Blind Bartimaeus
Preacher: Rt Revd Dr John Armes, Bishop of Edinburgh
Readings: Job 42:1-6, 10-17; Mark 10:46-52
‘Teacher, let me see again.’
Blind Bartimaeus, we call him, but as I shall reflect in a moment, there are ways in which he was not so blind at all. His story is a gift for the producers of mystery plays or dramatizations of the life of Jesus. A noisy, scruffy beggar, shouting at the top of his voice; a disapproving crowd irritated by his determination to thrust himself into the limelight. Then the call of Jesus, Bartimaeus’ energetic response, and the question, ‘What do you want me to do for you?’ Apparently, Jesus wants the beggar to be in the limelight, and he draws him into the centre of the crowd’s attention, and of ours too as we watch what happens. There is a healing – a transformation of one man’s life.
Bartimaeus in Jesus’ eyes, it seems, isn’t someone to be shouted at or shushed, he isn’t defined either by his blindness or his status as a beggar. He is someone to be related to, and to be given the dignity of making his own choices about his own future. And it is a very significant choice for a man whose livelihood, meagre though it may be, depends on his blindness. A beggar who isn’t blind any more is much less likely to win the sympathy of the people of his town. Remember, they know who his father is, and the gospel writer makes sure we know too. ‘Bartimaeus’, and just in case we’re not clear, the writer adds, ‘son of Timaeus.’
His answer to Jesus’ question, ‘Let me see again,’ is therefore a deliberate throwing off of his old life, as surely as he throws off his cloak. His trust in Jesus has made him well, has saved him. No longer rooted by the roadside, he is now a traveller, following Jesus on the way.
This is typical of Jesus’ healing miracles. They aren’t distributed at random; they emerge out of a relationship of trust or of compassion in which someone’s faith, their trust in Jesus is a direct contribution to the transformation in their health.
This particular miracle comes at a key moment in the gospel of Mark. I t comes after a section where the disciples ponder with Jesus how they are to win God’s favour. Wealth and riches won’t do it for, as Jesus says, ‘It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich person to enter the kingdom of God.’ Neither will status, sitting in the place of honour at a banquet, for if we want to be first we must be prepared to be last, if we want to be great then that greatness must be like the greatness of Jesus, demonstrated through serving others rather than being served.
The story of Bartimaeus not only models how Jesus is a servant of the poor and needy, it also offers us a picture of the true disciple. This is one who responds to Jesus when he calls, who trusts him enough to ask for what he needs, and who then follows Jesus on the way. Note that the next thing that happens in Mark’s telling of the story is that Jesus arrives on the outskirts of Jerusalem where, within a week, he is to lay down his life as ‘a ransom for many.’
It is a story that raises interesting questions for us. Might it help us to look at other people differently? Are there people, for example, who sit with their needs along the metaphorical roadside as we pass by to whom we are content to deal out our charity but would prefer to be silent, not troubling us with their clamour, not getting between us and our Lord? Are these perhaps the very people Jesus wants us to meet, to whom we might we speak words of welcome, ‘Take heart, he is calling you,’ inviting them to meet Jesus too?
Perhaps it’s encouraging us to look at ourselves differently too, even to see ourselves as the central character in the story. Is there a sense in which we share the beggar’s blindness and are invited to respond to the same warm invitation, ‘Take heart, he is calling you.’ Are we prepared to shout out to the Son of David, braving the disapproval of others? When we hear Jesus call, do we spring to our feet, like Bartimaeus, ready to throw off our old life? And, when Jesus asks us, ‘What do you want me to do for you?’ do we have an answer?
Bartimaeus is a beggar who knows his need of God. Does that describe you and me? People who know our need of God. For I would say that this is where faith begins, where it springs from. It can never really thrive in us if we are convinced of our own self-sufficiency and rely on our own resources, or on something less than God to get us through the day (and the night). The older we become, the wiser we are supposed to be, the more difficult it is to frame an answer to the question, ‘What do you want me to do for you?’ or to respond with the passionate intensity of Bartimaeus, ‘Let me see again.’ Yet, in the end, it is Bartimaeus who most nearly represents for us the pattern of what it means to follow Christ. He may have been blind, but the depth of his inward sight surpasses that of the crowd, and perhaps of the disciples too.
There’s an ancient Japanese art called ‘Kintsugi,’ meaning, ‘joined with gold.’ Pottery, broken accidentally or deliberately, is repaired using lacquer mixed with powdered gold, joining all the breaks, filling all the cracks. It can create items of astonishing beauty, and it’s a lesson, not just in sustainability, but in how our own flaws and imperfections may be cause for celebration and wonder.
(I’m reminded of the words from a Leonard Cohen song, ‘There is a crack in everything, that’s how the light gets in.’)
Jesus’ healing of Bartimaeus isn’t a one-sided miracle. Within the relationship of trust, instigated by Jesus, Bartimaeus brings his need and his brokenness, and that allows the synergy to happen – something beautiful is created. In the same way, when we bring our need, our own brokenness to God, we too are promised a golden blessing. For we are allowing ourselves, more than that, we are offering ourselves, to be remade – to become, as St Paul might put it, ‘God’s work of art.’
‘Teacher, let me see again… Immediately he regained his sight and followed him on the way.’