Acting as Children of God
Proper 25B  |  Mark 10:46-52

So Jesus and company have traveled a long way and they are nearing Jerusalem — their final destination. They are in Jericho, which, according to Google, is twenty-two miles from Jerusalem, which they could do in a day’s walk. So they are getting close.

Thematically, this is the last story before their arrival in Jerusalem, so we’re already feeling anxious to get there. When traveling, you know that the last leg of the trip is all about anticipation, isn’t it? My Father-in-law is from a small town called Rodessa, in northwest Louisiana and whenever Rose and family would drive with him from Davison, Michigan down to Rodessa, they could tell when they were getting close, perhaps the other side of Little Rock, Arkansas, when Jimmy would talk less, his foot would drive a little deeper on the accelerator; he knew he was almost home.

This is a story with a context. 

They are nearing Jerusalem. And the mission is to get the Messiah there to confront the Temple authorities, Roman occupation, and reveal God’s glory in the world. Of course, the disciples still don’t get how this group project of theirs makes sense. That they will confront this whole situation and it will lead to Jesus’s death and that will reveal the glory.

I’m not confident we all make sense of it, to be honest.

But this is the plan. Jesus has told them the plan three times. And the first time, Peter said “No” and was berated. The second time, they said nothing because they were too busy ranking themselves as “best disciple”. And the third time, James and John asked Jesus to make them officers in his army. Each time, the disciples displayed a specific confusion about the project.

1. That Jesus mustn’t receive the rage of the world—because they want him to dispense rage onto the world; to fight fire with fire; rather than reveal the impotence of rage to bring the peace we desire.
2. That some disciples must be better than others—because they believe the Kin-dom of God is a meritocracy, rather than a way of life that honors the dignity of every human being.
3. That the glory of God is pursued through dying in battle—because we must be special, lifted up, and praised for our service, rather than honor the specialness of others through service to them.

This mental block is there when they get ready to leave Jericho. When they prepare for the walk to Jerusalem.

Introduced: Bartimaeus

This is why Mark is a master storyteller. In these few verses, he doesn’t just set a scene, but layers it with poignant imagery. Of a man who shouts outside of Jericho—to bring down the walls in front of his eyes, his heart, that protect him and isolate him. He shouts and “many” try to silence him. Many. Who are among the many? Is it the people of the community, who are worried about this would-be Joshua and his invading army? Is it the disciples who have developed a track record of silencing the people calling to Jesus for help—trying (and failing) to keep them away? Or maybe it’s a mixture of all of them, together. Trying to silence a man from seeking help.

Have you ever done this? When a person wants to change their ways or get help and you’re like Don’t bother them! Or It won’t work, so don’t even try. Maybe this many is a little bit of everyone, even us.

But Bartimaeus isn’t dissuaded. Here’s where I’ll highlight something for us. A reminder of something all of you know. I’m calling this man Bartimaeus because that’s what it says in the passage is his name. Do you know who doesn’t get named in the gospels? Pretty much everyone. None of the people healed. None of the religious leaders who just show up along the way.

Who does get named? Disciples. Disciples get names. The last story before Jesus and company arrives in Jerusalem is the calling of Bartimaeus to be a disciple of Jesus. Under the shadow of empire, when the days look darkest to them.

This is not just a healing story.

It is a call story. It is a moment of transformation. 

And it starts, not with Jesus picking a stranger out of a boat, asking if they might like to fish for people. The man comes to him instead. He knows about Jesus and hears that Jesus is near. So he shouts, trying to get his attention. And when he does, what does Jesus do? He asks his disciples to let the man know that Jesus is calling him to him.

“So throwing off his cloak, he sprang up and came to Jesus.”

His physical blindness doesn’t prevent him from seeing the real Jesus, from pursuing Jesus, from meeting Jesus where he’s at. He throws off his protection and jumps up and goes.

In Jewish law, it is forbidden to take someone’s coat if it is their only coat. Growing up in northern Michigan, we know how important a warm coat can be. It is literally life-saving. This is also the reason why nobody is denied one in Jewish law. Because without a coat, they could die. 

This is also why, in the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus says 

“and if anyone wants to sue you and take your coat, give your cloak as well”
—Matthew 5:40

Because that would mean both a litigant and the whole court who are breaking the law, are shown to be dishonoring God by depriving a person of their means of surviving the cold. And in response, Jesus offers that we are to strip down and let the shame be upon the court. 

Bartimaeus isn’t offering shame to Jesus, but leaving what encumbers him. It is freeing him of safety—like the pious man was earlier invited to free himself of the safety of wealth—this is an act of faith. It is faith that makes the man leap. Faith that leaves the world behind. That brings him across the road to Jesus. To become a disciple.

Discipleship now

We are all confronted with the challenge of following a Christ who is not physically in front of us, leading us to Jerusalem. We don’t get to have these encounters, with the privilege of screwing up and being loved by Jesus anyway. Learning from our mistakes.

But we also are,  aren’t we? Doesn’t this feel like what we’re doing all the time? Trying to figure out what it is Jesus is trying to do here. Who we’re supposed to be in this moment? What it means to live in this world—as it is and as it could be?

We’re invited to follow someone whose ways consistently challenge the way we’re taught to see the world. Even the way the church often sees the world. To not only have faith, but to act in faith, to trust in faith. To be full of faith.

And I will say again and again until we fully grasp the idea that faith is not a set of beliefs—it is not a doctrine of arguments we agree to. Faith is an action. It means to trust. To trust in Jesus. To trust in the faith of Jesus, as Paul tries to communicate. To trust in the principle that Jesus’s Way of Love, of peace, of hope, of serving the least in our world, of empowering the powerless, that this way of ordering the world is not only the way of God, but the balm to our suffering, the solution to our most perplexing problems. That his Way is how we break the cycles of violence and hatred and combat evil intentions and the will of ambitious men.

Jesus asks us to trust in him as disciples. That his coming arrest, persecution, and murder will reveal the emptiness, weakness, absurdity of human pride and power-seeking. That it will reveal the glory of God. And it will remind us that one cannot fight a fire with more fire. It literally can’t work in any way. It requires water or flour—suppression. Violence doesn’t take more violence, it requires suppression of violence. Hatred doesn’t take more hatred, it requires suppression of hatred.

We are called to follow this way, not because it is impossible, but because, with God, it is the only thing that is possible.

Our Action

Friends, as we once again seek to raise funds for this project, doing so in a polarizing political environment filled with anxiety and concern for our personal safety, let us honor our commitment to Jesus’s Way of Love. To his faith in God and in us.

Let us be the beacons of Christ we are called to be—enjoying the love of God with each other and offering that love to the world.

Let us be grateful and faithful at a time when hopelessness seems like a real option. An option that draws even more power to the powerful, wealth to the wealthy, and freedom to the few. We are a people of hope, of faith, of love. These are our calling cards. Not fear. Not distrust. Not hatred. Trust. For God, for Jesus and the Holy Spirit, and for one another. Here. These people. Your neighbors. This community. These people. All of us: neighbors.

We’ve spent decades letting people convince us that we should want to help our institutions survive—while eroding trust in all of them—while compromising them with bad deals and worse intentions—while getting woefully individualistic and caring only about ourselves—while refusing to participate in the common work of our world. We’ve stacked the deck and then said an institution, like the church, needs to pitch to each individual why it is of value. And we’ve spent decades begging for scraps while wealth is siphoned up into the bank accounts of individuals.

Being faithful today isn’t predicated on my giving you the best pitch. And it isn’t predicated on the person next to you giving more to your church. It is built on service. Sacrifice. Hope. Trust. It is built on giving when the world wants you to believe you have nothing more to give. While it (somehow, conveniently) profits.

We are called to spread a message of that action, faith. Trust in the faith of Jesus. Trust in the Way of Love and the work we are called into: serving. We give so we can serve. We give here so we can serve here. And that is a profound expression of faith.