The Invisible Man and the Impaired Church (Mark 10:46-52)

      The trip into Jerusalem was crowded and noisy.  Hundreds of people were coming into the holy city for the Passover. 

The chatter of dozens of conversations

 the cry of merchants hoping for pilgrim seasonal business,

the arguments of misunderstandings

and the laughter of people giddy with joy that they have finally arrived.

      In the midst of the cacophony, can you hear it?

      “Alms!  Alms!  Alms for the poor!”

      In the midst of the crowd, you could almost miss it, that voice trying desperately to be heard above the din of pilgrims.  In fact, the one trying to be heard is fairly desperate himself.  He is off to the sidelines, sitting along the road, barely visible there on the ground with the sea of humanity passing by.  The blind man cries out, hoping to be heard, but knowing that he’s likely ignored by most. 

            In the New Testament, disability carried a great deal of stigmatism.  While such attitudes still exist today, we consider such ways discriminatory.  In our North American context, we work to protect the rights and dignity of persons with disabilities.  Our culture is predisposed to improve the lives of those with disabilities.  In fact, First Baptist is home to a non-profit organization, the Vermont Center for Independent Living, who works to advocate and empower persons with disabilities.  Each week, persons come to First Baptist for one-on-one counseling and benefit assistance, support groups, and other opportunities.  In addition to this non-profit, our building upgrades have made First Baptist a more accessible place for all persons.  The additions of a handicap accessible bathroom and the lift, which was installed just about a year ago, increase our “welcome” to our community. 

            In the world of the New Testament, such a culture of support and most certainly the “religious value” of disabled persons were largely absent.  It was an incredibly difficult life to live if you were a person who was hearing or visually impaired, persons with chronic diseases, persons with some sort of physical challenges, and the list goes on.  This blind man sitting by the side of the road suffered a religious element to discrimination.  He was considered lesser because the prevailing religious worldview placed high value on full physical ability.  Great emphasis was placed upon a person’s gender, ability to keep ritual purity, and lack of physical impairments.  Thus, at the very center of the religion of the day is the observant male, who was fully able bodied and kept purity laws.  If you are a woman, if you are purity challenged (due to a whole host of caveats), if you are a Gentile, if you are physically impaired in some fashion, the further away you are from the heart of religious righteousness.  The blind man sitting by the side of the road was pretty much about as close to the Temple, the heart of his religion, as he would have been on the religious worldview map we just sketched out.  Here was a person that society and religion opted to write off, and with no great irony, his name was Bartimaeus, which means “son of Timaeus”.   In turn, “Timaeus” means “unclean”.  There is no irony lost here:  the crowds bustle by in search of the Temple, ignoring “son of the unclean”.

            “Alms for the poor!”

      You have heard this voice, haven’t you?  You hear it in many places: walking into a shopping mall and there’s the faithful volunteer for the Salvation Army, ringing a bell, saying “bless you” or “happy holidays” to persons, even those who just keep walking by.  Or, when you are at a store and a group of high school students are selling baked goods for humanitarian organizations or service projects.  You hear it when they offer you some homemade banana bread for $5 bucks.  There’s that voice as you walk down a crowded street in just about any major city street of the world:  “Hey! Can you spare some change?”

      On the latter count, it’s often a time for judgment calls.  Do you stop and give this person money, a person who appears out of nowhere, an old Styrofoam cup with loose coins, maybe a dollar or two at best, standing there in an old ball cap, unkempt hair, perhaps a slight odor.  For some, it’s an immediate response.  The sort of response differs for folks:  some reach into a pocket for whatever coin you have, or just as quickly, some keep walking, trying desperately to avoid eye contact.

When Bartimaeus hears Jesus is on his way, the blind man starts making some noise.  He cries out for Jesus:  “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!”  He keeps crying out, uncertain where Jesus is in the crowd, but he cannot risk being ignored by this man.  He knows that Jesus is someone who stands out in the midst of the world, one whose name stirs up a hope within Bartimaeus.  The name of Jesus has gone out among the villages of rural Galilee and word must be reaching the city, not only among the powerful who wish Jesus ill.  The great teacher and great healer is here!  Bartimaeus begins to cry out, “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!”

What happens next is telling.  The crowd tries to silence the beggar, pushing him back to the margins.  For Bartimaeus’ life, that is exactly where he has been told to stay put.  Out of sight, out of mind is what he is told.  Bartimaeus, like so many told to be silent, to be content with the margins, knows that sometimes you have to “holler to be heard”. (See Brian Blount and Gary W. Charles, Preaching Mark in Two Voices).  Bartimaeus had heard of Jesus’ goodness, his reputation, his compassion for the least.  He could not be silenced.  He could not contain the hope he felt deep within.

Back in Kansas City, an American Baptist affiliated ministry serves an inner city neighborhood.  We call them “NAPs”, or Neighborhood Action Programs.  This particular NAP, Bethel Neighborhood Center, has been serving the urban poor for decades, providing a safe place for children to learn and grow, hospitality to seniors, and providing a spiritual presence in a part of the metropolitan area often ignored or underserved.  A few years back, Bethel received a special award for its service.  A seminary student was on the staff at the time, and he recounted the experience of going to the awards banquet with the executive staff and a few consumers, aka those who utilized the center’s ministries.  When the award was given, one of the consumers, a boisterous elderly woman, came up front with the rest of the crowd and just started shouting excitedly about the award.  It made quite a spectacle, as a woman could barely contain her joy at this place that made such a difference in her life, was receiving recognition from the greater community. 

Throughout Mark’s gospel, many people approached Jesus, seeking his wisdom, yet most could not embrace the costs Jesus assigned to true discipleship.  The man of means approached Jesus, bringing along a lifetime of diligent piety, yet the great privilege he enjoyed kept him from following Jesus. The disciples followed Jesus and learned many things about the kingdom of God, yet they fought among themselves, hoping that they would be the greatest or the most favored.  Jesus could not get them to listen attentively enough.  They still thought power was where God’s glory would be revealed.  This cross looming large over Mark’s latter chapters still goes unnoticed and misunderstood.

Bartimaeus, the unclean, Bartimaeus the blind, Bartimaeus the forgotten—here was a complete stranger, unknown and obscure, who names and knows Jesus correctly.  When Jesus encounters Bartimaeus, it is a tender exchange, encumbered not by pretense but faith.  After reading of people who come to Jesus with pretexts and caveats, it is amazing to witness this trading of words.  Jesus needs no great gesture to heal this man.  Bartimaeus’ faith has created his own bridge to healing.

Bartimaeus models a maturity in his discipleship that the man of means could not accomplish after a lifetime of piety, a faith the disciples could not accomplish after accompanying alongside Jesus through the villages of Galilee.  Bartimaeus leaves his cloak, his only “possession” aside.  He risks the scorn and ridicule to get closer to Jesus.  He cries out Jesus’ true name, even as the story prepares to tell of the haunting days ahead when even the disciples shall scatter, trying to hide their brave, yet fragile allegiance to Jesus when the tides turn against them. 

In the 1984 film Places in the Heart, John Malkovich plays a blind man named Mr. Will.  It is said that Malkovich learned how to play a blind man through an unique method.  He did not close his eyes or walk around blindfolded to learn the part.  Instead, he claimed that he learned his part by looking within himself at the places where he himself was blind. 

The story of Bartimaeus offers an opportunity to examine ourselves.  Are we too much like the inner circle disciples, so close and comfortable with “the faith” that we miss the non-conformist message of the gospel?  How can we be like those in the crowd, who in our own haste to be religious, we walk by or ignore those in the margins?  How do we see those our culture or other Christians might label as “unclean” or “not like us” as persons capable of great faith and of sacred worth to Jesus?   Bartimaeus is out there, in the midst of the world, pitied and misunderstood by most, yet the one whom Jesus would claim as one of his own.