The Thirtieth Sunday in Ordinary Time – B: October 29, 2006

Jeremiah 31:7-9
Hebrews 5:1-6
Mark 10:46-52

Dear Jesus,

The thought of being blind terrifies me. I don’t even want to imagine what it would be like to live in that kind of darkness, never to see the first rays of morning light or to watch transfixed by the shades and shadows of evening giving way to twilight and night. What would it be like not to be able to look into the ink-black sky and see the stars? Never to look into the eyes of a beloved and recognize devotion there?

Then, there is Bartimaeus who cried out to you on the road near Jericho. A beggar, he sat in desperation in the byway as the crowds, the disciples, and you passed by. He heard the noise. He felt the motion. He had to ask who was causing the tumult. Judging by his reaction, he must have heard about you before. What had he heard? Had someone told him that you touched a deaf person’s ears and that one heard? Had he heard the stories about you empowering people to walk? Had he marveled when he was told about the crowds you fed with the few loaves and couple of fish? Had he stored up all of this and concluded that the one who did all these marvelous things must be the Son of David, the Messiah, the one who could make him see?

Did he embarrass people when he shouted out to you? Did it seem unseemly that he make such a display of his need? As they rebuked him, did they tell him he should be more discreet? Should piety be quieter?

And how did you hear Bartimaeus’ voice in the midst of the din? What made you stop and have him brought to you? But it seems that some of the people had a different attitude and were less inclined to rebuke? Were they your disciples, those who had come to the same conclusion that Bartimaeus had? Is that why they were able to calm his fears as they brought him to you? Were they the very ones who had told him the stories that created the hunger in his heart and gave him the confidence to cry out?

I wish I could have been there. But where would I have been? Would I have been one of the crowds trying to hush Bartimaeus? Would I have been one of those calming his fear and bringing him to you? Or, would I have been Bartimaeus?

It occurs to me that there is more than physical blindness involved in this moment. Is this event that comes just before your triumphant entry into Jerusalem a glimpse of how the kingdom you are establishing is meant to work? Those who know you need to help others find you. Isn’t that right? Finding you, proclaiming you as Messiah and Lord is not enough and are not realizations that one can keep for one’s self. With you it is all about service.

That’s what faith communities and parishes should be about. Gathering in the midst of the crowds, in the midst of those who do not yet know you, whose values may be contrary to your Gospel’s, these people whom you baptized feast on every word you speak and on your body and blood. They are in the process of being formed into your other selves. And they are sent to put what they have heard and what they have eaten and drunk into practice. Go out and tell the whole world the Good News. It’s about building up your kingdom through the pouring out of self in service. To aspire to anything else is to give testimony to the fact that the basic conversion has not taken place. I want to be in the community of the converted, the ones who know you and testify to that knowledge by imitating you even to the carrying of the cross.

But what if I were Bartimaeus? It would mean that I recognized by weaknesses and dependencies whether or not I am actually blind. I would have sat at the feet of those who told the stories? I would have taken in the testimony of those who had been touched by you, those you plunged into the waters and drew out to new life. But all those encounters and all those witness stories would not mean that I would be able to believe. I would still need more. I would still need you.

Bartimaeus cried out. You heard his voice. You invited others to bring him to you. And when he had thrown off his only possession, the cloak that would shade him from the noonday sun and shelter him while he slept in the chill of the night, when he had given up everything and come to you, you asked him what he wanted.

Teacher, I want to see. But it is more that he wants than the ability to see the trees and the sky. Isn’t it true that he wants to know and believe the truth he has been told? For Bartimaeus to see means to believe, to become a disciple.

You affirm the incipient faith. With a simple command you empower him to see. But how can he go on his own old way as you suggest. He will never be the same. The old way is meaningless now. To see the way Bartimaeus does is to know that life has no meaning without you. To believe means from this day forward he must follow you on the way.

Jesus, I want to see.

Sincerely,

Didymus