I once heard a member of this congregation, who is an avid fan of the works of William Shakespeare, make the comment that one experiences “King Lear” in different ways at different stages in life.
It was an interesting insight.
His observation was rooted in his awareness that our place in life affects the way that we experience the character of Lear himself, as well as how we view his interactions with his daughters as they vie for his affections and attentions in the division of his kingdom, and even how we understand Lear’s tragic descent from power and authority to madness and heartbreak.
Such is the nature of great art – it engages us in the midst of our human experiences, and invites us to “see” those experiences, and the world, and the meaning of life, and sometimes even the nature of God, differently.
Without doubt, Shakespeare was a master of this art of weaving the complexity of human experience into the characters and stories that he wrote.
But then we come to the Bible – and, so often, we wonder if these old stories are in any way relevant to the experiences of our lives, and whether they really have much to offer to us at any stage on the journey.
Consider the stories that are told about Jesus’ interactions with various characters in the Gospel accounts. Healing lepers and casting out demons, curing people who are deaf or blind, defending a woman who is caught in adultery and about to be stoned to death, arguing with the chief priests and scribes about the correct interpretation of the Laws of Moses, getting paralyzed people to stand up, pick up their mats and follow him – yes, they’re nice stories, but what, really, do they have to do with our lives, our experiences, our faith?
After all, most of us have not had many of these experiences. We have never been possessed by demons – at least as far as we know (even on Halloween night!); none of us have likely been dragged off to be stoned to death by an overly moralistic mob of religious fanatics; none of us have had to spend much of our lives in a leper colony, as did so many of the characters in these old stories, and none of us have run so completely afoul of religious and political authorities that we have been crucified. And yet, these are the characters – and these are the experiences – that occupy so much of the Gospel stories, and that we are supposed to look to for guidance in the journey towards our salvation.
But maybe there are ways to read these stories and find resonances to our lives, to our experiences, to our faith. Maybe we just need to “see” things differently in order to “see” ourselves in these texts and “see” what they might be trying to reveal to us, even now.
The story of Bartimaeus is such a story. On the most literal level, it is a fairly straightforward story about Jesus’ interactions with a blind man named Bartimaeus. Bartimaeus, we read, hears that Jesus is passing through Jericho, where Bartimaeus is begging by the roadside. Bartimaeus calls out to Jesus, who stops, and calls Bartimaeus to come to him. Jesus asks him what he wants, the blind man says that he wants to see, Jesus commends his faith, his vision is restored, and Bartimaeus starts following Jesus.
Nice story. But what’s the point?
Is this a story that might only have relevance for those with significant eye problems?
Or, is it more?
In order to delve deeper, it can be good to remember that sight and vision, throughout so much of the Bible, and throughout the Gospel texts, is often a metaphor for enlightenment and faith.
When Jesus’ first disciples are called, in the Gospel of John, they are invited to “come and see” – which implied far more than simply catching a glimpse of Jesus. In other parts of the Gospels, Jesus’ followers are repeatedly told that they should pay attention to what he was saying and doing with reference in order to gain a true vision of what was taking place in his presence. In Matthew 13, for example, he stated to his disciples that the reason why he spoke in sometimes cryptic stories and parables was because those with ears to hear and eyes to see would be able to discern the meaning of what he was saying – but others would be like those that the prophet Isaiah spoke about when he lamented that “you will indeed listen, but never understand, and you will indeed look, but never perceive. For this people’s heart has grown dull, and their ears are hard of hearing, and they have shut their eyes, so that they might not look with their eyes, and listen with their ears, and understand with their heart and turn – and I would heal them.”
As such, in the ancient visions of the prophets, and in the words of Jesus and the Gospel writers, the ability to “see” in a way that would lead to understanding, could have a transformative and healing effect.
If we take, therefore, this one simple theme and lay it alongside the story of Bartimaeus, we begin to catch glimpses of deeper messages in this story.
Bartimaeus, after all, was a man who had lost the ability to see things, in this world, clearly and correctly. His vision of the world around him was confusing, dark, out of focus, challenging, perhaps even dangerous and frightening.
And his inability to see things correctly had led him to a situation of marginalization and of vulnerability. After all, did you notice where he was when he encountered Jesus? The text states that Jesus and his followers were already leaving Jericho when they encountered Bartimaeus on the roadside. As such, Bartimaeus was not even within the protective security of the city gates. He was financially drained and socially ostracized, and had been reduced to begging outside the walls of Jericho; he was desperate, and alone.
But, in spite of the difficult place that he found himself, he nonetheless had a sense that Jesus might have the power to help him. And so, even from the depths of the darkness that surrounded him as he sat on the roadside outside of the gates of Jericho, he called out to Jesus.
“Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!”
Even in that initial stage in the story, it is possible to begin to “see” Bartimaeus differently. After all, Bartimaeus was not the first, nor certainly the last person, to find himself suffering from a lack of vision, caught in a situation when the world is unclear and confusing, feeling trapped and isolated in a dangerous and even frightening time.
Nor was he the last person, in such a time of anxiety and desperation, to cry out for divine help. How many of us, in our most desperate moments, when we can no longer see things clearly, when we feel challenged and vulnerable and desperate and even in danger, find ourselves doing exactly what Bartimaeus did — crying out for help, calling out for some form of divine mercy?
“Jesus, have mercy on me” is not just the cry of one blind beggar on a road leading out of Jericho, a long time ago.
For Bartimaeus, it was, perhaps, a cry of desperation; but perhaps it was also an exclamation born in the confidence that Jesus had both the compassion to have mercy on him, and the power to help him.
But then a challenge is introduced into the story.
In verse 28, we read, “many sternly ordered [Bartimaeus] to be quiet; but he cried out even more loudly.”
There was Bartimaeus, desperately trying to get to Jesus, trying to find his way the one who had the power to restore his vision, and “many” people were telling him – in fact, sternly ordering him — to keep quiet, telling him to keep his problems to himself. Who was this loudmouth who thought that his problems were important enough to take up Jesus’ time?
The challenge is discerned in the ambiguity, in the text, about who the “many” were. We are not sure whether the ‘many’ refer to the people of Jericho who were traveling with Jesus and the disciples, or whether the ‘many’ may have included some of Jesus’ disciples and followers as well. I tend to think that it was a bit of both.
The point is this. Bartimaeus was eagerly, tenaciously trying to get to Christ, and there were people who got in his way and wanted him to keep quiet.
Which again, was not unique to this story.
There are times when people who desperately want to recover a proper perspective and vision on the world, and who have a sense that Jesus might have the power to help them to see, but find that many – including the followers of Jesus – are getting in the way.
We may not actively seek to silence people, but there are ways that we speak, and act, as well as attitudes and priorities that we demonstrate – which get in the way of those who long to “see” Jesus, and let him restore their vision of God, and of life, and of the world.
Those of us who are a part of the church are wise to remind ourselves, and remember, that the point of the church is to help others to “see” Jesus at work in this world – and not get in the way, or discourage those who long to find him.
The good news, of course, is that Jesus still heard Bartimaeus’ cry for help, and responded to him. He listened, and stopped and called Bartimaeus to approach him.
And not only did Jesus pay attention to Bartimaeus, but he asked him an intriguing question – “what do you want me to do for you?” It was a question that allowed Bartimaeus to give voice to hope. This was not a Jesus who merely came along and decided what Bartimaeus needed, or presumptuously used his power to “fix” Bartimaeus – to the contrary, he first asked Bartimaeus to speak of what he wanted, in the presence of Christ. What do you want me to do for you?
“My teacher, let me see again.”
And Jesus response? “Go; your faith has made you well.”
And his vision was restored. In the midst of the man’s confusion, his vulnerability, his fear, his lack of vision, it was the power of faith, the articulation of hope, that gave him new insight, new perspective, and an ability to move forward in his life with renewed vision.
So what do we make of this story? Does it have any resonance, any relevance, any insight to offer to us?
Maybe. But maybe we will not really understand this story until we find ourselves where Bartimaeus was – at a point in our lives when we are suffering from a lack of vision, a feeling of profound confusion, a sense of vulnerability and fear, an inability to see our way clear and to discern the way forward.
Maybe it will be then that the story of Bartimaeus’ experience in the presence of Christ might come back to our minds.
And maybe, if we follow Bartimaeus’ example, calling out for Christ’s help, Christ’s mercy, Christ’s power, we too might experience the rebirth of that transforming power, that faith that gives us eyes to see this world more clearly, to see the presence of Christ more fully, to see the power of God more plainly, and to catch a new vision of what it means to get up and rejoin Christ – and Bartimaeus — on the way.
Thanks be to God.
Amen.
