Here's the sermon that I shared at St Andrew’s Basildon this morning:
One of the questions I’m often asked is what’s the best book to start reading in the Bible. As today is Bible Sunday, it’s a great question with which to begin this sermon. In response, I’ll usually recommend that people don’t start with Genesis and try to read all the way through as, if you do, you’re almost certain to get bogged down and give by the time you reach Leviticus. Then, I’ll say as Jesus is both the centre of and the way in to the Bible, it’s best to start with one of the Gospels and, as the shortest and earliest of the Gospels, I would suggest starting with the book from which our Gospel reading is taken today, Mark’s Gospel.
Mark’s Gospel is the most fast moving and action-packed of all the Gospels. Sam Wells, the Vicar of St Martin-in-the-Fields, explains that ‘Mark’s gospel is divided into two halves. The first half is set in Galilee. Jesus heals people and calls disciples, and in between times he teaches, often in parables, and gets into trouble with the authorities. In the second half the scene shifts to Jerusalem. There Jesus faces controversy, his identity’s disclosed, and he’s led to crucifixion.’ The story of Bartimaeus that we have heard this morning is the climax of the first half of the story (Mark 10.46-52).
Earlier in the book, in Mark Chapter 4, Jesus told the Parable of the Sower. Sam Wells says: ‘You’ll remember that Jesus talks there about four kinds of earth: the path, the rocky ground, the thistles, and the good soil. The first half of Mark’s gospel illustrates these four kinds of discipleship. Some seed falls on the path: this refers to the authorities that reject Jesus outright, (the scribes and the Pharisees). Some seed falls on the stony ground: this refers to the disciples, especially Peter, James and John, (who accept the word immediately but wither in the face of temptation or persecution). Some seed falls among thorns: these include King Herod, (who takes to Jesus but as mired in a network of unsavoury commitments), and the rich young man (who Jesus calls but who just can’t leave his money behind). And then there’s the good soil. This refers to those who hear and accept the word and bear fruit in abundance. There aren’t a lot of these in Mark’s gospel. But Bartimaeus is certainly one of them. Mark’s gospel tells a story in which those who are the professional holy people, those who have most exposure to Jesus and his teaching, and those who have the most money and status, all fall away and are all supplanted by this solitary blind beggar, who alone does exactly what Jesus wants – he “follows him on the way.”’
There are two ways in which the soul of Bartimaeus is prepared to become good soil for receiving Jesus in his life. There is something he needs to name and something he needs to let go.
Jesus asks Bartimaeus, ‘What do you want me to do for you?’ Listening to the story, we’re sometimes inclined to say, ‘Well, isn’t it obvious? Why do you need to ask?’ but, by asking, Jesus gives agency to Bartimaeus – he is not simply someone to whom things are done without his permission – and enables to articulate his need.
I imagine we all can think of someone who has been unable to acknowledge that something in their life is awry – whether illness, addiction, mental distress or whatever – but because they have been unable to acknowledge or articulate what is wrong have continued on a destructive path or failed to seek help until it was too late. Our ability to recognise when something is wrong and express our need for help is a vital first stage in receiving help.
When Jesus stands still, as if to emphasize the timelessness of this moment, and asks Bartimaeus the penetrating question, ‘”What do you want me to do for you?” Bartimaeus has no hesitation. He knows exactly what to say. He simply says, “Let me see again.’
Think for a moment about what these words really mean. What Bartimaeus is actually saying to Jesus is, “I want you to change my identity.” Sam Wells points out that ‘Bartimaeus is blind, and he’s a beggar. That’s what he is and how he makes a living. When he begins to see he loses his identity as a blind man and his security of income as a person others feel obligated to help. He’s stepping into the unknown: a world he can’t begin to imagine.’
This change is symbolised by the cloak he throws away. ‘The cloak is the one thing he has. It’s his source of protection, from dust and wind and rain and cold. And it’s his source of income, like a street musician’s open guitar case. This is the crisis of the story: Bartimaeus has one thing and he wants one thing. He has a cloak and he wants to see. How much does he want to see? Enough to part with his cloak? Absolutely. He parts with the one thing he has in order to receive the one thing that really matters.’
The rest of the first half of Mark gives us plenty of examples of people who, unlike Bartimaeus, can’t bring themselves to shed their cloak. People like the rich young ruler who can’t let go of his possessions. People like James and John who can’t let go of their need for prestige. People like us.
Sam Wells says: ‘Small wonder we don’t want to shed the cloak. Because then we’d be stepping into the unknown. We’d find ourselves standing before Jesus and saying what Bartimaeus said. “I … want … you … to … give … me … a …new … identity. I want to become what only you can make me. I want to open my eyes and enter a whole new reality – like a blind man opening his eyes to see the world for the first time. Let me into that world. Please Jesus! Please Jesus: I’m leaving my cloak behind. I realize now it’s useless. Let … me … into … your … world!’
So, this story confronts us with two overwhelming questions: Are we prepared to shed our cloak? And, can we acknowledge and name our need? Let’s stop and reflect on both questions for a moment. Is there a cloak in our lives that we need to shed? Something that is part of our old way of life that is holding us back in the new way of life to which Jesus has introduced us. From the other stories we read in Mark’s Gospel, this could be to do with our search for attention or prestige or our seeking after wealth or possessions or our holding on to treasured past experiences or identities.
‘If we remotely recognize ourselves in any of these descriptions, or if family or nation or anything else has become our cloak, the story of Bartimaeus is saying one simple thing to us today. It’s time to shed the cloak. Making such a cloak for ourselves amid the uncertainty of life and the fear of death is understandable. Keeping such a cloak as our source of identity and security is a very common thing to do. But if we truly want to meet Jesus face to face, if we long to leap up in delight and joy because we’ve put our trust in no one and nothing but him, it’s time to shed the cloak.’
Then, there’s acknowledgement of need. Is there something haunting our life from which we are in flight? Is there something looming large that we are reluctant to acknowledge? Is there some key aspect of our life about which we are in denial? If there is, the reality is that a day of reckoning will come sooner or later, and the best step we can take is to acknowledge our need and begin to receive help now. The longer we wait, the harder it will become for us to acknowledge and receive.
Bartimaeus ‘parts with the one thing he has in order to receive the one thing that really matters. And Jesus stands still, as if to emphasize the timelessness of this moment, and asks Bartimaeus the penetrating question, “What do you want me to do for you?” Bartimaeus has no hesitation. He knows exactly what to say.’ Do we?
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