Twenty-Third Sunday after Pentecost (25B), October 28, 2018; The Rev. Susan Ackley
Hebrews 7:23-28 Furthermore, the former priests were many in number, because they were prevented by death from continuing in office.
Mark 10:46-52 As he and his disciples and a large crowd were leaving Jericho, Bartimaeus son of Timaeus, a blind beggar, was sitting by the roadside.
This is a difficult Sunday to preach.
How can we, gathered here this morning, possibly hold these two events together — the Baptism of little Nina and the killings at Tree of Life Synagogue?
Yet sometimes to be faithful means to stretch our hearts open wide enough to hold both these things, fully rejoicing in Nina’s new birth and fully grieving for the murdered dead in Pittsburgh.
I don’t know precisely how to do that, to expand my heart enough, but I do know that being together here this morning is part of it. And as the preacher, I want to share with you how, during the past 24 hours, today’s Gospel has spoken to me about these two events.
In the arc of Jesus’ life, time is getting short.
Jesus, his friends, and the crowd that has been following him have reached Jericho, only 15 miles from Jerusalem.
On the way out, an incident—A coincidence? A God-set-up?
A blind beggar.
A throw-away, thrown-away person on the side of the road. Bartimaeus. The very name means “Son of Poverty” or “Son of the Unclean.” I imagine the people in the crowd with Jesus stepping aside to avoid him, averting their eyes.
But–surprise!–this beggar on the street is a model for the crowd surrounding Jesus and us and even little Nina, a model of who and what we are called to become as Christians. A perfect patron saint for this morning as we rejoice together in Nina’s baptism and try to absorb together the shock of the shooting in Pittsburgh.
When we first meet him, he’s he’s making a scene, yelling and yelling and yelling and he won’t stop.
He’s crying out for healing. This is his chance and no one is going to tell him to shut up.
I like this guy! He’s not docile. He’s not “nice.” He’s not “appropriate” (a real temptation for Episcopalians!).
Bartimaeus reminds us this morning that we’re not called to be any of things either. Yesterday the Bishop of Pittsburgh, Dorsey McConnell, wrote, “Some chose to hate, and chose to kill. And now we are faced with a choice as well—to do nothing or to reject this hatred in the strongest possible words and actions, and to refute in every way, in every forum, the philosophical foundations of anti-Semitism wherever they have gained a foothold in our churches and our society.”
We are called to make our voices heard. Our voices have to be louder and more persistent than the voices of vengeance and destruction.
When the crowd turns to Bartimaeus and tells him Jesus is calling him, the Gospel describes him as throwing off his cloak.
It could be just tossed off phrase, stuck into the text to make the scene more vivid, but I don’t think so. Mark is too clever a writer and it’s often the littlest details that can illumine a passage.
So–What did his cloak mean to Bartimaeus?
One simple answer—it was protection. On Friday I had lunch at Boston Warm and the conversation was all about the weather, the cold we’ve been having and the nor’easter that was about to hit. For the mostly unhoused people gathered here, this wasn’t small talk. They were asking one another questions about survival: What shelters would be safe and have room?, and if a shelter isn’t an option then where on the street can they stay warm and dry?
One man was using tape to mend a sort of tent made out of a tarp. When I asked if he was going to go into the Parish Hall for some hot soup he said, “I’ve got to get this done now. With the storm coming, shelter’s more important than food.”
Bartimaeus’ cloak was also a symbol of his identity, who and what he was. In his time, a beggar’s cloak was the equivalent of a coffee cup or a cardboard box. He or she could spread it out to collect spare change, then safely roll up the takings.
I wonder if he sometimes used it to cover his face so people couldn’t tell it was him. Maybe he was tired of people saying, “Oh that’s only Bartimaeus. Forget it! I’ve given him enough already.”
Protection, income,, privacy, identity: in throwing off his cloak, Bartimaeus was giving up a lot.
The problem is that a cloak can also be a burden.
It can weigh a person down. It can bind them. It can limit their freedom of action.
For example, for me, Bartimaeus’ cloak is a symbol of what I carry along with me that weighs my spirit down. A fear of failure that keeps me from taking risks, a history of reliance on substances and behaviors that “protected” and consoled me in the short term even though they would have been lethal in the long, and yesterday and earlier this morning, a strong temptation to despair of our country.
In a few minutes, close to the beginning of Nina’s baptism, her parents and godparents are going to speak for her. In her name, they’re going to say “I renounce them” to the heavy “cloaks” that could weigh her down her spirit in her future life: “I renounce them”to “Satan and all the spiritual forces of wickedness that rebel against God; “I renounce then”to “the evil powers of this world which corrupt and destroy the creatures of God; “I renounce them” to “all sinful desires that draw you from the love of God.”
Today we are called to shout out like Bartimaeus our renunciations—No! to malice, No! to violence, No! to scapegoating.
When Bartimaeus is standing in front of him, Jesus asks him a question. “What do you want me to do for you?”
Only 15 verses earlier, Jesus had asked the same question to the two men who had followed him the longest, James and John. What did they answer? “Let us sit, one at your right hand and one at your left, in your glory.” After three years of following Jesus, here were their deepest desires: pomp, status, power.
Bartimaeus, to the very same question, answers simply, “My teacher, let me see again.”
Clearly he means this literally. He’s asking for the gift of physical sight. But he seems to mean more than that as well—he’s thrown off the heavy cloak which had weighed him down, and face to face with Jesus he’s ready to see himself not as “Son of Uncleanness and Poverty” but as Beloved Child of God and to see the world around him from that perspective.
Today, through Baptism, Nina is being opened to that vision. In the Baptismal Covenant, her parents and godparents will be promising on her behalf to learn to see in profoundly countercultural ways.
Listen to what they’ll agree to: “Will you seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving your neighbor as yourself?” “All persons” not just those she agrees with or likes. She won’t be dragged down by hatred of individuals or particular groups of people, no matter what’s happening around her. “Will you strive for justice and peace among all people, respecting the dignity of every human being?” She’s promising through the adults closest to her to stand up especially for the dignity of those who like Bartimaeus, are “children of uncleanness or poverty.” “Will you cherish the wondrous works of God, and protect the beauty and integrity of all creation?” She’s promising to love the earth and actively care for it, though it might take self-sacrifice and a commitment to a live lightly on the earth.
Let’s take a moment to be in silence together. In the silence I’d like us to ponder two questions:
What “cloak” could you resolve to throw off? What is weighing down your spirit?
This morning how do you answer Jesus’ question, “What do you want me to do for you?”
I’ll break the silence with a prayer from the Book of Common Prayer, “A Prayer for the Human Family.”
O God, you made us in your own image and redeemed us through Jesus your Son: Look with compassion on the whole human family; take away the arrogance and hatred which infect our hearts; break down the walls that separate us; unite us in bonds of love; and work through our struggle and confusion to accomplish your purposes on earth; that in your good time, all nations and races may serve you in harmony around your heavenly throne; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.