“The Courage to Change”
October 27, 2024
Rev. Rebecca Migliore
Today we are recognizing Reformation Sunday, remembering how in 1519 Martin Luther wrote down some things he thought needed to be changed in the church he served—95 theses to be exact. It took courage to speak up against a very powerful institution. But others followed in his bravery, and powerful reforms were made, although not without spawning new Christian denominations.
Many of us have witnessed this bravery in our own time. The fight for civil rights, women’s rights, lgbtq+ rights, “me too,” “black lives matter,” and other movements have required courage—courage to speak out, courage to demonstrate, courage to demand change, courage to keep on fighting even after defeats and lurching backward.
So the story we read today, about Bartimaeus the blind man, is one that might seem familiar. The story we read today is truly a snapshot of a strand of the gospel story—the courage to change, change oneself, change the religious institutions, change the very way we interact with God.
This story comes at a pivotal point in Mark’s gospel. We have been traveling around the countryside with Jesus, seeing him heal and exorcize and tussle with the scribes and Pharisees. We have heard him tell parables, and marvel as he sends out the disciples to try to do what he has been doing. We have been let in on the Messianic secret, and cheered as Peter proclaims, “You are the Messiah.” And we have watched as Peter, and James and John, and the rich young man have misunderstood, or been unable to live as Jesus calls them to live.
This part of the gospel story is coming to an end. After the Bartimaeus story, we march into Jerusalem with Jesus in a motley parade and events there will lead us to the passion story.
It is interesting that after all the anonymous people we have heard about interacting with Jesus, here we have a story about a man with a name--Bartimaeus, son of Timaeus. Bartimaeus is a blind man—meaning he is an outsider, probably shunned by the community because he has been punished (in their world view) by God for something he did—why else would he be blind. We can see his status because as we meet Bartimaeus he is outside the city, sitting near the roadside, waiting for people to pass by so he can beg for alms.
Jesus and his disciples and a large crowd are “on the way” (on the way to Jerusalem). And Bartimaeus must hear who it is who has garnered such attention. He calls out—as he must do every day of his life. Calling out for help. Calling out for compassion. Calling out for interaction with those who want to pretend he doesn’t exist. And he is bold in his calling. Yes, he uses the name Jesus. Yes, he asks for mercy. But he also uses the name “Son of David.” In the line of David. And who is in the line of David—the Messiah.
Bartimaeus seems to know who Jesus is—he “sees” Jesus even though he is blind. Now “many sternly” shhhhh him. Is that because they think he is carrying on, disturbing this holy man? Or that this unclean one shouldn’t be asking to have Jesus’ attention? (Have they seen Jesus in action?) Or might it be that “son of David” could be seen as a political designation—the one who will lead the people of Israel against their foes (ie, as a threat to the ruling Romans)? No matter. The more they tell him to be quiet, the more he shouts out Jesus’ identity (kind of like that man with the unclean spirit at the beginning of Jesus’ ministry). Here, Jesus does not tell him to be quiet.
But notice that Jesus doesn’t go to the man. He tells those around him to call the man to him—and they tell Bartimaeus, “Take heart, get up, he is calling you.” And Bartimaeus does get up. He doesn’t gingerly make his way toward Jesus (how does he know where he is?).
He doesn’t touch one person’s arm, and then another, trying to find his way. He throws off his cloak (possibly the only possession he has in the world—from Salt commentary on this passage), and he springs up, and comes to Jesus. The dramatic movement of throwing off the cloak and springing up suggests that we could imagine that Bartimaeus doesn’t just come to Jesus, but runs pell-mell towards him (as you will hear later in the anthem for this morning called “Run, Bartimaeus, Run.”)
Now he stands before Jesus, before the one he has somehow come to know, to “see” as the one anointed by God, the son of David, the Messiah. He’s panting, he’s excited, he’s expectant. What is Jesus going to do? Reach out his hand and heal him? Lift him up as one who “sees” so much more than the others surrounding him? Embrace him as a child of God?
And Jesus asks, “What do you want me to do for you?”
This is a “duh” moment. What do mean Jesus? Of course, this man wants to change his situation. He wants not to be blind, not to be excluded from the community, not to be forced to sit at the roadside begging to survive. But Bartimaeus is not thrown by Jesus’ question. “My teacher” MY teacher, “let me see again.” Notice the again. There is a back story about Bartimaeus that we will never know. And Jesus grants his wish—without touching him, without praying over him, without muttering secret words. Jesus just says, “Go, your faith has made you well.” And Bartimaeus “regains” his sight.
There is one last bit of courage. Jesus says Go. Go show yourselves to the priests that they might declare you clean. Go back to your family. Go back to your former life. You are whole again.
You are free. And what does Bartimaeus do? He doesn’t go back. He goes forward, with Jesus, following, on the way (as we know, on the way to Jerusalem).
This story has so much to say to us today. It speaks such good news. That whatever situation we find ourselves in, there is the possibility for change. That Jesus continually calls us to get up, get out of our limiting, confining ways, and move towards wholeness. That faith, that tiny mustard seed, that small thing that might move mountains, can shake the world, and turn it upside down and inside out. That we too can be Bartimaeus and be enveloped into Jesus’ circle.
And in and among that good news there is a challenge. Have the courage to change. Have the courage to speak the truth as you see it. Have the courage to throw off anything that might get in your way (even if it is the only possession that you own). Have the courage to run towards Jesus. Have the courage to proudly go forward instead of back, no matter where that forward may lead. Because you have been called. You have been changed. You are on the road now, with Jesus.
We may never gain the stature of a Martin Luther, or a Martin Luther King, Jr., or a Stonewall protester, or be the one to start a hashtag movement like “black lives matter.” But all of us have had times in our lives when we have felt immobile, or on the outside, or damaged in some way, or too small, too weak, too “something,” to make a difference. The story of Bartimaeus says, “No” to all that. Bartimaeus is like us. Bartimaeus is us. Bartimaeus, the last disciple called in the gospel of Mark, holds out his hand to say, come join me. Come be the latest disciples of Jesus to stand up in courage, to leave behind what was, and embrace all that Jesus can mean in our lives.
I feel like we are living in a time that takes courage. We are facing a close election that may define our country for years to come. We know we are living in a new religious reality accelerated by Covid. We are seeing the effects of climate change almost weekly. We are aware of the brutalness of war and hatred around our world. We can allow ourselves to be overwhelmed—because it does seem like so much to bear.
But that would mean we were like the old Bartimaeus, sitting by the roadside, letting the world pass us by—asking only for a meager portion, so that we can make it to the next day.
That is not what we are called to do. We are called to have faith, as little or as big as we have been given. We are called to step out in courage, and we do not need to do so alone. We are called to believe in the future, a future that we will face, with a community around us, and God in our midst. We are called not to stumble forward, but run, joyfully, child-like, towards the one who knows our name.
For we are children of a God who is always in motion—a God who hovered over the waters in the beginning, a God who spoke the world into being, a God who spoke not just one way, but many ways, through tablets of stone, and prophets painting visions, and stories of a God choosing a particular people to be a blessing to all people, and in even in the mind-blowing understanding that God could even come to be with us as a baby, Emmanuel. Not even the grave could stop our awesome, ever in motion, God. And we are made “in the image of God.” So, change is in our DNA. From the moment we are knit together in our mother’s wombs to the time when we return to the earth from which we came, we are in constant movement, constant change. As is our world. As is our God. Change that nevertheless leaves some things the same. Like God’s love. Like God’s pursuit of Justice. Like God’s intent for us to be all we can be and live in a world of Shalom.
Let us have the courage to step into whatever it is that God is creating now. Yes, it is scary. Yes, it requires hard work. Yes, it is what we are called to be—alive and engaged in our world, being the body of Christ here and now.
We are asked only to do our part. To take a deep breath and summon up the courage we didn’t even know we had, and follow Jesus, wherever that might take us, together. May it be so. Alleluia.