Year B, Twenty-Third Sunday after Pentecost
October 27, 2024
Job 42:1-6, 10-17, Psalm 34, 1-8, 19-22, Hebrews 7:23-28, Mark 10:46-52
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“Can We See Jesus”
The Very Rev. Kathleen Murray, Rector
Historic Beckford Parish, Mt. Jackson & Woodstock
The 23rd Sunday after Pentecost, Proper 25B
Today’s passage from Mark 10 is part of a chapter that includes five stories of people coming to Jesus to have their questions answered, to request a favor, or to be healed.
In each case, Jesus responded differently. And, in each case, the most privileged of those who came were sent away while the poor, rejected, and marginalized were welcomed into his presence. The chapter forms Mark’s transition between Jesus’ ministry and his Passion. It is a powerful summary of Jesus’ love for those who suffer and his commitment to the justice of God.
It’s a story full of preaching possibilities — on grand themes of compassion and the Kingdom of God. It’s also rich in academic importance — especially regarding the theology of Jesus as Messiah.
And yet, I find myself thinking about much more concrete things. I think about Bartimaeus, blind, sitting by the roadside, crying out for mercy.
A blind beggar. Think about that. Bartimaeus lived in complete uncertainty. All the time. He didn’t know who would feed him, care for him, or assist him. He didn’t know if someone would hurt him or help him. He didn’t know if he would eat or if he would die on a given day. His very existence was dependent on the choices of others. He was at the mercy of those he couldn’t even see — all the time and in every way. He had little to look forward to and probably couldn’t imagine a future.
Bartimaeus didn’t see Jesus. He couldn’t see him coming. He only heard Jesus approaching and that Jesus was down the road. All he could do was cry out and shout. Mercy, please. Mercy. Help.
Have mercy on me.
Physical blindness certainly scares me, though truth be told, I am more terrified of losing what hearing I have. I say that because Bartimaeus couldn’t see Jesus, but he could hear him coming.
But the fear of losing our sight is a genuine human fear. I’ve had glasses since I was about twenty. I can see without them, but I can’t drive without them. I remember the first time I realized I truly needed them. I had picked up my mother from the airport. It was nighttime, and the headlights of the oncoming cars were blinding and blurry. After a few choice words that I can’t repeat in church, my mother said, “I think you need to see an eye doctor. And just like that, I had an appointment with an eye doctor. Like others, I’ve discovered that as one ages, vision doesn’t get better! Our capacity to see changes over time sometimes challenges us in frightening ways.
I’ve learned from friends who have lost sight – that there are things they can see, hear, and feel that sighted people don’t see. Indeed, it is possible to have one’s physical sight and still not see.
I suspect we’re all worried in one way or another about the coming election and what will unfold in our world. Many people ask me: What do you see coming?
My answer remains: I don’t know. I can’t see into the future. Truthfully, I feel blind to what’s ahead. Living in such uncertainty is exhausting. I’m working hard to counter my fears, but the unknown is unsettling. I worry for the church and our communities. I long for a world that embraces compassion, unity, and truth. It often feels like events are spinning beyond our control—not only the physical crises we face but also a flood of confusing messages and images that make finding clarity difficult. From the storms in nature to conflicts worldwide, from struggles within families to our sense of compassion under strain—so much can feel like despair, pulling us into isolation and fear.
And then. There I am. There we are. Sitting by the side of the road. Unsure about what is coming or where we are going.
What do we see?
What do we pray for?
I find myself in this story. Not as a disciple. Not as part of the crowd. Not as the one with any answers. But as a blind beggar. I can’t see. Have mercy on me!
That, of course, takes me back to Bartimaeus, the blind man living in complete uncertainty, who, in effect, saw Jesus before he could see him.
Bartimaeus may have been blind, but he possessed spiritual insight. He wasn’t asking some random person for help — he was asking the Son of David for mercy. Son of David was a messianic title; Bartimaeus was asking for help from not just anyone but from the long-awaited helper of Israel.
He asked for mercy, but he got so much more. Healing. Redemption. Liberation. He trusted that his cry of uncertainty was directed toward the ultimate source of salvation.
And when Jesus called to him in return, the blind man threw off his cloak with assurance and “sprang up and came to him.” The blind man, utterly dependent on others, cast away his cloak and leaped toward Jesus. Uncertainty gave way to confidence, certainness of safety, and help.
Bartimaeus only asked for mercy; he didn’t beg to be healed. Instead, Jesus turned to him, saying, “What do you want me to do for you?”
What do you want me to do for you?
That’s an amazing question. The Son of David, Jesus, calls you and asks: What do you want me to do for you?
How would you respond? What would you ask Jesus to do for you? Right now, amid all this uncertainly, with its exhaustion and fear.
This is a story about how God comes along, even in the fog when we are blinded, when living in total uncertainty. And, if we listen, if we stay attuned and pay attention, we may hear our approaching liberation before we see anything — but salvation is on the way.
Perhaps uncertainty is the prerequisite to Jesus’ query. Maybe not seeing is necessary to understand truthfully and fully.
Jesus is calling. And he asks, What do you want me to do for you?
So, I invite you to sit with this question, letting it reach into the depths of your soul. What do we want Jesus to do for you, for us?
Perhaps it’s not just a vision for our eyes but sight for our souls – clarity amidst confusion, strength in our weakness, or peace amid so much uncertainty. We answer – Jesus, have mercy, let us see again!
We answer “Let us see again” because of a deep desire for wholeness and healing. And with that answer, we draw nearer to God’s steadfast promise: that we are heard, seen, and met with love, even in the unsteadiness of our journey.
Can we see Jesus? Amen.