(A revision of a sermon first preached on April 8, 1990)

Mark 10:46-52

 Today instead of hearing ABOUT Bartimeaus, we will hear FROM him:

"I once was blind, but now I see." For you that may only be a line from the favorite old song, "Amazing Grace," but for me it is quite literally true. I WAS blind. I now SEE. That fact is nothing short of amazing! Not only that, it was more than just my eyes that were opened that day, more than just my sight that was healed. All because Jesus, the Nazarene happened to pass along the road one day . . .

. . . Not along just any road, along MY road. It had not been easy to establish myself there. There were scores of beggars, and everyone wanted the best spots. Well, I didn't have the best spot, but it wasn't so bad either. I had situated myself just outside the city, Jericho that is, on the road that led toward Jerusalem. Some days were not so good, but on days like THAT one, days before the holy festivals when everyone was heading for Jerusalem, I would take in enough to make up for the others. Sometimes I benefitted from the generosity that comes with celebration or the kindness that springs from guilt when one heads out to the holy city. I didn't care much why I got what I did, it was only important that some how I could at least get enough to keep myself from starving, and to make an offering to Yahweh. However, often both of those proved to be impossible.

Being blind is a private torment. But having to beg, makes the agony public. Sinking to the lowest level of society robs a person of any shred of dignity that might have been left. It eats at your soul, and bitter resentment quickly fills in the empty space.

Was it my fault I was blind? Some might say so. People may have pointed self-righteous fingers at me, I wouldn't know. I do know that self-righteous words often reached my ears. "I wonder what horrible sin he committed to deserve such punishment." "Isn't that the son of Timaeus? I always thought he was such a good man, but it goes to show you, you can never tell. It must have been bad, whatever he did, to end up with a blind son. Now look at him, begging at the side of the road, as if he has no home."

I ask you again, was it my fault, my parent's fault, I was blind? I don't think so. I say that softly - cautiously, that is exactly the kind of talk that landed Jesus on a cross. Well, I don't blame myself and I don't blame my parents either. But even after all our talks, my father could never quite come to see it that way. Occasionally I thought I was getting through to him. I thought he was beginning to believe that he was a sincere, caring man, a good Jew, and a loving father. Then it would start all over again, the anger at himself, the questioning of every motive and action. He could never quite see that his honest efforts to live a godly life were pleasing to Yahweh. My blindness has been killing him. I can do so little to help him. I've tried. God knows, I've tried.

Being blind, unable to work, rejected by my neighbors, has given me a lot of time to sit and listen, to sit and think. I've done more than my share of both. I've heard so many of the scriptures read again and again, I can repeat most of them by heart. I'm not stupid you know, just blind.

Anyway, as I was saying about the scriptures, while I have no doubt they teach that God is a holy and righteous judge, I am continually struck by God's compassion. Not that I've experienced any in my life by those who claim to believe in God, but somewhere deep in my soul, I know it is true. As the great King David taught us, "The Lord is merciful and gracious, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love." Can't you just sense how true that is?! You learn to sense a lot, when you can't use your eyes to see.

And, as I said, not having a sense of sight sharpened my hearing. For a long time I had been hearing about the man from Nazareth, the carpenter's son who had stirred up so much excitement and trouble. To some he was no more than another false prophet, in a long line of other false prophets who had offered hope and then delivered disappointment. To others he was the great Messiah, come to liberate us from the yoke of Roman occupation, come to set us free at last and restore the days of King David's rule. To some he was merely a curiosity, a diversion in their otherwise dull lives.

What interested me were the stories of his miracles - he healed people, I even spoke to some of them. He actually raised a man from the dead! And then there were the teachings people told me about. They were not the teachings of some false prophet, they were authentic words, words that spoke of the kingdom and God. I ached to meet this man. I knew that in him I would find my peace, and even my sight. These thoughts consumed me morning and night until that incredible day.

My soul stirred within me, afraid to hope for too much, when I heard he was in the area. By now the crowds around him were huge, how could I ever get near him? I was in my usual place that day, when from a distance, I heard the crowd. By the sound of it, it must have been a large one. As they neared the sounds grew louder. My mouth was dry with the dust stirred by their commotion. I had no idea where he might be in the group, but I knew he must be there -- somewhere. "Where is he?" "Is he coming yet?" My question was either lost in the noise or ignored.

Obsessed with the idea of what I might receive from him, and having already lost everything I had nothing to lose by crying out to try to get his attention. I was trying to be brave . . . perhaps I was more desperate than courageous. Still, I believed he could help me.

"Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me! Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me! Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!"

I could feel the crowd closing in, surging forward. Several people told me to shut up. What would Jesus want with the likes of me? My heart beat faster. I was more convinced than ever that this was indeed the Messiah, and he could lift the burden of my resentment, he could give me my sight. Urgently, I cried out louder, "Son of David, have mercy of me."

Evidently I cried so loud I did not hear him ask for me. Someone at my side elbowed me and said, "Cheer up, he is calling you." Incredible! I threw off my coat, sprang to my feet, and was pushed to him.

He asked me what I wanted him to do for me. HE asked ME what I wanted! Breathless, shaking, I said, "Rabbi, let me receive my sight."

And it then happened, I don't know how, but it happened. He never touched me. But I could see! I could see! I rubbed my eyes against the light, wiping away years of bitterness and hurt. I'll never forget what he said then, "Go your way, your faith has made you whole." Whole. He had done much more than open my eyes, he had opened my heart, and affirmed my faith. Which was the greater miracle I will never know. What I do know is that I wanted to follow him, and so I did.

I followed with his closest friends and with the crowd. I could hardly walk, not just because there were so many people, but because there was so much to see, so much to take in . . . the rich green of the tree branches, the deep blue of the sky . . . I had no idea skin came in so many colors . . . the hues of everyone's clothes . . . the golden light of the sun . . . the varied shades of the fields. I was delirious from the experience of seeing. In so many ways the entire world was new to me. I wanted to look around and drink in all the sights, and yet it was just too much. I was tempted to close my eyes, to do things the way I always had, the way I was used to. It was awful, my life as a beggar, but it was something I knew, something comfortable in a way. But my encounter with Jesus had brought such a radical change, I had thrown off my cloak, put the past behind me - there was no turning back now.

When we got near Jerusalem, he sent some of his disciples to get him a colt. When they brought it back, he sat on it and continued to head toward Jerusalem. Seeing him ride on that animal filled my mind's eye with images from the scriptures about the king riding into the city on a donkey. Now I was even more convinced this was the long awaited Messiah.

And so was the rest of the crowd, which had grown even bigger. People were cutting down branches and throwing them in his path, others spread their cloaks on the road. Everyone was caught up in the excitement of the moment. Someone started to cry out, "Hosanna! Save us! Blessed is the One who comes in the name of the Lord!" The words from the old pilgrim psalm caught on and pretty soon everyone was shouting. That is almost everyone. I was so busy looking, so intent on seeing everything, that I did not join in.

But I listened and I looked. I heard and I saw. I didn't see it at first, I felt it, I sensed it . . . something was wrong. I couldn't say just what, but there was something in the air, something in the look in Jesus eyes, something that made me carefully consider what I was experiencing. It is clearer now from a distance, but I think I was getting my first glimpse of what was to come, what would happen in those next terrible days.

Jesus was silent, inward, thoughtful. He must have known that what was a triumphal entry for his followers was for him an entry into suffering and death. He seemed to say in his silence, "I am the Messiah, and I will save, but not as you expect." Everyone wanted so badly for him restore the fortunes of Jerusalem, we could not see beyond our own expectations.

We were doing the right thing for the wrong reason. He was no less a king than our words suggested, but his kingdom was other and more than we dared to think.

I overheard some religious leaders talking about Jesus. (I was still a good listener.) They were worried, they were plotting, Jesus was in big trouble. Now I remembered some of the scriptures that talk about the suffering of the Messiah. I tried to block the words from my mind, but I knew they were true. I fought against the idea, but I now believed it was inevitable that he would end up on one of the crosses outside the city. How tragic.

My mind raced. Would I follow him still, even if it meant suffering? The answer came quickly, "Yes." I was no stranger to suffering, and after seeing him, after knowing him, I was empowered to face whatever might lie ahead, even if it meant a cross for me too. What about you? Amen.