Pentecost 23B/Reformation Day
October 28, 2018
Mark 10:46-52
INTRODUCTION
Normally on
Reformation Day, we have the choice of staying with the lectionary readings that
most non-Lutheran congregations are using today, or choosing thematic
Reformation Day texts, which are always the same every year. I usually choose
the Reformation texts: First this one from Jeremiah about God writing God’s law
on our hearts, claiming us as God’s own, and forgiving us and forgetting all
our sins. Then Psalm 46, on which Luther’s famous hymn (and Lutheran anthem), A Mighty Fortress is based. Then this
text from Romans that is the one that sparked Luther’s realization that we are saved
by grace and not by works: the heart of the Gospel and the idea that, 500 years
ago, spurred a Reformation of the Church. All those texts, we will hear today.
It wouldn’t be Reformation Day without them!
But for the
Gospel, I decided to swap out the usual Reformation one about how “the truth
will set you free,” and use instead the Gospel that keeps us in Mark’s story,
because it really captured my imagination this year. We’re just coming off a
series of very difficult teachings from Jesus – about selling everything you
own, cutting off limbs if they cause you to stumble, being prepared to leave everything,
even your family, to follow. And so it’s remarkable, after all those difficult
teachings, that in this reading, the blind beggar Bartimaeus hops right up,
throws off his cloak, and follows Jesus – follows him to what we know will be
the cross.
There are so
many cool things about this story, but I won’t get into them all today. But as
you listen, I encourage you to listen especially to the dialogue, in particular
the questions asked, and the responses given, and think of when you’ve heard
those in your own life. Let’s listen.
[READ]
Grace to you and peace from God our
Father and our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.
Last spring, I got inspired to try out some
different ways of praying. I was flipping through a book getting ideas, and one
struck my fancy. It was a sort of guided meditation on a biblical story, in
which you notice and imagine the ways your senses are being engaged by what’s
happening in the narrative. Is it hot there? Dusty? Are you hungry? What does
that person’s face look like? How does their voice sound? How does her
expression make you feel? Stuff like that.
The story my book suggested using wasn’t
the story we hear today, but it included the same question that Jesus asks
Bartimaeus in today’s story: “What do you want me to do for you?” At that point
in the meditation, the book suggested letting everything else in the scene just
fade away, leaving me alone with Jesus. The meditation suggests imagining Jesus
is looking me in the eye, and persistently asking me, “What do you want me to
do for you, Johanna? What do you want me to do for you?”
It was a
great exercise… until I got to that last part. Then suddenly it got really unnerving.
It really felt to me like Jesus was piercing my soul, and seeing all my fears
and insecurities, all the things I have kept hidden from others, and maybe even
from myself. I sat with that discomfort for a while, until I couldn’t take it
anymore. It was as if I was afraid to answer Jesus’ question: “What do you want
me to do for you?”
Why would I
be afraid? Because I didn’t want to be selfish? Because I don’t want to come
off like James and John in last week’s Gospel reading, in which they tell
Jesus, “We want you to do for us whatever we ask of you!” and then ask to sit
beside him in his glory? Was I afraid because I was embarrassed? Was it because
in the end, I didn’t really know what I wanted?
My response
to that guided meditation practice has kept me thinking about this – and it has
also made me hyper-aware of every time that question, “What do you want me to
do for you?” appears in a story about Jesus. Of course, this week is one of
those times, in this encounter with Bartimaeus the blind beggar. This is a
question I answer differently each time I encounter it, based on whatever might
be going on in my life at the time.
Well, I have
something pretty big going on in my life right now, and because of the nature
of that thing, so you do. As I hope you have heard by now, either by letter or
in person, I have received and accepted a new call to serve at a different
church, St. Paul’s in Pittsford. It wasn’t a change I was looking for or
expecting to make, but I was asked to consider it and so I agreed to listen to
the Spirit – and as I prayed and had conversation with people, it became pretty
clear to me what the Spirit was saying! As I went through the discernment
process to make this decision, my answer to Jesus’ question, “What do you want
me to do for you?” was, “Give me guidance! Give me wisdom! Please, make it
clear to me where you need me right now, and what you have in mind!” Jesus was a bit slow
to answer, in my opinion, but he ultimately did make it pretty clear to me. And
so last Sunday, I accepted the call, and will be leaving my position as your
pastor at the end of November.
I won’t
assume to know how this news makes you feel. Maybe it is sad (it is for me!),
maybe angry, maybe relieved, maybe anxious or fearful… maybe more than one of those,
or something else entirely! But whatever your emotional response, you will all
shortly be entering together, with your partner congregation, into a time of
transition. And in transitional times, perhaps more than any other time, Jesus’
question is essential. Every step of the way, Jesus will be calling to you,
like he called Bartimaeus, and asking you, “What do you want me to do for you?”
And every step of the way, you will be discerning what the answer is. Maybe one
day the answer is, “Just be here, Lord.” Maybe another day it is, “Show us what
future you have in mind.” And on another day, “Give us patience – with the
process, with ourselves, and with each other – to get through this!” The answer
will change. That’s why Jesus asks this question so many times throughout the
Gospels, to keep us thinking about it!
As for me, I
like Bartimaeus’ response. “Let me see again.” What I like about it is that
last word: “again.” Presumably he once did have his sight, and then lost it,
and wants it regained. And although I have always had near perfect eye-sight, physically
speaking, this condition of losing sight and wanting it back resonates with me,
especially for a time of transition – a time that is wrought with uncertainty
and anxiety and perhaps some fear… but also a time that is ripe for growth. And
so in these times, our answer may become the same as Bartimaeus: Let me see
again. Let me find my way out of the darkness again. Let me understand again.
Let me see again how you, God, create
something marvelous out of nothing. Let me see again how you lead and guide
your people. Let me see again how you feed and nourish your people when they
are in the wilderness, just like you fed the Israelites for forty years. Let me
see again.
Let me see again how you lift up
leaders, like you lifted up Moses, and Aaron, and Joshua, and Samuel, and
David, and Lydia. Let me see again how you equip unlikely people to do your
work, like you did Jeremiah, and Esther, and Ruth, and Peter, and Mary. Let me see
again how you draw your people together. I want to see that, again.
Let me see again how you, Jesus, are
a light shining in the darkness, like you were that dark night in a Bethlehem
stable. Remind me again about how you are with me, with us, along the rocky
road, just like you were there with the disciples on the night of your
resurrection, as they walked with dashed hopes along the road to Emmaus. Let me
see again how you come into our fears, just like you did when the disciples
locked themselves in the upper room for fear of the Jews, and yet still, you
appeared and said, “Peace be with you.” Let me see you do that again, do it
again in my life, in my darkness, my dashed hopes, my fear, my uncertainty. Let
me see it again.
Most of all, Jesus, you know what I
want you to do for me? I want to see again how you bring life out of death. Let
me see again how the things we see as
unwanted change, you see as
opportunity for transformation. Let me see again how even when nights are long
and dark, morning brings surprises we couldn’t have imagined, because with you
there is always dawn, just on the other side of the darkness. Let me see again
how even when we are faced with endings, you have in mind beautiful new
beginnings. Let me see again.
This is the story of our faith, you
see, the story of God. It is a story of seeing again and again how God works in
and among us to bring about transformation from death to life. It is a story
about how the Spirit is always causing disruptions, so that we would come to
see the truth of God a bit more clearly. That is, after all, what we celebrate
on Reformation Day: we remember with thanksgiving that 500 years ago, what
looked like the death of the Church as the world knew it was actually the
beginning of a new age of faith: an age in which people were assured of God’s
grace and love for them. Reformation Day is a day we give thanks for the ways
that God is still disrupting our lives so that we could be assured again of
that love and grace, of God’s relentless presence with us in the midst of
transitions. Reformation Day – and every day – is all about how we want to see again
God’s transforming power, the transforming power that is our daily bread.
You know what happens right after
this story about Bartimaeus? The formerly blind beggar hops up and immediately
follows Jesus – who then rides into Jerusalem on a donkey with palms waving and
shouts of “Hosanna!” and then a few days later, dies on a cross. Bartimaeus,
the man who wanted to see again, walks along with Jesus to see what seemed to
be the most final of deaths, only to then see the most incredible expression of
new life: resurrection! In my imagining of this story, I believe that
Bartimaeus goes on to tell the story, over and over again, about how he came to
see again that with God, there is always the promise of new life.
Let us pray… Transforming
God, open the eyes of our hearts so that we may see again the mysterious ways
you work to bring about new life. Be present with us in our transitions, and
help us to trust that you are there, leading and guiding us along the way. In
the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen. 
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