Thirtieth Sunday in Ordinary Time B
October 28, 2012
Reading I: Jeremiah 31:7-9
Responsorial
Psalm: 126:1-2, 2-3, 4-5, 6
Reading II: Hebrews 5:1-6
Gospel: Mark 10:46-52
Gospel Mk 10:46-52
As Jesus was leaving Jericho with his disciples and a sizable crowd,
Bartimaeus, a blind man, the son of Timaeus, sat by the roadside begging.
On hearing that it was Jesus of Nazareth, he began to cry out and say,
"Jesus, son of David, have pity on me."
And many rebuked him, telling him to be silent.
But he kept calling out all the more, "Son of David, have pity on me."
Jesus stopped and said, "Call him."
So they called the blind man, saying to him, "Take courage; get up, Jesus is calling you."
He threw aside his cloak, sprang up, and came to Jesus.
Jesus said to him in reply, "What do you want me to do for you?"
The blind man replied to him, "Master, I want to see."
Jesus told him, "Go your way; your faith has saved you."
Immediately he received his sight and followed him on the way.
The
healing of the blind Bartimaeus marks the end of the central section
of the gospel according to Mark. The deliberate symmetry of the
narrative is worth noting, for the central section began with the
healing of another blind man. Comparing the two stories, we might see
the first as a passive individual who was brought to Jesus by others.
The healing was an elaborate ritual, touching his eyes with spit and
laying hands on the man. For full restoration of sight the ritual had
to be repeated.
The Blind Man of Bethsaida. 8,22-26
When they arrived at Bethsaida, they brought to him a blind man and begged him to touch him. He took the blind man by the hand and led him outside the village. Putting spittle on his eyes he laid his hands on him and asked, “Do you see anything?” Looking up he replied, “I see people looking like trees and walking.” Then he laid hands on his eyes a second time and he saw clearly; his sight was restored and he could see everything distinctly. Then he sent him home and said, “Do not even go into the village.”
The
second blind man is presented as a very positive figure. He is named
as the son of Timaeus. (We might assume that Timaeus was well-known to the readers.) Bartimaeus calls out to Jesus
and refuses to be silenced. Responding to Jesus' question: What do
you want? his reply goes straight to the point: Master, I want to see.
The urgency in this second story reflects the situation of the group.
Jericho represents the last town before Jerusalem.
Clearly we
are meant to compare these two blind men. After the weeks of tough
teaching as the group journeyed from Caesaria Philippi through Galilee
and down along the river, we have reached the end of the road, and still
the apostles
are "without understanding". Ahead lies the confrontation
that has been foretold three times during this journey.
This will be the testing time. Are we still like the first blind man,
needing
to be led to Jesus, needing to be cured in stages.
Or are we like Bartimaeus, impatient with our condition and ready to
jump up, throw off our security blanket and push through the crowd,
coming surely to this Son of David to blurt out our desperate need: I
want to see!
No limping tragic, this. He had enough front for
Jesus to challenge him: “What do you want me to do for
you?” The question in vs 51
echoes the one in vs 36 voiced by James and John. The request of this
blind beggar is strikingly different from that of the favoured
apostles that we looked at last Sunday.
The man's
answer is decisive: Master, I want to see!
You want to
see? What do you want to see? And why? Others have seen signs and
wonders and been enthralled. Is that what you want? Signs of divinity
manifest in marvels? The splendour of a messiah poised to shake the
yoke of oppression off our shoulders?
The first blind man
Jesus cured wanted to see what was around him. He regained his natural
sight. This man just wants to see, and he was given insight
into things the disciples had been struggling with for
weeks. Instead of going on his way as Jesus told him to, he became a
follower. Mark is obviously constructing a well-designed narrative,
and we cannot help but raise our eyes to see what lies ahead for this
new follower. Jesus is about to begin his final ascent to Jerusalem,
the 24 km walk up the dangerous road where, according to the story, a
traveler fell among thieves. This
time next week it will all be over!
*****
Back
to the question Jesus put: "What do you want of me?"
I think the gospel expects us to hear the question as a personal one.
"What do I, Tony, want of Jesus, son of David, on his way to
meet his destiny - the world's destiny, as we believe, for John would
put these words in his mouth: "Now is judgment passed on this
world..."
For starters, there are two kinds of seeing,
and I don't really need the type the first blind man was given.
Skillful surgeons have already restored my cataract-impaired sight,
and it will do me for now. But "I want to see!" I want
to see what you are about, Master. I want to get inside this mystery,
deeper into it than a wordy familiarity with its components -
original sin, Anointed One, Saviour, Christ, Alpha and Omega,
Master and "Lord". I want to see with my own seeing
those meanings and values that will nourish my life.
People are leaving the church in droves, saying they cannot see the point of it all. I wonder what it is they can no longer see? Why can't modern people see what their parents or grandparents saw so clearly, so convincingly? The glory of the "Catholic Thing" has dispersed like a puff of incense, but for many the lingering odour is not of the sweet exotic kind, but acrid and stale.
*****
Should
we each consider the question Jesus asked Bartimaeus as directed at
us: "What do you want me to do for you?" We would have to
go beyond the general: "I want to see!" to something like
"I need to understand the meaning of, e.g., of death, or
of the significance of the title "Lord", or of the “unity” we might expect among your followers
(ref.: "I pray that they be one, as you Father in me and I in
you, that they may be one in us.") I need to know what is
truth!
If I had the chance to be given real enlightenment
on just one topic, what would I choose?
As I turned this idea
over and over, I found that most of the questions I was inclined to
ask already had their answer in the gospel. For example, what should
we expect of our leaders in the community? or what is the proper role
of the church? (To the first, to be servants; to the second, to be
like a small measure of yeast hidden in the dough, a little being enough to leaven the
whole batch).
Death is the one issue that always puzzles me,
and the closer it comes the more unwelcome it seems - and then the
thought came: I wonder is it precisely the divine in me that protests
against death! After all, if death is repulsive to animals in spite
of the fact that we are put together in such a way that
dissolution/death is part of the formula, how repulsive must it be to
god for whom it cannot be natural in any way.
Our longing to live forever is perhaps the brightest glimmer of divinity in our make-up. It gives rise to the idea (or is it just a dream?) that death is really a process of being born into a new life, into the dimension of real life. Sometimes Jesus seemed to teach that we ought not be afraid of death or see it as a problem, for it leads to fullness of life as surely as the door leads from this enclosed space into the great outdoors. Lord, I would like to get a feel for that idea!
*****
A cathedral prayer
"What
do you want me to do for you?" "Teacher, I want to see!"
If
I were putting together a liturgy for the local cathedral I would be
inclined to formulate a prayer for the diocese, for the bishop and
clergy, for the institution we call Church, and it might go something
like this:
(To be led by the bishop in the name of all)
Teacher, I
want to see the darkness in my soul.
I want to recognise the
self-deception that makes me blind to the pain of the abused,
since
in reality I have preferred to protect instead
the reputation of the church,
the fellowship of the clergy,
obedience to the pope.
I
need to understand the corruption that these attitudes are symptoms
of.
I want to be open to the light of truth.
I
want to be able to stand naked before the public, before the
parliamentary enquiry,
with no defences, with no trappings of
office, no sacred robes to hide my common humanity.
I
need strength and the power of the spirit to enable me
to lay open hidden secrets,
to expose devious strategies,
to forego excuses and explanations,
to allow the naked truth to set us free.
My
teacher, I want to see the meaning of this crucial axiom:
Whoever
would save his life will lose it -
and
whoever would give up his life, his security, his self-esteem,
the exalted dignity of office -
that one will gain life, freshly liberated by the truth.
Master, I want to see!
Looking back over this liturgical prayer provides another insight: that truth is not hard to see.
The way is clearly set out at the very start of the gospel: the call to metanoia and to believe the Good News. And then the Beatitudes: Blessed are are pure of heart, blessed are the poor in spirit, blessed are they who hunger for justice.
All of these are blessed because they can see the truth plainly. Perhaps our prayer ought to be a simple, humble request for the spirit of the beatitudes to fill our minds and hearts. But there is an obstruction as long as we cling to hierarchies of prestige, to the security of wealth and to the legal defence of our rights. It's time to throw aside the cloak...