reformation sunday/23rd sunday after pentecost.
the gospel of mark, 10:46-52.
for St. Paul’s House, a Lutheran Life Community, October 28, 2018
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Beloveds, my heart is heavy from the sins of White supremacy and anti-Semitism that are engrained in our culture and manifested this week. Before we explore today’s Gospel text, I would like to offer into the space a prayer of lament and healing.
Let us pray.
Merciful God, on today, Reformation Sunday, let us be a church body ever-reforming closer to your Kingdom.
We renounce the ways our own Christian traditions have been complicit in violence, especially the violence of White supremacy and anti-Semitism.
Embolden us to be faithful in our witness, and to extend hospitality and solidarity to every member of Creation, made good in your Holy image.
We pray this in the name of Jesus the Christ, who responds to our cries of suffering by pulling us into his heart.
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Our relationship to our bodies is complicated. They are incredible forces for transformation, growing and changing throughout our lifetimes, they are our homes, our vessels for experiencing the world. They are also unpredictable, and they wind down, and are vulnerable.
Jesus is a healer. At this point in the Gospel of Mark, Jesus has already healed twelve specific people, with many other multitudes mentioned. This encounter with Bartimaeus is his last healing act before entering Jerusalem, focused on the Cross.
Bartimaeus’ healing narrative is out of sync with the rest of the healing narratives in the Gospel of Mark. One of the most profound differences is that Bartimaeus, the person receiving healing, is named. History has allowed him another part of his identity, outside of class and ability. Jesus also asks what Bartimaeus wants. Jesus doesn’t assume that he wants, or needs, to be healed. There is explicit question and consent around the action Jesus takes on this man’s body, namely, to restore his sight.
Bartimaeus asks to have his vision restored. It would have also been a valid position for him to claim his disability, and ask for accessibility over cure, or to ask for relief of suffering that could take many forms. There are structural, economic, and social biases around disability, from pre-Biblical times through the present. Accessibility has been considered an afterthought, instead of a model to build our lives around. And Bartimaeus has been directly harmed by those systems, and desires cure to subvert those oppressions.
With Jesus’ earthly presence, cure is possible for Bartimaeus. But the miracle in the story doesn’t erase the real harm people with disabled bodies experience on a daily basis, and has set up a false belief for some that you need to be healed to follow Jesus. Instead, Jesus stops and recognizes Bartimaeus before he has been healed.
As someone on the margins of his society, based on economic class and ability, Bartimaeus was probably used to being silenced, and ignored. As he cries out to Jesus, recognizing him as the Messiah, the Son of David, those around him in the crowd tell him to be quiet. He is not Jesus supposed to cry out and state his needs because Jesus has more important places to be, and more important people to minister to. Who is he to claim the attention of Jesus, to ask for care?
But Bartimaeus continues to cry out, even louder, claiming his worth and his humanity, and Jesus responds. Jesus stops. It must’ve been so hard for Bartimaeus to continue to call out. To continue to cry out when his neighbors and community are telling him to be silent. It is exhausting, crying out for basic rights, basic care, justice, when the response is suppression.
Despite the assumptions of the crowd and the disciples about who Jesus should be listening to, who he should be stopping for, or who has the authority to claim their needs, Jesus allows his journey to be interrupted, and gives Bartimaeus agency, asking what he wants Jesus to do. How he wants Jesus to care for him. Jesus encounters Bartimaeus as a full person, deserving of attention and care.
Bartimaeus is the model in this story, not the disciples, or the crowd. After Jesus acknowledges him, he immediately throws off his cloak, drops everything he owns, and goes to Jesus. In the narrative frame, this is in contrast to the young rich man we heard about a few weeks ago, who was unable to drop his belongings and follow Jesus. Bartimaeus is enthusiastic, and vocal, and trusting, and faithful, and those are counter-cultural attributes in societies that wants everything to be smoothed over, and that wants the margins erased and silenced.
This act of discipleship, dropping everything he owns to follow the way of Christ, happens before Bartimaeus is healed. It happens based on the faithfulness of Christ, and on the rumors and stories of healing and liberation that had been circling about Jesus. He was already leaping up to follow Christ before he was cured.
Jesus’ reaction to Bartimaeus is one of agency and care. Jesus stops on his journey, allowing himself to be interrupted, giving his full attention to a man that has been systemically marginalized. For Jesus, Bartimaeus is as important as his disciples, as the young rich man, as the multitudes he has already healed. Jesus stops to heal injustice and reconcile community, attentively listening to those crying out on the margins.
Bartimaeus refuses to be silenced – he cries out even louder, despite the unjust social structures. He claims his worth, the reality of his body, and Jesus listens. Reflecting on this narrative, I wonder what are we keeping from our community, from God, because we fear that we are too sick, too scared, or not worthy of God’s grace? When are we self-silencing in order to keep the peace, despite real harm and violence being done to our bodies, hearts, and communities? What healing would happen if we let ourselves be interrupted, and give care to those crying out?
Amen, and thanks be to God.
Reed Fowler 