St. Paul’s Church in
Bergen & Church of the Incarnation, Jersey City NJ
October 28, 2018
Year B, Proper 25:
The 25th Sunday after Pentecost
Job 42:1-6, 10-17
Psalm 34:1-8, 19-22
Hebrews 7:23-28
Mark 10:46-52
The Blindness of the Crowd
The
other day the latest issue of Prep
Magazine arrived in the mail.
As
I usually do, I took some time to look through this thick and glossy magazine –
much thicker and glossier than back when I was a student at St. Peter’s Prep in
the last century – I took a few minutes to get up to date on the latest construction,
to look through the long list of generous donors, and to review the lists of
births, marriages, and deaths.
The
magazine usually gives me a warm feeling – a reminder of that wonderful school
that was and continues to be such a big influence in my life, second only to my
family.
It
was at St. Peter’s Prep where I really learned that God wants me – wants all of
us – to be men and women for others – to give away our lives in service, especially
service to the poorest and most vulnerable.
I’ll
always be so grateful to my parents for sacrificing much so that I could go to
Prep.
Now,
of course, I didn’t love everything about Prep.
I
hated math class.
And,
I also was never crazy about the school’s mascot: the Marauder.
If
you look up “marauder” in the dictionary you’ll find that it’s someone who’s a
raider, a plunderer, a pillager, a looter, a robber, a bandit…
I’ve
always thought that a “marauder” was a strange choice of mascot for a school
devoted to following Jesus Christ, who was and is pretty much the opposite of a
“marauder.”
Anyway,
I usually never gave much thought to the Marauder except at school rallies,
which was something else about Prep that I was never crazy about.
Oh,
it was fine to celebrate our athletes – and most of us teenage boys were
certainly OK for our cheerleaders (who were girls from St. Dom’s) to come and
cheer for us – but sometimes things got a little out of hand.
Often
there was some kid dressed as the mascot of one of our opposing schools – the
Hudson Catholic hawk, for example – and he’d come out and we’d all boo and
shout insults and then the Marauder would “attack” the hawk and we’d all cheer
as he ran away or lay defeated on the gym floor.
I
don’t want to blow this out of proportion, but that kind of spectacle always
left me uneasy both as a student and later a teacher. Obviously, the mock
violence was disturbing. But, there was also what I can recognize now as the
temporary blindness of the crowd – the crowd swept up into such a frenzy that
maybe for just a few minutes we forgot all of those other lessons that we were
supposed to be learning – that we were meant to be men for others – not men
cheering the humiliation and defeat of another, not even of our despised
“enemy.”
In
today’s lesson from the Gospel of Mark, we heard the story of Jesus giving
sight to the blind beggar, Bartimaeus.
It’s
a beautiful and powerful story of faith – the blind Bartimaeus – a blind man by
the roadside who is such a nobody that he doesn’t even have a real name of his
own – “Bartimaeus” simply means “son of Timaeus.”
Bartimaeus
may be a blind nobody but when he hears that it’s Jesus of Nazareth coming,
Bartimaeus “sees” a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and he works up the courage
to speak up – Bartimaeus has the faith to cry out:
“Jesus,
Son of David, have mercy on me!”
“Son
of David, have mercy on me!”
Of
course, Jesus hears and sees this blind nobody, calls Bartimaeus to him, and
rewards his faith by giving him his sight.
And,
not only does Bartimaeus receive his sight but we’re told that he now becomes a
follower of Jesus, following him on the way.
As usual, Mark is
a very economical writer, packing a lot of story and meaning into a few words
while also leaving a lot unsaid, leaving a lot for us to imagine, a lot of
blanks for us to fill in.
So, let’s back up
for a minute.
Mark begins by
telling us that Jesus and his disciples came to the city of Jericho.
We don’t know what
Jesus said or did in Jericho but we can imagine that it was his usual mix of
teaching and healing and praying – but we don’t have to imagine that Jesus made
quite an impression in Jericho because we’re told that a crowd follows Jesus
out of the city – on the road where they encounter blind Bartimaeus.
And it’s here that
we discover that Bartimaeus is not the blindest person in this story.
No, there’s the
blindness of the crowd.
When Bartimaeus
first cries out, “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!” we’re told that many
in the crowd “sternly ordered him to be quiet.”
Now, hold on a
minute.
You would think that this crowd following
Jesus out of Jericho – this crowd that presumably had just been hearing and
seeing Jesus teach and heal – this crowd that would have been drawn to Jesus’
love for all people, especially the poor and the vulnerable, you’d think that
this crowd would have seen in Bartimaeus a wonderful opportunity to serve
someone quite obviously in need.
You would think
that they would’ve picked up Bartimaeus and brought him to Jesus! Right?
But, no.
Instead, this
blind crowd tells the blind man to be silent.
And, I wonder why.
There are probably
lots of different answers – maybe as many different answers as there are people
in the crowd
Maybe some only
want Jesus for themselves and for the people they know and love.
Maybe some think
that this poor man’s blindness is a kind of divine punishment and so they think
he isn’t worthy of healing, is somehow not worthy of the love of Jesus, or of
our love.
Maybe some can’t
see that Jesus’ message of love and healing isn’t some abstract philosophy for
us to study and talk about, but in fact is meant to be put into practice with
the nobodies we encounter along the road.
But, I’m just
guessing here. I honestly don’t know why the blind crowd can’t see.
But, the shocking
blindness of the crowd in today’s lesson has gotten me thinking about our
current sad and scary situation.
We live in a time
of crowds – crowds at rallies and protests – crowds making their way through
Central America – crowds that have turned some of our streets and neighborhoods
into shooting galleries – and, let’s not forget, there are also virtual crowds
online.
And, crowds can be
dangerous – sometimes for our physical safety - but also spiritually dangerous
because, just like at a pep rally, we can get swept up into the frenzy of the
crowd, forgetting who and what we are supposed to be – forgetting who and whose
we really are.
Crowds are especially
dangerous for those who are seen as the other, the enemy, the opponent - the
Hudson Hawk.
And, in a more
subtle way, crowds can also be dangerous for those of us on the outside looking
in, because in a way we become blind, too.
Looking at a crowd
from the outside, we just see a mass of people chanting their slogans and
carrying their signs – we just see a mass of people slowly making their way in
a so-called caravan desperately hoping to enter our country – we just see a
gang in their color-coordinated outfits hanging out menacingly on our street
corners – and, as we’ve been painfully reminded in the last few days, if we’re
really twisted we just see abstract groups of people with labels we’ve somehow
learned to hate: “Blacks” “Democrats” “Jews.”
But even if we’re
not hate-filled, when there’s a crowd, we often become blind - it’s hard
for us to see individuals, hard to see clearly our brothers and sisters, each
with a name, each with disappointments and hopes, and each one, every single
one, so loved by God.
Today we
definitely live in a time of often angry and sometimes dangerous crowds – and
so many of us have gone blind.
But there was hope
for blind Bartimaeus, and there was hope for the blind crowd, too.
Notice that as
soon as Jesus responds to Bartimaeus, the crowd immediately changes its tune,
saying to the blind man: “Take heart, get up, he is calling you.”
It was like
suddenly the crowd was reminded of who and what they were supposed to be –
reminded of who and whose they really were.
Just like for
Bartimaeus, at the word of Jesus the blind crowd could now see.
The truth is there’s
not much that you and I can do about a lunatic in a white van covered in
political stickers sending his dangerous packages or a racist aiming to open
fire in a black church and, when that doesn’t work out, having to settle for killing
two people in a convenience store.
And there’s not
much that we can do about an anti-Semite slaughtering worshippers in a
synagogue and there’s not much that we can do about the caravan heading north
and there’s not even that much we can do about the gang violence bloodying our
streets.
But, right here
and now, in our own time of crowds and blindness, my prayer is that we
will hear the word of Jesus – and really see not crowds, but brothers
and sisters – really see what and who we are always meant to be: men and
women for others.
Amen.
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