THIRTIETH SUNDAY "B"

THIRTIETH SUNDAY OF THE YEAR Cycle “B”

Mk 10, 46 – 52: The Blind Bartimaeus

Introduction:

The Entrance Antiphon provides the motif for today’s Eucharist. It calls upon us to rejoice as we seek the Lord. Looking for God is a matter of great happiness. The Entrance verse continues to say, “Seek the Lord and his strength, seek always the face of the Lord.”

To rejoice is a commandment; to be sad is a sin. The root cause of sadness is neglecting to seek the Lord.

Let us enter today’s celebration with joy, confessing the Lord’s mercy and goodness towards us.

THE HOMILY

There’s a century’s old Zen story, helped along by the author John Kiley, which I don’t mind telling you, since it gives a socko opening for this Gospel. The grandchildren in a particular family suddenly realised that their blind grandfather was missing. After a frantic search, they found him planting saplings in a nearby field. They went ballistic. The old gentleman calmly explained: “But don’t you see how future generations will admire these trees?” The blind grandfather could see. His family, each with 20/20 vision, were blind. The most woeful are not those who are blind but rather those who refuse to see.

If you are enlightened you will see things as they really are, free of distortion or fantasy. The “enlightened one” is the title attributed to Siddartha Gautama, a prince of ancient India and founder of Buddhism. The following parable is attributed to him. A man travelling across a field encountered a tiger. He fled. The tiger went after him. Coming to a precipice, he caught hold of the root of vine, and swung himself over the edge. The tiger sniffed at him and growled from above. Trembling, the man looked down to where far below another tiger was waiting to grab him. Only the vine sustained him. But then, two rats, one white the other black, began to gnaw away at the vine root. The man saw a luscious strawberry near him. Clinging to the vine with one hand, he reached out and plucked the strawberry with the other and put it into his mouth. How sweet it tasted! Sweeter than anything he had known before. (Can you draw your conclusion? Yes, in moments of extreme crisis we appreciate the smallest favours as never before. We are enlightened to see goodness in the smallest things).

I am reminded of a quotation of Dr. Samuel Johnson. Speaking in court he observed: “Depend upon it, sir, when a man knows he is to be hanged, it concentrates his mind wonderfully.” Crisis produces concentration, which in turn produces enlightenment. Of course, we don’t need to be hanged to be enlightened. God is so good that he enlightens us through any beautiful experience, especially of being loved, forgiven and healed.

But the point is that we need awakening

Sometimes we need some vital shock like a stark confrontation with death to jerk us awake. And the real issues of life also jump into hard-edged focus. What have I been doing with my life? Where is it leading me? What should I do? People who have woken up in this way often report that they’ve suddenly seen the futility of living for themselves. To do something for the general good seems far more important. New processes of spiritual development are set in motion, too. And the great issue of what lies beyond death has to be squarely addressed.

One method is to cultivate the practice of awareness, of just observing ourselves and the world as they are, without judgement, without grasping or pushing them away, without trying to change anything. This means being here, now, fully conscious of the present moment. Awareness and realism are great sources of strength. It not only calms us down but it puts us in touch with the centre, the centre that is not agitated by the hurly burly of the world and all the problems that beset us. And in that still centre we shall perceive Jesus saying: “I am the Light.”

 In the time of Jesus blindness was very common. Hygiene was primitive. Ophthalmologists with their magic eye drops and wonderful lasers had not yet arrived on the scene. The interesting thing about today’s Gospel is that the blind man had a proper name, Bartimaeus , despite the fact that St. Mark is not famous for giving  names to his characters. As Jesus walked by, dear old Bart gave an exuberant cheer. William Blake wrote, “Exuberance is beauty.” Bartimaeus’ eyes may have been empty, but his lungs were made of leather. Onlookers tried to close him down; they had little patience for the handicapped. When was the last time you and I made life easier for a handicapped

person ? 

St. Mark says that Bartimaeus kept on shouting, which is his way of telling us that if you want something from Jesus, you must keep after him, pestering and shouting and shoving. Don’t bluff yourself by saying, “He’s very busy. He’s got the whole world on his hands.” Also from this incident, one learns something about the Teacher. Though everyone else lost their cool with the blind man’s bellowing, Jesus did not. So, obviously, he will not get annoyed with you if you make a nuisance of yourself with persistent prayer to him. Did you notice something peculiar? Bartimaeus shouts, “Jesus, Son of David, have pity on me ! That was clearly a Messianic title. Like the blind grandfather planting trees, Bartimaeus, though blind, could see. His instincts and intuition were as sharp as a fresh razor blade. The divinity of Jesus came flashing across to him like a powerful laser. And Jesus did nothing to shush him up. Quite unusual with the Teacher. So Bartimaeus became the first person on record from whom Jesus accepted an acknowledgement of his Messiahship.

Jesus pauses in mid-syllable, pushes aside his own schedule and gives Bartimaeus centre stage. More importantly he gives him his sight. “What do you want me to do for you ?” Bartimaeus goes for all the dishes on the table. “Master, let me see again.” He gets his wish. St. Mark’s point is none too subtle. When you come to Jesus, don’t ask for small change, demand the crores. Jesus obviously enjoys the company of people who want the moon as well as the stars. He is one generous giver, and if we forget it, we are the losers. John Newton, the slave trader turned hymn writer, put it this way: “Thou are coming to a King. Large petitions with thee bring.”

This is the last healing miracle in St. Mark’s gospel. In his VIP model Bartimaeus, Mark presents a trinity worth pondering. The blind fellow begins with a need. Secondly, he offers heartfelt thanks to his Healer. Finally, in Mark’s economic prose, “he followed him along the road.” He had not even taken the time to go back for the cloak he had thrown off at Jesus’ summons. That trinity is what Christian discipleship is all about:  need, gratitude,  and an enthusiastic enlistment in the Lord’s service. We would do well to take a page out of dear Bart’s biography. Let us not be among those who, though not blind, still refuse to see.

 Perhaps we can try to wake up, at least once today, to be aware of ourselves – the simple but often overlooked fact that we are here now. We can then go on to take a dispassionate two way look: firstly, in at ourselves, and secondly, out at the world. Just looking. As they say in the ads: the effect may be startling.

PRAYER:

Lord Jesus Christ, who stopped to listen

to blind Bartimaeus in his great need,

look also on me with your still gaze of love.

Restore my inward sight,

renew my sense of self-worth,

and take hold of my hands

as I join you on the way.

Give me a simple and humble faith which is unashamed to approach you in need. Give me the courage, perseverance and tenacity of Bartimeus so I too may approach you with freedom and confidence for enlightenment and clarity of vision. Amen.

“Jesus, son of David, have pity on me.” What about these words would cause the crowd around Jesus to rebuke “the blind in their midst” and try to silence him? 

The Gospel reading for this week hinges on a single phrase: “son of David.”

For the Jews, this was a title pregnant with Messianic significance: David’s heir, the one to usher in the everlasting kingdom, the fulfillment of all their longings —  this was the son of David promised in the Scriptures.

“Who do men say that I am?” Jesus had asked his disciples earlier in the Gospel of Mark, after curing another blind man. Their answer explains the crowds’ dismay at the bold cry of blind Bartimaeus. “John the Baptist, and others Elijah, and others one of the prophets,” they reply. No one was saying that Jesus was the Messiah. No one was calling him “son of David.” Only his closest followers know the truth: “You are the Christ.” It was to be their secret — for now.

But a blind beggar on the outskirts of society must have been listening intently to the words of Jesus and to the reports about him. Deep in his darkness, like rich soil, the seeds of the word had fallen on good ground and suggested the secret to Bartimaeus, too. He may not have had sight, but he had “ears to hear” (Mark 4:9). And he had heard.

He had more than heard. He had been growing faith in the darkness — “growing up increasing and yielding thirtyfold and sixtyfold and a hundredfold” (Mark 4:8) — until, learning that Jesus is passing by, his belief spills out into a cry for mercy: “Jesus, son of David, have pity on me.” Despite the protests of the crowd, he calls out all the more. His determination grows. He is unhesitant, unflinching. Now it is Jesus’ turn to hear. And he, too, hears.

Bartimaeus leaps at Jesus’ summons. He doesn’t need to be told twice. This is his moment with the One he — and all of Israel — has been waiting for. This was the Savior who would free a nation and who had the power to free him from his prison of darkness. Already a ribbon of light had wound itself into his mind; already a morning star shone within. Day was dawning, and at the words of Jesus, the sun rose on a new life for this man of faith: “Go your way; your faith has saved you.” And he who had seen the truth in his heart could now see with his eyes.

But there is only one “way” for Bartimaeus, and that is with the Messiah. He follows Jesus who is on his way to Jerusalem for the last time, who is “taken from among men and made their representative before God, to offer gifts and sacrifices for sins,” as the second reading from Hebrews reminds us, to give the ultimate sacrifice and to glorify “the one who said to him: You are my son: This day I have begotten you.”

The son of David is the Son of God. What a gift to know and believe. Do we truly “see” him in the midst of our struggles and believe in the power he has over the dark places in our own lives? Do we have the courage to call out to him in our brokenness and name our hopes? 

He has ears, and he will hear.