Rev. Eugene N. Nelson, Jr.
The Community Church of Sebastopol
October 26, 2003
Mark 10: 46-52
It seems like such a straightforward story – not particularly complicated, no ambivalence. Jesus is leaving Jericho on his way to Jerusalem. On the edge of the city, a blind beggar, Bartimaeus, knowing that Jesus is going by, cries out, springs up, and speaks straight from his heart. His faith is undeniable, “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!” as Jesus acknowledges his faith and immediately the man’s eyes are opened and he can see. Then, rather than going back home, he chooses to become a disciple, following Jesus on the way, which interestingly, now is the way to Jerusalem. It is a perfect story, full of courage, compassion, faith, even complete with a happy ending.
And it is also a story about us. Episcopal priest, Barbara Brown Taylor says: “It is a story about the kingdom of God, and we want it for our own: to encounter Jesus, to be called to him by name, to find the words to tell him what we want, and to be healed, illumined, made whole. That is what we want, isn’t it? To trade whatever blindness each of us has got, to trade it in on sight, so that we can see – see ourselves, see our world, see Jesus clearly without cloud or shadow. That is what we want, isn’t it?”
Well, isn’t it?
I’m sure many of you are familiar with Annie Dillard’s classic, Pilgrim at Tinker Creek. In her book is a chapter simply titled, “Seeing,” a chapter in which she quotes extensively from a book called, Space and Sight,” by Marius von Senden, a book about the first people in the world, several of them young, to undergo successful cataract surgery. All blind from birth, they suddenly received their sight and then were interviewed about what they saw. Their stories are both strange and moving, and some not a little sad, as they describe the world as a newborn child or an alien might upon seeing it all for the first time.
One newly sighted girl was shown a batch of photographs by her mother. “Why do they put those dark marks all over them?” she asked. “Those aren’t dark marks,” her mother explained, “they’re shadows.” Another girl was so stunned by the radiance of the world that she kept her eyes shut for two weeks. When she finally opened them she saw only a field of light against which everything seemed to be in motion. She could not distinguish objects, but gazed at everything around her, saying over and over again, “Oh God! How beautiful!”
But not everything was beautiful to these patients. Unable to judge distances, they would sometimes reach out for things that were yards away, or cracked their shins on pieces of furniture they perceived only as patches of color. The world turned out to be much bigger than they thought, bigger and infinitely more complex. They began to understand the tremendous size of the world, a world which had once seemed more intimate and manageable. It took a lot of mental effort. Many actually fell into depression. Some became terribly self-conscious about their appearance, while others refused to go out at all. The distressed father of one young girl wrote her surgeon that his daughter had taken to shutting her eyes when she walked around the house, and that she never seemed happier than when she pretended to be blind again. One fifteen-year-old boy demanded to be taken back to the local home for the blind. “I can’t stand it!” he said, “If things aren’t changed, I’ll tear my eyes out!”
Tear your eyes out? Pretend you are still blind? After being rescued from a life of darkness, after being brought into the light and presented with a world of color, depth, movement and wondrous sights? Tear your eyes out? Why? “It’s just too much…too much to see, to take in, to do, to be. It was better before…it was better in the dark. The world was smaller, quieter, safer” “But this is what you were made for. You were made to see!” “Thanks, but I would rather not.”
Which brings me back to our straightforward, uncomplicated, happy-ending story. Could it be that this story might not be quite so straightforward after all? “Take heart! Get up! He is calling you, yes you!” Bartimaeus literally springs up and goes to Jesus. No hesitation. Is that what you would do? Is that what any of us would do? Because that is what this story is about – to decision to see or not to see. You could say it is really more of a “call story” than a “healing story.” In the words of Taylor, “How will we have it? You can stay where you are. You can sit in your familiar dark where all the edges are rounded off so that you will not hurt yourself, where you need only concern yourself with yourself and all that is within your reach. You do not want to make a spectacle of yourself, after all, and it probably will not work anyway. No sense getting your hopes up; no sense thinking of yourself as a person who might see. Stay with what you know.” Sometimes blindness is a lot easier to deal with, a lot more comfortable. There is so much we don’t want to see.
I remember once I had a very early meeting. I had to dress up a little bit, put on a sports coat, some gray slacks. I got out my black loafers that went well with the outfit and went off to my meeting. Got there, went in and sat down and looked down… oops…brown loafer. Oh well, I guess that will be okay – not great, but it will work… till I looked at my other foot – black loafer! You know, sometimes there are things you just don’t want to see.
Derek Penwell, a Disciples of Christ minister, tells this true story, a story in which he went to teach something and found himself learning something: “I was in the mountains of Mexico, working at a church camp. Ninety young people from some of the poorest parts of Mexico were gathered for this week of camp. I was the featured speaker.
“We gathered for class one day. I was teaching about forgiveness, and I did something I’ve done before when teaching young people about forgiveness. I was trying to make the point that forgiveness is not easy, its not for the weak. I asked if anyone had twenty pesos – then about $1.90. A young girl, who couldn’t have been more than twelve years old, brought me a twenty-peso bill. I thanked her and told her she could sit down. Reluctantly, she took her seat. I then told one of the other kids to take the twenty pesos and go buy my translator and me a Coke. After a few minutes, the boy returned with two Cokes and ten pesos change. I called the young girl back up front and said, ‘If you are going to forgive me, it’s going to cost you twenty pesos. Are you willing to forgive me?’
“Everything in my little object lesson went according to form up to this point. Everyone laughed in all the appropriate places. But when I asked that girl if she were willing to forgive me, even though it cost her twenty pesos, her eyes got wide and filled with tears. With a frightened look, and tears silently crawling down her cheeks, she slowly shook her head.”
Penwell concludes, “Up to then, I labored under the illusion that I was in control, that I had a pretty good understanding of how the world works in God’s new kingdom. Being a good liberal, I thought I knew a little bit about poverty and the plight of the disenfranchised. But when I saw the expression of horror on that young girl’s face at the prospect of losing $1.90 to a gringo preacher who already had more than enough, when I saw the tears and the slow, rhythmic shaking of the head, I finally got a glimpse of how the world really works. But I had to take lessons from a poor little girl in the middle of nowhere to be able finally to see.”
“Jesus, Son of David have mercy on me. Jesus, Son of David, let me see again!” Let me see. But do we really want to see? Gosh, it did seem like such a straightforward story, didn’t it? The connections between seeing and believing are so strong in the Gospels that these miracles worked through Jesus always seem more about growing in faith than taking off dark glasses. And so, although Bartimaeus was blind to many things, he clearly saw who Jesus was. The disciples, who should be able to see, seem to be the last ones to figure things out. And the Pharisees, the religious leaders for heaven’s sake, are referred to as “blind guides;” they may have 20-20 vision, but they are spiritually blind and never really see, unlike Bartimaeus, who Jesus really is. And us? What was that line from the Grateful Dead – “You got two good eyes, but you still can’t see.”
In the words of Derek Penwell: “We’re so often sure where Jesus is headed, so certain of our ability to understand where Jesus is going. Our lives go along so smoothly. We go to church, coach little league, and bring our old clothes to the Salvation Army. Our view of the world is constructed such that, while we may not always be heroes, we're usually on the side of truth and justice. We may have our little idiosyncrasies, but when all is said and done, we figure we have a pretty good handle on how the reign of God will play out. But what if Jesus doesn’t share our perspective of the world? What if we find out that following Jesus isn’t about reconfirming all the things we already believed anyway? What if discipleship entails being given new sight, reordering our understanding of the way the world works so that we finally see the way Jesus sees it?” He wanted to teach about forgiveness; it became a lesson in seeing.
After the murderous regime of the Khmer Rouge was swept away in Cambodia, many western doctors went to that broken country to attend to the survivors of the genocide. They discovered a number of blind women. Thorough examinations revealed absolutely nothing wrong with their eyes, but they could not see a thing. Further study brought the doctors to a fascinating but deeply troubling and tragic conclusion. These women, who had been forced to watch husbands and children tortured and slaughtered, their villages burned to the ground, had simply chosen to see nothing further. Something in their psyche just turned off, protecting them from witnessing any more of the terror surrounding them. Not hard to understand why they would just want to turn off the light.
Thankfully our situation is not nearly so tragic, but blindness can be tempting – the darkness can be so safe, so familiar, a world we can control, not much change required, don’t have to see what we don’t want to see. Let’s just let Jesus walk on by. Or, with Bartimaeus dare we say, “Lord, let me see.” Dare we cry out, spring up, damn the torpedoes and good riddance to caution, to propriety, to the fear that keeps us in the dark. “Get up! He is calling you!” Are you willing to see or not? And if you are willing, are you willing to see everything there is, the good along with the awful, the lovely along with the monstrous – in yourself, in everyone you meet, in the world? Are you willing to bruise your shins, to learn your way around the obstacles and through the newness of it all? Are you willing to bruise your heart? Then go your way, because your faith has made you well. Go your way, seeing as if for the first time. Or, if having gained your sight, your own way does not look so appealing anymore, then try another way. It leads to Jerusalem, through a garden, past a cross, to an empty tomb. It is not always easy, not always scenic, not without pain, but wait until you see what is there at the end, or better yet, who is there at the end. What’s that you say? You have not been invited. Take heart! Get up! He is calling you!’