The musician and composer who led our Sunday morning worship a few weeks ago, Paul Vasile, leads workshops in paperless singing across the country. He asks a question in those workshops, after the group has learned and sung a new piece together. Not “what did you like?” or “what was difficult?” or even “quick, was that in a major or minor key?” but the simple question,
What did you notice?
And generally that’s followed by quiet, as we think, and, perhaps, as we listen again, going back through in our minds and inner ears what we’ve just sung and listened to together. What did we notice?
It’s a wonderful question, and it’s a good one to bring to a classroom, or a Bible study, or a choir rehearsal. It causes us to stop and reflect, to comment without evaluating, and maybe to listen, to experience the music a little more closely the next time. It exercises our senses in different ways.
This morning’s Gospel reading (Mark 10:46-52) is about the senses – about listening, and about seeing. There is some wonderful storytelling in this passage, some real drama – conflicts of emotion and social status, a conversation with a beggar-slash-prophet, a miraculous healing.
***
When I first read the lectionary for this Sunday, I felt some sense of relief. The last few times I’ve preached, the topics have been a bit dark – the beheading of John the Baptist, the story of David and Bathsheba and Uriah. Or the time has been dark – Ash Wednesday, Maundy Thursday.
Today’s readings are bright, hopeful. Job’s fortunes are restored after trial and tribulation; Jesus listens to a blind, impoverished man and gives him his sight. From the Psalm: “I sought the Lord and he answered me and delivered me out of all my terror – taste and see that the Lord is good – happy are they who trust in him!”
But after this week, when pipe bombs have shown up in mailboxes, and a gunman killed two black people in a Kroger in Kentucky and another gunman killed 11 people in a synagogue in Pittsburgh, I wonder, how do we read these miracles? How do we rejoice with Job? How do we trust that God will deliver us out of our terror? How do we say God is good? How many of us are asking these same questions?
If we read a little deeper, I think we find that in fact, today’s texts answer those questions, though not with quick, easy solutions or comforting, comfortable platitudes.
***
So what did you notice in today’s Gospel?
I noticed a few things. First of all, the name of the beggar. The fact that the beggar was named. The fact that he was called “the son of Timaeus” – this little reminder that this blind human being begging by the side of the road had a name, and had parents, a family. And as I did a little digging, I discovered that his name – Bartimaeus – may have in itself have been a message to the original hearers of the story. Bar means “son of” – so, son of Timaeus. Timai or Tamaios, however, are a source of some argument – some say that half of his name is from the Greek, Tamaios, meaning “honor.” Some say it could be from the Aramaic Timai, meaning “impure” or “defilement” or “fear.” One writer makes the point I like the most – that it might have been intended as a play on words. Bartimaeus, the blind, probably homeless, ragged, annoying and loud person by the side of the road, was seen in his day as defiled, impure, of lowly family, but the writer of the Gospel also wanted to make another point –Bartimaeus was both lowly and honored. And that is one of the deepest messages Christ came to deliver.
Second, I noticed that even though Bartimaeus is blind, he sees better than anyone else there. He knows Jesus for who he is. “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me.” He has no doubt of the man who is there, and if he can’t see him with his eyes, he perceives the light and truth of who he is, and the healing he brings. He persists. The crowd around him tells him to be quiet, not to talk to Jesus. But Jesus turns, listens and answers, and in doing so calls Bartimaeus honored.
Third, I noticed that Jesus calls Bartimaeus, and Bartimaeus comes, throwing off his cloak, maybe in a bit of defiance against that crowd. “What do you want me to do for you?” Jesus asks, and Bartimaeus doesn’t ask for power, like the disciples did in last week’s reading, or for riches or revenge, but just to see. To connect again with the world around him, even though it is not an easy world, even though it is a world that has not been kind to him.
Last, Bartimaeus calls Jesus “teacher.” The King James Bible translates this as “Lord,” but in most of the other translations I looked at he calls Jesus “teacher,” or “rabbi,” or “rabboni.” And when Jesus gives him his sight again, Bartimaeus doesn’t return home – he follows Jesus on the way – he changes his life, and steps into the unknown, in a world he has not seen with his own eyes before. He does not only want to see again, but he wants to learn, to change, to grow.
***
“I know that you can do all things,
and that no purpose of yours can be thwarted.”
Those words, from Job.
The news yesterday was full of updates from Pittsburgh, the photos of family and friends standing with arms around each other, reading words of faith together; people bringing coffee and donuts and support, reports of patients in hospitals, neighbors locking their doors in the homes surrounding the Tree of Life synagogue, which holds in its sacred worship spaces three Jewish congregations. As I followed news reports and Twitter commentaries I found my way to the synagogue’s blog, with reflections written by their Rabbi, Jeffrey Myers. News reports pointed out that he has recently written about politics and gun control, suggesting possible connections between his words and yesterday morning’s events. Among the blog topics – staff changes, an announcement about a men’s group, youth service projects, our dependence on our iPhones and ideas for Passover Seder – I found a few pieces that seemed all the more poignant given what happened yesterday.
Earlier this month, Rabbi Myers wrote about Noah and the flood, saying:
“God sets the rainbow as a permanent promise to never flood the earth and destroy humanity. The partnership that was begun in the Garden of Eden now takes shape… I know that we can and must do better; so do you. There is a different kind of flood that the world needs. The inhabitants of this planet must flood it with goodness and kindness, to wash away the evil that has arisen.”
And then, just three days ago, reflecting on the celebration of a new child:
“We value joy so much in Judaism that upon taking our leave from a funeral or a shiva house, the customary statement one makes is ‘nor oyf simches’ – only for [joy]. While death is inevitable and a part of life, we still take our leave with the best possible blessing, to meet at joyous events.”
***
“I know that you can do all things,
and that no purpose of yours can be thwarted.”
Job’s words hold so much hope. No purpose of God’s can be thwarted. God’s purpose is love, and a heaven and earth where all live and love together.
Are we the blind beggar, or are we the crowd holding him back? Are we Jesus, noticing, listening and honoring? Are we asking Jesus the right questions?
If we ask him for sight, what will we notice? Are we willing to step into the unknown, to follow a way through a world that is violent, that doesn’t practice compassion or kindness as it should, that tries to silence the beggar?
If we flood the world with goodness, we are part of that purpose that cannot be thwarted.
If we see honor in everyone around us, even the beggars on the street, even those who do not hold our religious or political beliefs – and yes, even those who feel that guns are the only answer – then we are part of that purpose that cannot be thwarted.
If we step onto the road, insist on engaging with the world, we are part of that purpose that cannot be thwarted.
If we ask not for power and glory, but for vision, we are part of that purpose that cannot be thwarted.
If we pray to meet in joy, to celebrate and to love, even in the midst of death and sadness, we are part of that purpose that cannot be thwarted.
And so I say to you, nor oyf simches, always, only for joy.
Amen.
We remember:
Rose Mallinger, Holocaust survivor, 97
Cecil and David Rosenthal, two brothers in their 50s
Bernice Simon and her husband, Sylvan, in their 80s
Joyce Fienberg, 75
Richard Gottfried, 65
Jerry Rabinowitz, 66
Daniel Stein, 71
Melvin Wax, 88
Irving Younger, 69
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
We remember:
Vickie Lee Jones, 67
Maurice E. Stallard, 69
Jeffersontown, Kentucky
Lists of those lost from Washington Post and New York Times
Sermon at St. Elizabeth’s Episcopal, Roanoke, Va., October 28, 2018
Lectionary for the Day:
Gospel According to Mark 10:46-52;
Job 42:1-6, 10-17; Psalm 34:1-8, 19-22