He has a name

In the story of Bartimaeus, we encounter the limitations of our vision while Jesus invites us in to a new way of seeing.

And a faith beyond identity
Proper 25B | Mark 10:46-52

He has a name. Bartimaeus.

Bartimaeus is a son. And his father has a name: Timaeus.

This man is not defined by disability or poverty.

He is Bartimaeus and he is a follower of Jesus.

The story is so consuming.

It is so rich and tantalizing. A man who is blind is given his sight!

There are proclamations of faith and astounding transformations.

This story contains such vivid imagery, it is easy to lose focus, sight of what is happening…and what is at stake.

Yes, a man gains his sight, but he also retains the ability to see.

Getting Loud

There’s a funny tilt to the story.

We’ve been following Jesus as he approaches Jerusalem, and here is a man who starts shouting; “loudly” it says.

“They try to silence him, but he shouts out again.”

And I suspect we should know what would happen next. But we don’t. It so defies expectations. Because Jesus tells his followers to shout back. Call out to him. Like a beacon. Like a shepherd searching for the lost sheep in the wilderness. Hear my voice. Or a rescue ship responding to a distress call. We’re here.

So fitting to one who cannot see—I know you can’t see; listen and hear me.

Not so secret

This is quite the turn for us as Jesus has tried to keep his own identity secret. Telling the people he has healed and liberated to say nothing about him to anyone. Perhaps to keep a low profile. And perhaps because it isn’t yet time.

Shh. Say nothing to anyone.

And now this man is shouting. Shouting about his identity.

“Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!”

Name and identity. Bartimaeus locates Jesus in a family. But not any family. The royal family. Rightful heir to the throne and descendant of the great king.

Bartimaeus shouts to Jesus, revealing his identity to all who can hear him. Lacking sight, he still sees.

People try to stop him. Jesus wants to keep the secret. Stop this shouting! They keep trying to do what they assume Jesus wants.

But he shouts again. For mercy.

No, don’t stop him. Call back to him like he is calling out to me. Help him find me.

He sprang up

The action speaks in waves too big for metaphors.

Bartimaeus is blind but he knows Jesus is there.

And when he is called to get up, he throws off his cloak, springs up, and comes to Jesus. These aren’t the verbs of illness, infirmity, or disability: of one supposedly denied the grace of God. He does not have sight but he can see Jesus. He can find him nakedly and recklessly. Stripping himself bare and throwing himself into the mercy of Jesus.

And Jesus’s droll response hides his own knowing: “What do you want me to do for you?” is not a question of inquiry, but of patience. Bartimaeus needs to say it. He needs to initiate it.

“My teacher, let me see again.”

The irony, of course, is that he already can see.

This is the trouble with literalism: it doesn’t dance. Literalism doesn’t paint pictures, write poetry, or sing. It worries about the physical sight and the actuality of happening “in the real world”. It concerns itself with a blind beggar’s sight and doesn’t care that he can already see.

But it can begin to marvel at how a man who is blind can so easily find Jesus without help. Perhaps there is something powerful here after all.

For the artist (and all of God’s people are called to create new things), the greater question is how can Jesus give sight to one who already sees?

And the simple answer is that he doesn’t.

That the man’s eyes are able to perceive his surroundings, though, is no less a miracle.

The Walls of Jericho

Now they are nearing the end of their road. Arriving in Jericho, geographically near Jerusalem, we are reminded of its infamy. The city whose walls fell. God had empowered their ancestors to remove the walls with only their voices. Loudly proclaiming the power of God.

This time, not for conquering supremacy, but inclusion and wholeness. Calling the lost sheep home.

Bring down what separates us.
It is already gone.

Joining in

Restored and renewed, Bartimaeus is ready for what’s next.

Now, I’m not sure if the author intended Jesus’s response as comedic, but it causes me to laugh. He tells Bartimaeus to go.

“Go; your faith has made you well.”

So I expect the man to leave. Like he instructed the man liberated from a thousand demons to go home.

Not Bartimaeus.

“Immediately he regained his sight and followed him on the way.”

His act of faith preceded the miraculous and his devotion succeeded it.

For Us

Of course, following him on the way implies a literal following Jesus to Jerusalem, which is just around the corner. Not just because of Jericho’s proximity to Jerusalem, but because it is in the very next verse that they arrive there.

For us, however, following Jesus on the way has a deeper resonance.

The earliest followers referred to their practicing of the faith as The Way. And they called themselves People of The Way.

Long before our ancestors accepted the name Christian, a name we didn’t create, but one created to slander us, we gave ourselves a different name. A name that doesn’t center our faith on Jesus’s title but on his mission: The Way.

This is how Bartimaeus follows Jesus on the way.

Verbing loudly. Acting with faith. Seeking mercy. Sharing in God’s grace.

This is far bigger than identity, structure, or our narrow vision of what is real.

This is about seeing. Not for the first time, but as if it were.

It is about vision. Not through the calcified eyes of disappointment, but the restored eyes of gratitude.

And it is about trust. Leaping vulnerably into this uncertain future because we know the Son of David is mercy and love.