Lectionary reading: The TWENTY-FIRST SUNDAY OF ORDINARY TIME - October 25, 2009

Mark 10:46-52

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."

IN THE BIZ by Larry Patten

I am Bartimaeus.

In the Bible, in the New Testament, in Mark, this blind beggar is only mentioned once. There and gone, shouting and then unheard from again. The other Gospels contain healing stories, some include the blind seeing, but it is only in a handful of verses in Mark’s story that the reader and believer meets a man named Bartimaeus.

“Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!” he bellows.

With him, I also cry out. I think I know who he is. I think I know what he wants.

In the seven sparse verses where Bartimaeus takes and leaves center stage, there is one word and one phrase that create an empathetic, compelling link between the two of us. Both word and phrase conclude sentences. Both challenge my daily experience as a Christian, pastor, preacher and writer. The word is again, as in: “‘My teacher, let me see again.’” The phrase is on the way, from: “Immediately he regained his sight and followed him on the way.”

Doesn’t the use of again imply Bartimaeus once saw? That the man now blind had witnessed a world of light and delight, of troubled and joyful faces, of clouds dancing and trees ablaze with autumn leaves?

No, I’m not physically blind. And I must be careful here, for those blind at birth or blind through accident or illness experience a world I can’t begin to imagine. However I do have a distant hint of sight’s preciousness. I’m required to wear, according to my driver’s license, corrective lenses. My vision is dismal and one of my low-level but always present fears is losing my glasses. Every hike, walk, and bike ride I take involves strapping an elastic band onto the glasses’ frames to add security.

And yet how often have I been metaphorically blind? Daily. Every minute it sometimes seems. Once I saw! Once I understood! And then, whether it’s exploring a Biblical verse or discerning the needs of a friend, I feel blind. Helpless. All is darkness and uncertainty.

One of my peculiarities is that my best time for creating sermons or stories (or trying to!) occurs in the early morning darkness. I wake long before dawn, a Bible in my lap or a blank computer screen staring back at me, and I am Bartimaeus. Once I saw! Once I understood!

In preaching I feel the presence of the congregation I will soon approach with words that will interpret and proclaim the good news. How dare I try to do that! What can I say to them? What will matter? What will bring life? What will help create birth or risk or questions or courage?

But, help! The words on the Bible’s thin pages blur. Blind I seem.

In writing I feel the presence of the unknown, unmet reader waiting for my story. Maybe he or she’s always thought God a vengeful, petty Creator. Or that reader can’t imagine fiction is worth the effort (because only facts and reality matter), but we’ll give me one chance. One sentence. One paragraph . . . a dollop of precious time to see if story might transform his or her weary life.

But, help! The words on the computer’s screen refuse to emerge. Blind I seem.

How can I inspire any listener or reader? It’s overwhelming. I am speechless, wordless, and the darkness outside has become the fear within.

And yet speechless or not, wordless or not, what do I also long for?

To be on the way. With and for Jesus. With the One who revealed a loving, demanding, rambunctious Creator. On the way with the One who dared to see every single “other” as neighbor. That’s what I want!

A member of a church I once served joined my weekly writer’s group. We’ve started car-pooling to the meetings. Recently Eve (not her name, but I happened to run across it in opening pages of a book I’m reading) experienced a crisis. Though not life threatening, Eve has temporarily smacked into one of life’s speed bumps. As we negotiated who would drive to the writer’s group, I mentioned it would give us a chance to talk about her recent struggles.

“No need for you to do that, you’re no longer in the biz!” she answered.

Of course, she’s correct. I’m no longer her pastor and don’t wish to interfere in her relationship with the church’s current minister. Regardless of professional courtesy, there’s also no need for me to listen to her or give her support and encouragement.

However, as Christian, pastor, preacher, writer, layperson and a thousand other labels or titles any of us might claim, we are all, all of the time, “in the biz.” We are all, I hope and pray, on the way together. Or as Flannery O’Connor described about the metaphorically blind—and irksome—character Mrs. Turpin in her short story Revelation . . .

A visionary light settled in her eyes. She saw the streak as a vast swinging bridge extending upward from the earth through a field of living fire. Upon it a vast horde of souls were rumbling toward heaven.

The blurred page. The blank screen. I am Bartimaeus. Help me open my eyes, again, to be on the way, rumbling toward heaven.

in Peace,

Larry Patten

(Written on October 13, 2009)