(You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here.)
Stories function in interesting ways. While we generally love to hear a story we haven’t encountered before, we are also very attached to the stories we already know. We don’t like people messing with our old stories – even their authors. “I love to tell the story,” goes the old-timey gospel hymn, “The old, old story of Jesus and his love.”
Yet that “old, old story” is ever becoming new in our lives. In order to really accept healing and freedom and renewal, we need to be able to believe a different narrative than the one that has defined our lives so far, a different story than the one our culture or our parents or our work has told us. We can get trapped by what we have experienced as “normal.” Jesus’ gift is to show us the new normal, to show us what can be in the midst of what is.
Bartimaeus believed this story he had heard about, and it gave him power to walk out of his old story into the new.
The blind man said to him, ‘My teacher, let me see again.’ Jesus said to him, ‘Go; your faith has made you well.’ Immediately he regained his sight and followed him on the way.
Physical sight and following Jesus meant giving up a certain kind of identity, a degree of security. Walking into our new stories always does. That’s why we often stay stuck in situations that are less than what God might want for us.
What old stories have defined you for too long?
One way to get at that question is with this one: What are you pretending not to know?
What new story is calling you? Maybe it’s a vocation stirring in you, to use your time and gifts in some way other than how you have been. Maybe it’s a different place, a new person to love, a rediscovery of yourself. What is trying to be born in you?
Bartimaeus left his roadside and followed Jesus – right into Jerusalem, where Jesus was first lauded, and soon after condemned to a brutal death. That new story might not have been at all what Bartimaeus hoped for – and maybe it was more. For he got to witness firsthand the greatest love story the world has ever known. And he got to be around when that perfect man who had poured himself out for us, even to death, rose from the grave to usher all of us into the New, New Story God is writing.
And that story, like God’s mercies, is new every morning, as we allow it to claim us.
10-25-18 - What Do You Want?
(You can listen to this reflection here.)
“What do you want me to do for you?” What a beautiful question! How often does someone ask us that? Think about it; what would you answer if someone stood before you now and said, “What do you want me to do for you?”
I can think of a billion things, mostly having to do with my to-do list. Find me some time off. Bless my congregations with a deeper thirst for the Spirit. Increase my metabolism.
What if the person asking you that could do anything, even move heaven and earth? That’s what Bartimaeus experienced in this week’s story.
And they called the blind man, saying to him, ‘Take heart; get up, he is calling you.’ So throwing off his cloak, he sprang up and came to Jesus. Then Jesus said to him, ‘What do you want me to do for you?’ The blind man said to him, ‘My teacher, let me see again.’
It might seem a ridiculous question – isn’t it obvious a blind man wants to see? Yet Jesus did Bartimaeus the honor of asking him to speak his desire. He didn’t assume, he didn’t impose. He asked, inviting relationship.
Jesus gives us the same honor, and the same freedom. Yes, God knows what we need, better than we do. And God wants us to ask, just as we want our children to ask for what they desire. Prayer is not about getting what we want, three wishes granted by a genie. Prayer is about drawing closer in relationship to the God who loves us. As we can ask in freedom, God responds in freedom.
Of course, we don’t always understand the response. Just as we don’t give our children everything they ask, for reasons that are mysterious to them, we sometimes experience a “no” from God. I assume that if Bartimaeus had said, “I want you to smite those who harass me,” Jesus would not have complied. We can be sure, though, that we worship a God who desires wholeness for us in body, mind and spirit.
I have preached on this story in nursing homes, to people in wheelchairs, some of them young, many quick of mind, trapped in a failing body. That tested my faith: “What do you want me to do for you?” Still I went about praying for God’s healing love to be released in each one as I shared the eucharist. Though I longed to see quickened limbs and straightened spines, I hold fast the conviction that Jesus’ power is undiminished and his presence real.
It's not always instant. Yet I will proclaim his goodness and love, and keep telling him what I would like him to do for me, and for this beautiful, hurting world.
“What do you want me to do for you?” What a beautiful question! How often does someone ask us that? Think about it; what would you answer if someone stood before you now and said, “What do you want me to do for you?”
I can think of a billion things, mostly having to do with my to-do list. Find me some time off. Bless my congregations with a deeper thirst for the Spirit. Increase my metabolism.
What if the person asking you that could do anything, even move heaven and earth? That’s what Bartimaeus experienced in this week’s story.
And they called the blind man, saying to him, ‘Take heart; get up, he is calling you.’ So throwing off his cloak, he sprang up and came to Jesus. Then Jesus said to him, ‘What do you want me to do for you?’ The blind man said to him, ‘My teacher, let me see again.’
It might seem a ridiculous question – isn’t it obvious a blind man wants to see? Yet Jesus did Bartimaeus the honor of asking him to speak his desire. He didn’t assume, he didn’t impose. He asked, inviting relationship.
Jesus gives us the same honor, and the same freedom. Yes, God knows what we need, better than we do. And God wants us to ask, just as we want our children to ask for what they desire. Prayer is not about getting what we want, three wishes granted by a genie. Prayer is about drawing closer in relationship to the God who loves us. As we can ask in freedom, God responds in freedom.
Of course, we don’t always understand the response. Just as we don’t give our children everything they ask, for reasons that are mysterious to them, we sometimes experience a “no” from God. I assume that if Bartimaeus had said, “I want you to smite those who harass me,” Jesus would not have complied. We can be sure, though, that we worship a God who desires wholeness for us in body, mind and spirit.
I have preached on this story in nursing homes, to people in wheelchairs, some of them young, many quick of mind, trapped in a failing body. That tested my faith: “What do you want me to do for you?” Still I went about praying for God’s healing love to be released in each one as I shared the eucharist. Though I longed to see quickened limbs and straightened spines, I hold fast the conviction that Jesus’ power is undiminished and his presence real.
It's not always instant. Yet I will proclaim his goodness and love, and keep telling him what I would like him to do for me, and for this beautiful, hurting world.
10-24-18 - Throwing Off Our Cloaks
(You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here.)
They tried to hush him, this blind man sitting by the road, shouting out for Jesus: Many sternly ordered him to be quiet, but he cried out even more loudly, ‘Son of David, have mercy on me!’
It was too late. Jesus had heard the commotion and stopped:
Jesus stood still and said, ‘Call him here.’ And they called the blind man, saying to him, ‘Take heart; get up, he is calling you.’ So throwing off his cloak, he sprang up and came to Jesus.
What wonderful energy is conveyed in that sentence, in Bartimaeus’ actions. He throws off his cloak. He springs up. He comes to Jesus.
Wait a minute, springing up and going to Jesus I get. But why did he throw off his cloak? What did that cloak signify? Perhaps it represented his identity as a beggar. It may have been more than protection against the elements – if he lived by that road, as some beggars did, it may have been his sleeping bag as well. It may have been his most prized possession as well as a symbol of his degradation.
Whatever that cloak represents, his throwing it away speaks volumes: Bartimaeus knew that he wasn’t going to need it anymore. Before he got to Jesus’ side, he was so sure about Jesus’ power to heal, that he cast it aside and came to Jesus exposed and vulnerable. Bartimaeus was ready to cast off the story that had defined him. Bartimaeus was ready for a new story. Bartimaeus was ready for healing.
What “cloaks” do we cling to that may inhibit our faith? What cloaks define our status in this world? For some, the cloak might represent security, like safe homes and bank accounts. For some, it may be patterns of addiction that are safe and familiar, no matter how deadly. For some, it’s carrying too much weight, or being busy all the time.
Do we continue to benefit from habits and patterns and wounds that may tell a truth about our lives, but not the whole truth, not God’s truth? Bartimaeus had a certain safety in his life as a beggar; little was asked of him; he was cared for, more or less. But he was ready to toss that away and move into a new life.
Is there a time when you have tossed away your cloak in faith, confident that God was up to something in your life – or at least ready to stand before God vulnerable and expectant? Did you ever take it back again? (It can be distressingly easy to find the cloaks we throw aside…).
Is there anything you cling to now, that may hold you back from putting your full trust in God? What if you talked with Jesus about it? What if, in imaginative prayer, you asked Bartimaeus what it felt like to throw away a garment that both protected and falsely defined him?
Bartimaeus was ready. He believed, and he sprang. Jesus is calling you and me to his side too. What need we throw away so we are free to spring up and go to him?
They tried to hush him, this blind man sitting by the road, shouting out for Jesus: Many sternly ordered him to be quiet, but he cried out even more loudly, ‘Son of David, have mercy on me!’
It was too late. Jesus had heard the commotion and stopped:
Jesus stood still and said, ‘Call him here.’ And they called the blind man, saying to him, ‘Take heart; get up, he is calling you.’ So throwing off his cloak, he sprang up and came to Jesus.
What wonderful energy is conveyed in that sentence, in Bartimaeus’ actions. He throws off his cloak. He springs up. He comes to Jesus.
Wait a minute, springing up and going to Jesus I get. But why did he throw off his cloak? What did that cloak signify? Perhaps it represented his identity as a beggar. It may have been more than protection against the elements – if he lived by that road, as some beggars did, it may have been his sleeping bag as well. It may have been his most prized possession as well as a symbol of his degradation.
Whatever that cloak represents, his throwing it away speaks volumes: Bartimaeus knew that he wasn’t going to need it anymore. Before he got to Jesus’ side, he was so sure about Jesus’ power to heal, that he cast it aside and came to Jesus exposed and vulnerable. Bartimaeus was ready to cast off the story that had defined him. Bartimaeus was ready for a new story. Bartimaeus was ready for healing.
What “cloaks” do we cling to that may inhibit our faith? What cloaks define our status in this world? For some, the cloak might represent security, like safe homes and bank accounts. For some, it may be patterns of addiction that are safe and familiar, no matter how deadly. For some, it’s carrying too much weight, or being busy all the time.
Do we continue to benefit from habits and patterns and wounds that may tell a truth about our lives, but not the whole truth, not God’s truth? Bartimaeus had a certain safety in his life as a beggar; little was asked of him; he was cared for, more or less. But he was ready to toss that away and move into a new life.
Is there a time when you have tossed away your cloak in faith, confident that God was up to something in your life – or at least ready to stand before God vulnerable and expectant? Did you ever take it back again? (It can be distressingly easy to find the cloaks we throw aside…).
Is there anything you cling to now, that may hold you back from putting your full trust in God? What if you talked with Jesus about it? What if, in imaginative prayer, you asked Bartimaeus what it felt like to throw away a garment that both protected and falsely defined him?
Bartimaeus was ready. He believed, and he sprang. Jesus is calling you and me to his side too. What need we throw away so we are free to spring up and go to him?
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