Scripture Mark 10:46-52 (NRSVUE)
They came to Jericho. As he and his disciples and a large crowd were leaving Jericho, Bartimaeus son of Timaeus, a blind beggar, was sitting by the roadside. When he heard that it was Jesus of Nazareth, he began to shout out and say, “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!” Many sternly ordered him to be quiet, but he cried out even more loudly, “Son of David, have mercy on me!” Jesus stood still and said, “Call him here.” And they called the blind man, saying to him, “Take heart; get up, he is calling you.” So throwing off his cloak, he sprang up and came to Jesus. Then Jesus said to him, “What do you want me to do for you?” The blind man said to him, “My teacher, let me see again.” Jesus said to him, “Go; your faith has made you well.” Immediately he regained his sight and followed him on the way.
Sermon
Recently, I was offering to place a member of our congregation on the prayer list. They declined, saying, “Everyone in the world belongs on the prayer list.” And, you know, I get that logic. Each of us has our pain, or our pains. Each of us has a story that sometimes lifts us up with joyful remembrance and sometimes takes us down a rabbit hole of regret or hurt or self-recrimination. Every person in Gaza belongs on our prayer list, as does every person in Israel, and Iran, and Lebanon. Every person in Endicott and Endwell and the Town of Union, everyone in Broome and Tioga counties.
Hurt, fear, injury and illness are everywhere. Another election is coming up in which both sides are sure the success of the other side will mean the world is ending. We lose people we love and wonder how we will survive. Everyone in the world belongs on the prayer list.
At the same time, some stories stand out, like this one, about Bartimaeus, son of Timaeus. Fun fact: Bartimaeus literally, means, son of Timaeus. So, to say, “Bartimaeus, son of Timaeus,” is to say, “son of Timaeus, son of Timaeus.” A little like, Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman. All we know about the blind beggar, other than his difficult and frustrating station in life, is his father’s name. He is the son of Timaeus.
Sitting there with his begging bowl at the side of the road out of Jericho, he catches wind of the Son of David’s presence and begins to shout out to him. “Son of David, have mercy on me!” he shouts. Aside from Jesus himself, the son of Timaeus is the only person to use this title for Jesus in the gospel of Mark. The blind man assigns to Jesus this title of honor—it connects Jesus to David’s line, which suggests the beggar sees him as a royal Messiah. The blind man sees Jesus clearly, as is so often the case in gospel stories. As a result of his shouting, folks shush him—the text doesn’t specify who. We only know that “many” of them do it, because, really, when people are passing by a beggar, often their favorite move is to avert their eyes and pretend they don’t see him. He makes that considerably more difficult when he begins shouting. The son of Timaeus responds to the shushing by shouting all the louder.
Jesus has a different idea than ignoring or silencing this man. He says, as when people are trying to bring him children, “Bring him to me, call him here” And there is a parallel here, because, like the children, the son of Timaeus is on the lowest rung of the social ladder. This is a fascinating moment, because about three different stories of Jesus, that we have all heard this fall, are coming together right now, in this moment. First, stories of children being waved away from Jesus’ presence, followed by Jesus blessing them and proclaiming them the true owners and heirs of God’s kingdom. With Jesus’ blessing, the people urge the son of Timaeus to go to Jesus, saying, “Take heart—get up, he is calling you.” And the man throws off his cloak. Let’s not let this moment pass too quickly. A beggar who has a cloak is far better off than a beggar without one. A cloak is a valuable thing to have. It provides warmth from the cold, shade from the heat, a wrapping or bedding for sleep. It is a treasure to someone in the blind beggar’s position. But when Jesus calls him, he throws it off, as if it were nothing. Of no value. Another story that is echoing in this moment is the story of the rich young man, for whom, as we saw, letting go of his many possessions and much wealth is a bitter pill to swallow. The son of Timaeus is the antithesis of the rich young man. He throws off his cloak and doesn’t give it another thought.
When they come face to face, Jesus asks the man, “What do you want me to do for you?” Does that sound familiar? Just last week, James and John approached Jesus to say, “Teacher, we want you to do for us whatever we ask of you.” And Jesus says, “What is it you want me to do for you?” You know how that story worked out—the request of the sons of Zebedee to be given positions of power in Jesus’ coming administration. Jesus couldn’t promise that. He could only promise that they were all on the way to the cross, together.
This is a very different request. “My teacher, let me see again,” the man says to Jesus. And Jesus’ immediate reply is: “Go. Your faith has made you well.” His faith HAS made him well. But he doesn’t go. Unlike the rich young man, the son of Timaeus stays. He follows Jesus.
I truly think this is a story about prayer. What do you want? No, scratch that. What is your deepest need? Is it sight, whether literal improvement of your literal vision, or a deepening of your understanding? A vision of your future, perhaps? Or is it hearing? Again, perhaps what you are hoping for is a literal improvement in what your tympanic membrane can do for you, or maybe the ability to, in a difficult moment, still yourself and open yourself to understand what someone else is trying to say to you. Or do you need help speaking? Whether help with a stammer or palate condition, or help articulating what you truly hope to convey to others?
Jesus tells the son of Timaeus that his faith has made him well, and Jesus knows that because Timaeus asked for what he needed. He asked. How often do we ask God for what we need? How often do we utter the simple but complete prayer, “Help”?
In her book Help, Thanks, Wow: The Three Essential Prayers, the wonderful Anne Lamott talks about “Help” as “the first great prayer.” She writes,
Most good, honest prayers remind me that I am not in charge, that I cannot fix anything, and that I open myself to being helped by something, some force, some friends, some something. These prayers say, “Dear Some Something, I don’t know what I’m doing. I can’t see where I’m going. I’m getting more lost, more afraid, more clenched. Help.”
These prayers acknowledge that I am clueless, but something else isn’t. While I am not going to go limp, I am asking for the willingness to step into the truth. It’s like the old riddle: What’s the difference between you and God? God never thinks he’s you.[i]
This is the beginning of the faith that makes us well—not necessarily the faith that cures our glaucoma or restores our perfect hearing, but the faith that sets us on the path to knowing our best bet is to let God be God, and to know that we are not. We are not in charge. We can pray our hearts out for miracles, and I do believe miracles happen—it’s just that, as Lamott points out, they are not always the specific miracles we have been begging for. They are the miracles of our behavior being changed over time… so incrementally that we don’t notice for a while. They are the miracles of becoming more generous, which, to Lamott, is the ultimate healing. Or, becoming more patient, which is a close second. Or watching as our world becomes bigger, and juicier, and more tender. Or becoming ever so slightly kinder to ourselves. This, she says, is how you tell: miracles are happening.[ii] The miracles that are happening are in you, in your heart, and soul, and mind, and strength.
In a few moments we will be sharing a portion of the Westminster Shorter Catechism, written in 1646-47. It was written for the education of children into the Presbyterian faith and exists in a question-answer form. Its beautiful opening lines are famous. What is the chief purpose of humanity? To glorify God, and to enjoy God forever. Prayer is a key component to this simple but enormous task. To glorify God, we must learn that God is God—and we are not. It sounds so simple but is so difficult. We want to control things. We want to believe that we can control things. We want that desperately. But we absolutely can’t, and it turns out that learning that—really getting that, down deep in our souls—sets us free. Turning over our cares to God sets us free. It sets us free to glorify God, and not our own latest accomplishment. It sets us free to pray with abandon and delight, or when our hearts are racing with fear, or when our soul is crumpled with loss. It sets us free to enjoy God, moment by moment, for as long as we live.
This is the faith that makes us well, this act of stepping into the truth of our finite humanness and the awe and mystery of God’s glory. In a world where everyone deserves to be on the prayer list, it is the act of softening our hearts so that we can embrace that reality, that we, and every other precious, equally finite and beloved child of God, are all in this together.
Thanks be to God. Amen.
[i] Anne Lamott, Help, Thanks, Wow: The Three Essential Prayers (New York, NY: Riverhead Books, 2012, 35-36.
[ii] Ibid., 21.