Today’s gospel reading, despite its relative shortness, offers a lot to consider. Because of that, I hope you don’t mind if my sermon takes the form of an introduction to your own meditation. Hopefully, led by the Holy Spirit, we will find something addressed personally to each one of us.
There are three characters in today’s gospel; two individuals – Jesus and the blind man – and a collective of Jesus’ disciples and followers described as ‘a large crowd’. Let’s have a closer look at each character, starting with the latter.
In the biblical narrative, the presence of a crowd is rarely mentioned for a purely descriptive reason. Most often the crowd plays an active role in the event; biblical authors mentioned the crowd’s actions, reactions, opinions and so on. Today the crowd follows Jesus out of the city of Jericho; perhaps they were moved by Jesus’ speech or action, and they accompany him on his journey; perhaps they are discussing various aspects of Jesus’ speech with his disciples. Whatever the crowd is doing, a blind beggar interrupts it in such a way that they urge him to shut up. Some of them might feel embarrassed, some others irritated… Whatever are their individual reasons to react, they are generally hostile towards the beggar. Only after Jesus has ‘stopped and said, ‘Call him here’ suddenly the crowd becomes surprisingly supportive and helpful: ‘Courage,’ they said, ‘get up; he is calling you.’ It recalls the old saying that ‘success has many fathers, but failure is an orphan.’
Then we have Jesus who seems to be unperturbed by the cries from the side of the road. Only when people around him have started showing hostility towards the shouting man, he stops and calls for him to come up. In other words, Jesus seems to react to the lack of compassion by the crowd. Perhaps the crowd needs as much healing as the blind beggar. But then Jesus doesn’t come up to the blind man but expects him to cover the distance. How insensitive in line with our modern standards… Again, that creates an opportunity for those faithful followers of his to show some active and practical love of thy neighbour by helping the blind beggar to reach Jesus. Finally, when the blind has come up to him, Jesus effectively praises his faith, shown in his attitude, perseverance and actions: ‘Go; your faith has saved you.’
Let’s move on to ‘Bartimaeus (that is, the son of Timaeus).’ He’s introduced to the audience as the son of his father rather than by his own name; Bar Timaeus literally means the son of Timaeus and effectively leaves the beggar nameless. Furthermore, the name Timaeus is a Greek name, which was a bit unusual in the predominantly Hebrew cultural environment. Mind that St Mark addressed his gospel to the Greek-speaking world, educated by the works of its philosophers. Plato, one of the most influential among them, wrote in about 360 BC a dialogue on the nature of the physical world and human beings; it was entitled Timaeus. It wouldn’t surprise me to find out that St Mark in a subtle way presented the blind beggar as a spiritual heir to Greek philosophy; the enlightened are in fact blind to God revealing himself to humankind through his son Jesus. The beggar sits on the side of the road, marginalised and living on scraps offered to him by passers-by. However, St Mark told the story of Jesus to his pagan audience not to condemn them but to bring them to Jesus. So, the beggar shouts: ‘Son of David, Jesus’ which mirrors the beggar’s introduction (son of Timaeus, Bartimaeus), followed by the request ‘eleison’. If it sounds familiar it’s because we use the phrase ‘Kyrie eleison’ in the penitential rites at the beginning of Mass. When the beggar uses the phrase, he acknowledges that he’s got a problem and the solution is beyond his powers. When Jesus has responded to his cries, he reacts without any reluctance or delay. Firstly, he throws off his cloak. In the ancient world that was a crucial piece of clothing, offering cover, warmth and dignity. So important was the cloak that there was a specific prescription in the law of Moses: ‘If you take your neighbour’s cloak in pawn, you shall restore it before the sun goes down; for it may be your neighbour’s only clothing to use as cover; in what else shall that person sleep? And if your neighbour cries out to me, I will listen, for I am compassionate.’ (Exodus 22:26-27) So, the beggar leaves behind his only safety net in order to get to Jesus. Moreover, a cloak was a long and heavy piece of cloth, restricting movement; by throwing it off the beggar has found the freedom of movement described concisely as that he jumped up. The final element of his reaction is that he’s left his begging patch and moved into the unknown to meet the one he called up. Perhaps someone from the crowd helps him along the way as he’s still blind. When he eventually stands in front of Jesus, he’s asked to state his request. ‘Rabbuni (Master), let me see again.’ That’s another twist in this story. The beggar, son of Greek philosophy, accepts Jesus – the Jew – as superior. That must have been quite a cultural shock to St Mark’s audience, used to seeing their culture as infinitely superior to the Jewish one. But the words ‘let me see again’ might be a subtle call to look at the audience’s heritage and culture through the prism of the gospel. Jesus’ response: ‘Go; your faith has saved you’ leads to the immediate restoration of the beggar’s eyesight. It’s worth noting that Jesus indicates the beggar’s faith as the reason for his healing; the faith in Jesus’ power and ability to do so. From that moment the beggar follows Jesus.
Image by Myriams-Fotos from Pixabay