the world around us is telling us something different.
The world told Bartimaeus to shut up because no one wanted to hear him, but Bartimaeus knew that Jesus wanted to hear him. The world told Bartimaeus he was a worthless sinner who deserved little, but Bartimaeus knew he was worth more.
But something else. When Jesus asks you what you want him to do for you, are you bold enough to say what you really need?
You know, just a few verses earlier we heard Jesus ask the very same question of James and John: What do you want me to do for you? The answer they gave to his question was almost obscene: Let us sit one at your right hand and one at your left, in your glory. Let us be the first; give us the seat of privilege; give us the glory.
And it strikes me that James and John were just as blind – if not more blind – than Bartimaeus the beggar. The only difference was that they did not want to see. James and John sounded bold, but they were really afraid.
Jesus asks the hard questions of his friends, questions like What do you want me to do for you? and it is up to us, then, to answer him. Are we bold enough to ask for what we really need? To know love in its fullness, peace that passes understanding, life that is really life? To be drawn in from the lonely margins, into the center of love? Do you want to have that lonely place inside of you filled?
Are we bold enough to ask for vision?
As we come home to the Lord this fall, are we able to see what we really need and then boldly ask for it? So much of the time it feels as though the church has lost its way, that we are too busy seeking after the things we don’t really need and neglecting the deep hungers of our heart. But if we will be still, if we will listen, we will hear Jesus asking –
What do you want me to do for you?
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Photo by Emily Morter on Unsplash
