Grace to you and peace from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen.
Many of us grew up learning various prayers. The Lord’s
Prayer, of course, we learned early on by sitting in our parents’ laps at home
and in church, hearing the words repeated day after day, week after week.
“Come, Lord Jesus, be our guest,” we learned at the dinner table.” “We can’t
eat until you fold your hands and pray,” was sometimes a battle of wills, but
sooner or later, hunger won out and we prayed, even if somewhat begrudgingly.
At bed-time, we taught our kids the prayers we learned from our parents. Some
are old poems like “Now I lay me down to sleep.” Others were hymns: “Now the
light has gone away…”, “Abide with Me,” “or even a version of the 23rd
Psalm, “The Lord is my shepherd/ I shall not want/He makes me down to lie; In
pastures green/He leadeth me/the quiet waters by.” Even now, I still say those
at times.
One of the oldest prayers of the church is called The Kyrie:
Lord, have mercy. We pray it almost every Sunday in one form or another,
sometimes spoken, sometimes sung, sometimes more than once. Kyrie means simply,
Lord, and it is half of the prayer. The other half, the “have mercy” portion,
comes from the word Eleison. Kyrie, eleison – Lord, have mercy. It’s the prayer
of the faithful, uttered when we cannot see what is ahead, when we’re not even
sure what to pray for, when the words won’t come and thoughts get jammed up, when
we cannot begin to know what is in store for us. It’s a prayer uttered in the
blindness of the moment, if you will, yet it is also prayed with clarity of
sight because in that moment, in that Kyrie, eleison – Lord, have mercy moment
– all we can see is our Lord, Jesus Christ.
Arnold Kunz – you have heard me refer to him often – once
wrote, “Life narrows down. And when life gets hard and narrow, there in the
middle stands Jesus.” In the light of this morning’s Gospel lesson, I might
edit that slightly: When life gets hard, and narrow, and dark – so dark that
you cannot see what is immediately or distantly ahead of you, let alone what is
there until the ending – there is Jesus.
That is what faith is, isn’t it? The Bible defines faith as
“the substance of things hoped for; the evidence of things not seen.” Although
we cannot see, we know, believe, trust, and rely that God, in Christ Jesus
invites us to come to Him with His promise to hear us and, in His perfect
wisdom and will, to answer.
And, when life is dark and narrow and hard and so heavy that
you don’t even know what to pray, we are given this simple prayer, Eleison:
“Have mercy.”
Bartimaeus was blind. His eyes did not work – why, for how
long, we don’t know. WE do know his eyes have failed him; presumably so have
family as he is reduced to begging for survival. That’s all we know about him,
that and his father’s name is Timaeus. Oddly specific, don’t you think? He’s
just a beggar, and a blind one at that. I wonder how many other beggars, blind
or seeing, were in Jericho on the Jerusalem road at that time. But Mark names
him, camped out on his spot, on his little patch of ground, hoping for a few
pennies so he can buy some food and live to beg another day.
Bartimaeus’ story is one of contrast. In front of him is a great crowd, all tagging
along after Jesus. Among the crowd are the Twelve, the disciples. Our lectionary does us a disservice, yet
again. Last week and the Sunday previous, we had the exchange between Jesus and
the rich young man split in two, completely losing the narrative flow of the
story. This week, we jump over an awkward exchange that happens between the
rich young man and the narrative of Bartimaeus, probably right outside
Jericho’s walls.
Two of the disciples, James and John, are identified as
brothers, as the Sons of Zebedee. When Jesus called the brothers to
discipleship, back in Mark 3, He identified them as Boanerges, Sons of Thunder.
As they journeyed along, the brothers were having a whispered conversation,
creating just enough of a stir that Jesus turns and asks, “What do you want me
to do for you?” The Thunder boys were caught in their foolishness but, to their
credit, they at least had the fortitude to speak up. This was their moment!
They could see their reward; they had visions of greatness and grandeur; they
had a sight on future glory. Teacher, they said, we want places of honor, on
your left and right, when you enter your kingdom. Bold, arrogant request. They
wanted to gather up the glory, honor and prestige for themselves. Sons of
Thunder, indeed.
But this was not so of this Son of Timaeus. He doesn’t want
power or glory. He has no vision at all, let alone visions of grandeur. He only
asks for mercy. Notice, James and John call Him “Teacher;” Bartimaeus calls Him
by name, Jesus. More than that, Bartimaeus identifies Jesus as the Son of
David. He is using promise language, Messianic language, faith language,
trusting that this One whom he can’t see but knows is capable of mercy beyond a
few coins for today’s meal. Though blind, he sees Jesus more clearly than James
and John. His prayer, not a thunderous, foolishly bold request for power but a
cry of despair from the darkness. Υἱὲ Δαυείδ, ἐλέησόν με – Jesus, son of David,
have mercy on me.
Nothing will get in his way so that Jesus can see him,
Bartimaeus, for who he is. The crowds rebuke him – after all, he is just a
beggar, remember, a deformed piece of detritus like so much trash in the ditch,
human refuse to be ignored. Bartimaeus can’t see, but he can hear what they are
doing to him and his voice works just fine. He stands up so his voice will
project, and cries out again, even louder this time, Son of David, have mercy
on me! His cloak, possibly his only earthly possession, is cast aside so
nothing gets in the way of his being seen by Jesus. James and John want more;
Bartimaeus leaves behind everything and anything that inhibits and encumbers
his way to Jesus.
Jesus stops on the road. In my mind, I see him stepping to
the side of the road where Bartimaeus blindly turns his head, trying to locate
Jesus by sound. The noisy crowd grows quiet, in curiosity and in anticipation
of what Jesus will do with this…this…human garbage. I see Jesus step in front
of Bartimaeus, perhaps reaching out with his hand, toughing Bartimaeus’ arm,
his shoulder, and Bartimaeus reacting suddenly to human touch. Jesus’ gentle
voice finally breaks the silence. “What
do you want me to do to you?”
At first glance, that seems like an absolutely foolish
question. After all, what else could a blind man want but his sight? A deaf man
would want hearing; a mute man, speech; a leper, wholeness; a lame man, the
ability to walk. So, yes, there is that – his eyes don’t work; he wants to be
able to see the city, the people, the dangers and the beauty that is all around
him. But this is more than just a request for 20/20 vision. His request runs
even deeper – that he be allowed to see Jesus fully for who He is, not merely a
divine vending machine who can dole out power and authority, but as the very
Messiah, the Son of David, who has come to save, rescue and redeem a
spiritually blind, deaf, and mute world.
Remember – all this takes place on the road from Jericho to
Jerusalem. In Mark’s Gospel, “road” always has the connation, the reminder,
that Jesus’ road is the journey of faithfulness to the cross. He is never just
taking a stroll; he is going to His sacrificial death for the world’s sin. The
disciples have watched the journey but they still don’t see Jesus for who He is
or the journey for what it is. The Sons of Thunder see, but they are blind.
This blind man, the son of Timaeus, he sees Jesus for who He is. Timaeus means “honor.”
Bartimaeus means “Son of honor.” Literally, the blind man Bartimaeus has the
honor of showing the blind James and John what they are to be seeing.
It was the prayer of the faithful, spoken when one can’t see
what is ahead. “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy.” What else can Jesus do but
hear and answer? In His mercy, in His great love, He restores Bartimaeus’
sight. Mark says he recovered his sight. It’s a passive verb – the idea
is more like his sight was restored. By God’s grace, through faith in the
unseen Jesus, Son of David, Bartimaeus was able to see. He responds the way
that only disciples can – he follows Jesus on the way. On the way…that’s
cross language. The Son of Honor follows Jesus to the true seat of honor: to the
cross.
“Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me.” Jesus does exactly
that: He has mercy on Bartimaeus, and James and John, and the Twelve, and the
crowd outside Jericho, and you and me. He came into the world to save sinners. He
came into the world to show mercy. Mercy
is not getting what we deserve. It involves kindness and compassion; loving the
unlovable. In His mercy, Jesus takes our spiritual blindness, and deafness, and
muteness, and all other spiritual disease that leads to eternal death, and He
takes it into Himself, dying the death we deserve. Jesus has mercy on sinners. In
His passion and at the cross, He prayed His eleison, pleading for His
father’s, His mercy, only to be denied. Ali, Ali, lamma sabacthani? My God, My God, why have you forsaken me? This,
so that we do not get what we deserve: eternal separation from God.
In His death and resurrection, grace upon grace was bestowed
up us. If mercy is not getting what we deserve, grace is getting what we don’t
deserve. We are given Christ’s holiness, His forgiveness, His righteousness, we
are made right with God by His grace through faith in that blessed death of
Jesus, Son of God, Son of David, the Messiah, the Christ.
What do we want when we pray? For His mercy. When we are
blinded by life’s circumstances, when our own crosses seem ready to overwhelm,
when life is dark, and hard, and narrow, we pray, “Lord, have mercy.” When we
can’t see what is in store, that Jesus – who has walked the valley of the
shadow - guides, leads, and directs us. It’s the way of the cross, following
Jesus through this life.
There is a wonderful prayer in our hymnal – it’s on page
311, Collect #193. It’s an extended Kyrie, if you will.
Lord God, You have called Your servants to ventures of which
we cannot see the ending, by paths as yet untrodden, through perils unknown.
Give us faith to go out with good courage, not knowing where we go but only
that Your hand is leading us and Your love supporting us; through Jesus Christ,
our Lord. Amen.
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