(You can listen to this reflection here.)
In this week’s story, we find Jesus leaving Jericho with a large crowd, on his way to Jerusalem. At the side of the road sits a blind beggar named Bartimaeus, who is not shy:
When he heard that it was Jesus of Nazareth, he began to shout out and say, ‘Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!’ Many sternly ordered him to be quiet, but he cried out even more loudly, ‘Son of David, have mercy on me!’
This bellowed prayer has come through the ages from the lips of Bartimaeus into the lives of millions of Christ-followers. It forms the heart the “Jesus prayer,” which pilgrims and mystics have taken as a mantra to help them cultivate the practice of praying without ceasing. This spiritual practice, called hesychasm, flourished in Russia and some Eastern Orthodox churches, and has popped up in other unexpected places, most notably in J.D. Salinger’s great novella of spirituality and neurosis, Franny and Zooey. Also called “the prayer of the heart,” the words vary, but are most often rendered, “Jesus, Son of God, have mercy on me,” with some formulations adding the words “…a sinner.”
What is it about these words that so many have found so compelling? Do we need to beg for mercy from a God of love? In a perfect world, we would not. In the world we yet live in, awaiting the perfection of God’s redemption, many of us find ourselves aware of our need for God’s mercy and love on a regular basis, whether from a place of pain or poverty or as a cry of repentance. No matter how well we know God’s grace, our awareness of being less than we were made to be drives us to that prayer. I pray it often for our country.
But let us not mistake this for a prayer of degradation and forced humility. Bartimaeus called out these words with vigor and volume. His was not a meek plea, but a prayer of faith and recognition both of who Jesus was and who he himself was. God is God, and we are not. God is all in all; we are ever becoming whole. This side of glory, we will always be in need of the mercy of the One who made us, knows us, loves us, and never lets us go.
What would drive you to utter such a cry? What are you in need of deliverance from or blessing with? Bartimaeus is our model – pray it with pride, “Lord Jesus! Son of David! Have mercy on me. God will.
10-22-18 - Son of...
(You can listen to this reflection here.)
This Sunday’s Gospel reading finds us at the cusp of the final act in Jesus’ earthly life and mission. He and his entourage come to Jericho and, the text suggests, leave it soon after. Jericho is the last stop on his final trip to Jerusalem; there he will enter into his passion and death. On the outskirts of Jericho, the ancient site of Joshua’s miraculous victory, the new Joshua – Y'shua – encounters a blind man, yet one who can see better than anyone else around.
They came to Jericho. As he and his disciples and a large crowd were leaving Jericho, Bartimaeus son of Timaeus, a blind beggar, was sitting by the roadside. When he heard that it was Jesus of Nazareth, he began to shout out and say, ‘Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!’
Why does Mark make such a point about Bartimaeus’ son-ship? “Bar” means “son” in Aramaic, so Bartimaeus means “Son of Timaeus.” Thus Mark identifies him as “Son of Timeaeus, Son of Timaeus.” Now, maybe it’s just that his father was named Timaeus, but that’s not a Hebrew name. And this isn’t Mark’s usual pattern. Some scholars think Mark is trying to make a point with this name – “Timaeus” is also the name of one of the more influential Dialogs of Plato, and contains a discourse on the eye and vision. Is Mark signaling his readers with this name that we are talking about a new way of seeing the universe? Or is he suggesting that all the intellectual and philosophical insight in the world won’t allow you to see what can only be perceived by faith?
This blind man already sees by faith what no one else in the story seems to: who Jesus really is. Mark’s gospel is the one that makes the most of the “Messianic secret” – and here a blind man “outs” him: Son of David – code for the Messiah, whom prophets foretold would come from David's line.
What do these two sons, the son of Timaeus and the son of David have to do with each other? And what do they have to do with us? One might say we are all daughters and sons of both Timaeus and God, heirs to both worldly reason and spiritual sight. As Jesus lived with two identities at once, human and divine, so we in some measure live in these two realities simultaneously, with all the tension that entails.
This rich story invites us to explore our dual citizenship in the realm of this world and the realm of God. It bids us question how our gift of physical sight and intellectual insight can help and/or hinder our faith vision. How does your capacity for thought about God lead you closer to God?
What “evidence” does the world present that holds you back from believing the impossible power of God? Do we fall prey to the mixed messages of too much data?
As we will see, Bartimaeus was unhindered by physical sight, even as he longed to see. But his faith vision was highly developed. The invitation for us who are blessed with physical vision is to be as sure as this blind man was about the God-Life that is all around us, unseen but very, very real.
This Sunday’s Gospel reading finds us at the cusp of the final act in Jesus’ earthly life and mission. He and his entourage come to Jericho and, the text suggests, leave it soon after. Jericho is the last stop on his final trip to Jerusalem; there he will enter into his passion and death. On the outskirts of Jericho, the ancient site of Joshua’s miraculous victory, the new Joshua – Y'shua – encounters a blind man, yet one who can see better than anyone else around.
They came to Jericho. As he and his disciples and a large crowd were leaving Jericho, Bartimaeus son of Timaeus, a blind beggar, was sitting by the roadside. When he heard that it was Jesus of Nazareth, he began to shout out and say, ‘Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!’
Why does Mark make such a point about Bartimaeus’ son-ship? “Bar” means “son” in Aramaic, so Bartimaeus means “Son of Timaeus.” Thus Mark identifies him as “Son of Timeaeus, Son of Timaeus.” Now, maybe it’s just that his father was named Timaeus, but that’s not a Hebrew name. And this isn’t Mark’s usual pattern. Some scholars think Mark is trying to make a point with this name – “Timaeus” is also the name of one of the more influential Dialogs of Plato, and contains a discourse on the eye and vision. Is Mark signaling his readers with this name that we are talking about a new way of seeing the universe? Or is he suggesting that all the intellectual and philosophical insight in the world won’t allow you to see what can only be perceived by faith?
This blind man already sees by faith what no one else in the story seems to: who Jesus really is. Mark’s gospel is the one that makes the most of the “Messianic secret” – and here a blind man “outs” him: Son of David – code for the Messiah, whom prophets foretold would come from David's line.
What do these two sons, the son of Timaeus and the son of David have to do with each other? And what do they have to do with us? One might say we are all daughters and sons of both Timaeus and God, heirs to both worldly reason and spiritual sight. As Jesus lived with two identities at once, human and divine, so we in some measure live in these two realities simultaneously, with all the tension that entails.
This rich story invites us to explore our dual citizenship in the realm of this world and the realm of God. It bids us question how our gift of physical sight and intellectual insight can help and/or hinder our faith vision. How does your capacity for thought about God lead you closer to God?
What “evidence” does the world present that holds you back from believing the impossible power of God? Do we fall prey to the mixed messages of too much data?
As we will see, Bartimaeus was unhindered by physical sight, even as he longed to see. But his faith vision was highly developed. The invitation for us who are blessed with physical vision is to be as sure as this blind man was about the God-Life that is all around us, unseen but very, very real.
10-19-18 - Ransomed
(You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here.)
One element of Christian thought that is evolving these days is how we think about the Atonement. Doctrines of atonement articulate how Christ’s death on the cross (and/or resurrection) had a salvific effect for humankind. Some Christians reject the idea that humanity needed saving; others are put off by the notion that our God of Love could be so wrathful as to require an atoning sacrifice to meet the demands of his justice, let alone the sacrifice of his own son. Ideas that Christians have prayed, confessed, preached and sung about for centuries are suddenly in the recycle bin.
And guess what? I couldn’t navigate this in a short spiritual reflection even if I were equipped. I raise it only because of the last thing Jesus said in his discourse to his disciples about service and humble leadership:
“For the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life a ransom for many.”
If we wonder why there would be theories of atonement at all, that line about giving his life as a ransom is one reason. It tells us something about how Jesus saw his mission and impending passion. It suggests that “many” are indeed in need of being rescued, saved, liberated, redeemed like items sitting on a pawn shop shelf.
Whatever you think about sin and sinfulness, however you view your need to be forgiven and saved, or not, each of us can relate to the notion of being held hostage to something. Whether we are hostage to our own workloads or schedules, to cycles of disease or addiction in family members, to the materialism of our culture, the demands of social media, or our own broken patterns of relating to ourselves, to others and to God – each of us can appreciate the notion of being ransomed from that bound condition into freedom.
Even if we accept Jesus’ gift only in that light, it is enough to make us profoundly grateful to be ransomed – meaning, someone else has paid the ransom so that we can walk out of captivity into the bright sunlight of liberation.
From what in your life have you been ransomed? From what do you need freeing now?
You might ask Jesus in prayer today how his offering of himself unto death and back into new life has provided you a key for the door.
Do you owe a debt to another person you can never repay, perhaps a hurt you caused or joy you stole? Can you accept that Jesus may have paid that even debt for you?
In what ways might we still be sitting in our captivity, even though the door has been opened – because it’s scarier to move out of our patterns of unhealth into the responsibility of freedom?
There’s a beautiful song called Be Ye Glad, with this refrain:
Be ye glad, O be ye glad; every debt that you ever had
Has been paid up in full by the grace of the Lord;
Be ye glad, be ye glad, be ye glad.
We are ransomed. Open the door and step into the Light!
One element of Christian thought that is evolving these days is how we think about the Atonement. Doctrines of atonement articulate how Christ’s death on the cross (and/or resurrection) had a salvific effect for humankind. Some Christians reject the idea that humanity needed saving; others are put off by the notion that our God of Love could be so wrathful as to require an atoning sacrifice to meet the demands of his justice, let alone the sacrifice of his own son. Ideas that Christians have prayed, confessed, preached and sung about for centuries are suddenly in the recycle bin.
And guess what? I couldn’t navigate this in a short spiritual reflection even if I were equipped. I raise it only because of the last thing Jesus said in his discourse to his disciples about service and humble leadership:
“For the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life a ransom for many.”
If we wonder why there would be theories of atonement at all, that line about giving his life as a ransom is one reason. It tells us something about how Jesus saw his mission and impending passion. It suggests that “many” are indeed in need of being rescued, saved, liberated, redeemed like items sitting on a pawn shop shelf.
Whatever you think about sin and sinfulness, however you view your need to be forgiven and saved, or not, each of us can relate to the notion of being held hostage to something. Whether we are hostage to our own workloads or schedules, to cycles of disease or addiction in family members, to the materialism of our culture, the demands of social media, or our own broken patterns of relating to ourselves, to others and to God – each of us can appreciate the notion of being ransomed from that bound condition into freedom.
Even if we accept Jesus’ gift only in that light, it is enough to make us profoundly grateful to be ransomed – meaning, someone else has paid the ransom so that we can walk out of captivity into the bright sunlight of liberation.
From what in your life have you been ransomed? From what do you need freeing now?
You might ask Jesus in prayer today how his offering of himself unto death and back into new life has provided you a key for the door.
Do you owe a debt to another person you can never repay, perhaps a hurt you caused or joy you stole? Can you accept that Jesus may have paid that even debt for you?
In what ways might we still be sitting in our captivity, even though the door has been opened – because it’s scarier to move out of our patterns of unhealth into the responsibility of freedom?
There’s a beautiful song called Be Ye Glad, with this refrain:
Be ye glad, O be ye glad; every debt that you ever had
Has been paid up in full by the grace of the Lord;
Be ye glad, be ye glad, be ye glad.
We are ransomed. Open the door and step into the Light!
10-18-18 - To Serve and Be Served
(You can listen to this reflection here. Sunday's gospel reading is here.)
Didn’t Jesus want breakfast in bed every now and then? Oh wait, “The Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.” Okay, then how about dinner? He was not averse to dinner parties, and at least twice allowed women to anoint his feet, be it with ointment or tears. So he was willing to be served…
Yet here he says, “…whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all. For the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve.”
Okay, I’m being overly literal. Of course, Jesus received service as well as gave it. But overall he was a net giver. (It’s hard to top giving your life...). And he wanted his followers to get it through their heads and hearts that their life’s work was to serve others, often without reward, possibly at the cost of their lives. He even washed their feet to teach them kinetically what perhaps they could not fully grasp from his words – that love must be embodied to be received. Afterward, he told them, “So if I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another's feet.”
Serving others, especially those who cannot repay, is at the heart of our faith. As followers of Christ, we are called to be net givers, even if some to whom we give are net takers. Yet serving and being served need to be in balance. If we are never willing to receive free service, we can find ourselves giving from a place of superiority rather than humility. As most people will tell you on Maundy Thursday, it’s a lot harder to accept someone else washing your feet than it is to wash another's.
What does a community look like in which everyone believes they have come not to be served but to serve? At its best, it looks like a community of mutual caring and love, in which people are always looking around to see who needs something. Then everyone is at some point the recipient of another’s care, and everyone is a giver of service.
We have to offer service without thought to whether or not someone will care for us – but if we are never on the receiving end, that can be a sign that we are operating too much in isolation. Do a little assessment today – are you a net giver or net receiver in your life right now? How might Jesus invite you to address any imbalance?
One way is to ask Him to lead us each day in the service we offer. The Son of Man is still in the business of serving, but now we are his hands, feet, ears. voice and love. We’ll find as we offer service with his Spirit in us, we are not drained, but somehow are served ourselves.
Didn’t Jesus want breakfast in bed every now and then? Oh wait, “The Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.” Okay, then how about dinner? He was not averse to dinner parties, and at least twice allowed women to anoint his feet, be it with ointment or tears. So he was willing to be served…
Yet here he says, “…whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all. For the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve.”
Okay, I’m being overly literal. Of course, Jesus received service as well as gave it. But overall he was a net giver. (It’s hard to top giving your life...). And he wanted his followers to get it through their heads and hearts that their life’s work was to serve others, often without reward, possibly at the cost of their lives. He even washed their feet to teach them kinetically what perhaps they could not fully grasp from his words – that love must be embodied to be received. Afterward, he told them, “So if I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another's feet.”
Serving others, especially those who cannot repay, is at the heart of our faith. As followers of Christ, we are called to be net givers, even if some to whom we give are net takers. Yet serving and being served need to be in balance. If we are never willing to receive free service, we can find ourselves giving from a place of superiority rather than humility. As most people will tell you on Maundy Thursday, it’s a lot harder to accept someone else washing your feet than it is to wash another's.
What does a community look like in which everyone believes they have come not to be served but to serve? At its best, it looks like a community of mutual caring and love, in which people are always looking around to see who needs something. Then everyone is at some point the recipient of another’s care, and everyone is a giver of service.
We have to offer service without thought to whether or not someone will care for us – but if we are never on the receiving end, that can be a sign that we are operating too much in isolation. Do a little assessment today – are you a net giver or net receiver in your life right now? How might Jesus invite you to address any imbalance?
One way is to ask Him to lead us each day in the service we offer. The Son of Man is still in the business of serving, but now we are his hands, feet, ears. voice and love. We’ll find as we offer service with his Spirit in us, we are not drained, but somehow are served ourselves.
To receive Water
Daily by email each morning, subscribe here.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)