BARTIMAEUS' EXAMPLE
Psalm 126
Mark 10:46-52
Probably most of us have had this
experience with a two-year-old. Little Johnny wants something and
wants it now. Stubbornly determined, he flails his arms, utters
unintelligible words, and perhaps even stomps his little foot.
But you don't get it. In fact, you have no clue what he
wants. So you start the litany. "Cookie?"
"Diaper?" "Blankie?"
With each futile suggestion, Johnny grows more frustrated by his
inability to communicate his needs. Finally he screws up his face
and begins to cry. When you pick him up, he arches his back,
turns beet red, and howls at a decibel level sure to rouse the
neighbors. Clearly he is on the verge of a full-blown tantrum you
are powerless to prevent. You simply cannot fathom his wants or
needs. And maybe even Johnny himself doesn't know what he wants.
I'm wondering if we aren't sometimes like Johnny—aware that something
is missing from our lives, but unable to put our fingers on exactly
what that something is. Perhaps it is a feeling of vague
spiritual dis-ease or a sense that we have failed, as yet, to recognize
and fulfill our purpose in life. And so we flounder, sending up
unfocused prayers, even trying to tailor God's response to our limited
view of the situation.
On the other side of the coin, God may sometimes feel like Johnny's
parent—bombarded by the unclear, inarticulate demands of his children
and dismayed by our feeble attempts to program the solutions.
Consider today's Gospel story about Bartimaeus. "What do
you want me to do for you?" Jesus asked the blind beggar. The
answer was direct and unequivocal: "My teacher, let me see again."
The miracle of the restoration of Bartimaeus' sight has much to teach
us about hope, prayer, and perseverance. A bit of
background. In biblical times, blindness was considered God’s
punishment for sin. Beggars were the lowliest form of humanity.
Bartimaeus undoubtedly spent long hours sitting on the hot, dusty
roadside, reviled and spat upon. "Alms," he would cry out.
"Alms for the poor." Probably more often than not, his request
was ignored. What earthly reason had such a man to hope for
anything, much less the healing of his blindness?
Yet hope he did. As the months and years passed and he still had
received no cure, he somehow continued to believe that healing was
possible. Otherwise, how could he have identified Jesus as his
deliverer?
Beyond that, Bartimaeus had refined his prayer. It was eyesight
he needed—not the offer of a job, a respected position in society, or
riches dumped into his outstretched hands.
So when the time came, though unable to "see," he not only recognized
Jesus, but in a way no one else in Mark's Gospel yet
had. By calling Jesus "Son of David," Bartimaeus was the
first to acknowledge Jesus as the long-awaited Messiah.
But Bartimaeus' healing was not simply a matter of refining his prayer
in light of self-awareness. He also had to overcome the
obstacle of the crowd, ordering him to be quiet and horrified that he,
the lowliest of the low, would dare bother the Master. One
can picture the scowls and eye-rollings as Bartimaeus persevered.
"Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!"
Bartimaeus, despite his blindness, clearly had faith in God's promises
of goodness and mercy and, in that understanding, had found the ability
to hope and persevere.
Likewise, if we are to persevere, we can draw upon our own experiences
of prayer, faith, and grace.
Concerning patience and staying the course, the writer Elaine M.
Prevallet puts it this way: " . . . one must be tuned in to the inner
world where values, priorities, and commitments are weighed. . . .
Because at the deepest level, the critical question is: Why are we
doing what we're doing? What are we going after? What is it
that we want to be faithful to? Perseverance must be anchored in
the most deeply held truth and love of our hearts." [Weavings,
"Perseverance and Discernment," Vol. XX, No. 4, p. 26.]
Bartimaeus must have spent some of those long, boring days on the side
of the road pondering these same questions, until he defined his basic
need, focused his prayer, and persevered. He had knowledge of the
Messiah, he was willing to wait with patience and hope, and in God's
time, He was healed.
It is, indeed, in God's good time that we are delivered, and often only
after we have searched our souls and shed the protective layers of
self-delusion. Brother Lawrence in his gem of a book The
Practice of the Presence of God says this about our relationship
with God: ". . . we ought to act very simply towards God, speaking
frankly to Him, and asking His help in things as they [occur]."
When we do, Brother Lawrence says, "God never [fails] to give [that
help]."
Simplicity, frankness, and a request for help. God knows us
better than we know ourselves. Unlike Johnny's frustrated parent,
God is aware of our needs whether or not we are able to articulate
them. And in his mercy and compassion, He gives us what is
healthy and good for us.
When we are able to acknowledge our own blindness, pray frankly,
and ask for that which has the potential to both heal and bless us, our
faith, like that of Bartimaeus can make us whole.
Contrary to many other Gospel accounts of healing, Bartimaeus’ story
does not end with the healed person's dashing off to spread the good
news, despite Jesus' usual request to avoid such publicity.
Instead, we are told, "Immediately [Bartimaeus] regained his sight and
followed him on the way."
And this was not just any "way." Following the restoration of
sight to Bartimaeus, the rest of his Mark's Gospel chronicles Jesus'
fateful journey to Jerusalem and the cross.
Bartimaeus’ immediate and spontaneous act in following Jesus on that
way stands in stark contrast to the rich, young man who went away from
Jesus, grieving, "for he had many possessions" and to James and John,
more concerned with their favored status at Jesus' right hand than with
being the slaves of all.
In his own way, Bartimaeus understood a great deal about
stewardship. We can only begin to imagine what his life was
like—limited, repetitive, lonely, colorless. But although he was
blind, he continued to hope and pray. And when Jesus arrived, he
recognized Him, articulated his need, and was healed. Then, in
response to that healing, he followed, not blindly as before, but with
thanksgiving and commitment.
And isn't that what stewardship is all about? We, too, are given
gifts too numerous to count—the beauty of God's world, the love of
friends and family, the means to feed and nourish both our bodies and
souls, the wisdom gained from life's ups and downs, and the blessed
community of the Eucharist.
And if we think about it, most of us have experienced answers to
prayers, maybe not on the terms we originally dictated to God, but
rather in ways that, because of His love and compassion, were best for
us.
In simplest terms, stewardship is what we do and how we live in
response to God’s abundant gifts. It is who we are when we do His
work.
Stewardship affirms, as does Psalm 126, that "The Lord has done great
things for us." And stewardship is demonstrated when we, like
Bartimaeus, follow Jesus and walk in love.
AMEN
Laura Shoffner
October 25, 2009
St. James'
Eureka Springs, Arkansas