Bartimaeus is the Model

Twenty-second Sunday after Pentecost
The Gospel of Mark 10:46-52
Preached at Faith Evangelical Lutheran Church (Isanti, MN)
October 24, 2021

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Grace and peace to you from God the Creator, Christ the Liberator, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.

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Good morning! It is such a delight to worship with y’all this morning, as we dwell in the word of God and practice being community together. Something you should know about me is that I am an artist, and a storyteller. And so one of my favorite ways of exploring scripture is by imagining myself – and inviting you to imagine yourself – as the different characters in the text. The story of Bartimaeus, Jesus, the disciples, and the crowd offers us a rich landscape to picture ourselves in. This is one of the healing narratives, and it is a story of discipleship, inviting us to reflect on the times in our lives we have acted like each of the characters, and asking us to boldly shape our lives and our prayers after the model of Bartimaeus.

Bartimaeus is on the margins of his society. He is of a lower economic class, forced to rely on begging to survive, and is living with a disability – he is blind. It’s likely that he is used to being silenced and ignored by members of his community. 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. I wonder how many times Bartimaeus asked for food, or shelter, or a change in how resources were distributed so that he could thrive, and was ignored. I wonder how many times he cried out prophetically, recognizing God in the midst of their community, and was told to stay in his place, to not rock the boat. In this story, Bartimaeus is the first person in the Gospel of Mark to name Jesus as the son of David. As the savior. He has heard the stories of healing and feeding and knows that this Jesus of Nazareth is the beloved child of God. God, incarnate, holy, human.

Despite his community trying to scold him into silence, uncomfortable with his boldness, Bartimaeus continues to cry out, even louder, claiming his worth and his dignity. 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 from the very people you are closest to. And Jesus responds. Jesus stops.

Has there ever been a prayer that you’ve kept from your community, or even from God, because you feared that you were too sick, too disruptive, or not worthy of God’s grace? Has there ever been a time when you have silenced another, dismissing their concerns or their stories? Have you ever self-silenced, despite real harm and violence being done to your body, heart, or community? I wonder what healing would happen if we let ourselves be interrupted, to interrupt, to ask for care, and to give care to those crying out.

Jesus is a healer. At this point in the Gospel of Mark, we know that Jesus has healed twelve specific people, along with unnamed crowds and multitudes. This story is actually his last healing act before he enters Jerusalem, and is handed over to the state.

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. This is not often the case, when we are used to hearing about unnamed women, or unknown multitudes.

Another distinct difference is that Jesus asks what Bartimaeus wants. Jesus doesn’t assume that Bartimaeus wants, or needs, to be cured as we might think of cure. He doesn’t assume that he knows better. Jesus encounters Bartimaeus as a full person, deserving of attention and care. There is explicit question and consent around the action Jesus takes on this man’s body, namely, to restore his sight. By being heard by Jesus, held in compassionate love and care, Bartimaeus is restored.

Bartimaeus asks to have his vision restored. That was his desire, and his choice. That isn’t necessarily the choice that everyone living with a disability would make. Some folks would ask for increased accessibility and awareness. Others would ask for relief of suffering, which 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. Or a false belief that if you aren’t miraculously cured, it must mean that something is wrong with your faith. That is untrue. There is grief wrapped up in this story – for those who want to be cured but haven’t been; for those who don’t think their disability needs to be cured, but instead needs accommodation and care; for those who have been told that they are not welcome through the design of worship services and spaces; for those who have been prayed over without their consent for healing. This grief is part of the legacy of healing narratives in Christianity. And we need to make space for that grief, even as we encounter the story of Bartimaeus as a beautiful and complicated example of discipleship.

Bartimaeus is the model for us 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. He is a follower of Christ before Jesus restores his sight. Bartimaeus has heard the rumors and stories of healing and feeding and liberation that have been circling about Jesus. He recognizes him as salvation, and puts his faith and trust in the liberation that Jesus brings. Bartimaeus was already leaping up to follow Christ before Jesus had done anything for him. And for someone who couldn’t see, throwing off his cloak was a reckless act of faith. We don’t know if his community picked up his cloak and held it for him, or if they left it on the ground, or if they stole from him. He might’ve lost all of his worldly possessions.

But Bartimaeus’ faith in the future Jesus embodied was so strong that he was willing to risk everything he had. Bartimaeus trusts that the way it is now isn’t the way it will be forever, and that God incarnate is transforming the world through their very presence.

As we dwell in this story, reflecting on the times we have been like the crowd, scolding those who state their needs from the margins; on the times we have been like the disciples, not encouraging Bartimaeus nor discouraging the crowd; on the times we have been like Jesus, embracing the interruptions and listening to the prayers of those around us; and on the times we have been like Bartimaeus, crying out, claiming our worth and our dignity, I picture this story like a rock thrown into a puddle of rainwater, creating outward ripples.

How can we live like Bartimaeus, risking everything that we have for the sake of God, and for dreams of a future where the diversity of Creation is celebrated? How can we live our lives modeled after Jesus, caring fiercely for those pushed to the margins, listening, responding, not assuming or silencing? How we create space to honor our grief, our hopes, and our prayers? These questions are part of the healing and transformative work of community. May we take heart, and trust in the mercy and love of God. Amen.