As always I found today's sermon difficult to write. The challenge this time was having a different audience, as I'm on placement at St Peter's University chaplaincy in Manchester. The congregation are educated, ecumenical, multi cultural and many don't have English as their 1st language. It's a bit longer than I'm used to as well- aiming for 15 minutes instead of 8.
The readings were Jeremiah 31:7-9, Psalm 34 and Mark 10:46-52.
I’m a massive fan of the writer Terry Pratchett. I started to read his books when I was 11, so for most of my life the world he created- the Discworld- has grown and developed alongside me. The narrative of this imagined world actually contains a lot of commentary which I think has shaped how I look at our world- his books contain social commentary, philosophy, ethics, satire of organised religion and even exploration of difficult theories of quantum physics but it’s all woven within a fantasy world and its imagined characters- all of whom, like real people have evolved and changed over the course of the narrative.
Stories matter. We’re a race of story tellers. Novels, fairy tales, family stories and bible stories. We remember them, we share them, and we pass them on to our children. I couldn’t wait until my children were old enough to start sharing the Discworld with. Our story telling expands far beyond books or even the more ancient tradition of oral story telling. Our lives are packed with narrative- TV, cinema, DVDs, online streaming, gaming- we may be more often immersed in imagined worlds than the real one.
Every culture has its important stories, those which are deeply imbedded in our history. They may go some way to encapsulate the core beliefs of that culture or society, family stories may do the same. This is who we are, where we’ve come from, this is what we believe. Stories may reinforce the stereotypes we buy into, or serve to challenge them. The stories our leaders tell us may shape how we view our national identities, and those of other nations. The media too like to use narrative to challenge or strengthen how we view the world or particular groups or issues.
What stories did Bartimaeus, the blind beggar, grow up with? What narrative? “Son of David have mercy on me!” he calls out. He’d heard the rumours- this Nazarene, this Jesus, was rumoured to be the long promised Messiah, woven into the narrative of the Hebrew Scriptures, the stories passed on orally from generation to generation.
It’s a stereotype that those born blind compensate with other senses or skills, but just maybe Bartimaeus had a keen memory for the stories he’d heard from his father or the rabbi. Maybe he’d grown up hearing Jeremiah’s words:
“The days are surely coming, says the LORD, when I will raise up for David a righteous Branch, and he shall reign as king and deal wisely, and shall execute justice and righteousness in the land. In his days Judah will be saved and Israel will live in safety.”
This narrative of the coming messiah was woven into Bartimaeus’ life. The long awaited righteous Son of David. Is it these words “son of David” which cause Jesus to stop and act? Why? What purpose does this gospel story – the healing of Bartimaeus- have in Jesus’ narrative?
I believe that the very last thing today’s gospel is about is a physical healing. Yes it’s part of the narrative, but it’s a device which serves another purpose.
I began training as nurse in 1996, 19 years ago. I qualified in 2000 and ever since have worked at Christie hospital caring for patients undergoing high dose chemotherapy and stem cell transplants. 19 years in healthcare has taught me that illness is indiscriminate of age, race, gender, social standing, religion and righteousness. Some people do badly without explanation and likewise some people do well when you wouldn’t expect them to.
On very rare occasions someone’s recovery could be described as “miraculous”. Do I think God healed them? I honestly don’t know. Consultants generally don’t like giving anyone else the credit. I believe all healing has Gods hand in it, but the established church is very reluctant to take ownership of what might be seen as miraculous healings. At times I’ve prayed- lamented- on my knees for miracles that didn’t come.
So what comes into my mind when I read today’s gospel is why him? Why Bartimaeus? What purpose did Jesus have in healing him? When we look at this healing, and other healing stories in scripture, what we come to understand is that when God miraculously heals someone he’s making a point. Healing glorifies God, reveals his power, fulfils his promises and shows his mercy. It’s part of an ongoing revelation of the character of God and our relationship with him. We must think then what does Bartimaeus being healed reveal about God, within the over-arching narrative of Mark’s gospel.
Son of David, promised Messiah. The king who would come and save. A righteous judge, but also a military leader- he’d have to be to deliver the people from their Roman occupation. By responding to the cry of “Son of David” Jesus is saying “yes. I admit it- that’s me, the messiah” but Jesus admitting he’s the Messiah subverts the expectation of what the messiah will be. This is part of Mark’s wider narrative- the reinterpretation of messiahship. The expected military leader or political king becomes prophet, teacher and miracle worker. Messianic expectations are subverted further later in Mark’s narrative when we see that it’s central to Jesus’ ministry for him to suffer and die.
Jesus chooses this point in the plot to reveal he’s the Messiah as it comes at a pivotal point- straight after today’s gospel, according to St. Mark, Jesus enters Jerusalem. The passion narrative begins. Bartimaeus is healed and immediately follows Jesus, but where is that leading him except to the cross?
Bartimaeus doesn’t need to be healed of his blindness. Physical sight makes no difference to faith. But Jesus knows the importance of a good story, we see this recorded in the gospel parables. What Jesus is doing with Bartimaeus, instead of revealing God through telling a parable, is physically acting out a parable. In this morning’s reading from Jeremiah we hear of the God who will “gather them from the farthest parts of the earth, among them the blind and the lame” and the psalmist “cried, and was heard by the LORD, and was saved from every trouble”. The God revealed in prophecy and poetry in confirmed in this acted out parable. The story arch reveals not only something of God’s character, but signposts what we who follow Jesus are committing to.
Blindness to sight, dark to light, veiled knowledge to true insight. What Bartimaeus receives is a gift from God, but it’s not his physical sight. It’s the true insight, the knowledge, of who Jesus is, and that he must follow him, even if that means following him to the cross. The Messiah will know suffering, as the blind beggar has known suffering. He’ll be rejected as the blind beggar has been rejected.
How did the reality of Jesus compare to the messianic stories heard as a child? Did Bartimaeus really think the Son of David would hear his cry for mercy? The character of God he knew from scripture, the God who wants to gather to himself even the most marginalised and vulnerable in society, is revealed through Jesus responding to his cry and through the narrative device of a physical healing, gifts him with the insight to follow him no matter what.
The bigger picture, the overall sweep of the narrative, and therefore the purpose of this healing, is the revelation of the God who hears the cries of his people, knows what they need, has concern for those suffering but also invites us- even requires us- to follow Jesus and see him suffering, to see Jesus cry out, because only then do we know that this is a God who really understands us and human suffering. And because if we don’t follow Jesus to the cross, we can’t be party to his resurrection. If the narrative ends at Good Friday the story’s incomplete, and without Good Friday there can be no Easter Day.
So how, indeed, is this the word of God for us today? Stanley Hauerwas is a writer on the subject of Christian ethics, and he’s a big believer in the power of narrative. He writes that Christianity rests not on abstract philosophical principles but on stories, that God has indeed revealed himself narratively in the history of Israel and in the life of Jesus. These stories shape the character of the individuals and communities where they’re still repeated today. We tell and retell the stories in order to maintain our identity and we see the narrative of our lives within this wider narrative.
By telling and retelling the stories about Jesus and his life we build that narrative into our lives and try to emulate it. To return to Terry Pratchett he once wrote “Goodness is about what you do. Not what you pray to.” I believe there’s truth in that. If we’re Christians but not attempting to be Christ-like it doesn’t really matter what we label ourselves.
So, what story do we here want to tell? Where do we want to fit in the narrative? Will the story of our lives be part of the ongoing revelation of the God who has concern for the least, most vulnerable members of our society?
The refugee, the abused, the despised, the rejected. As Jesus wove the narrative of his life into the lives of the marginalised so must we. It’s then that our lives touch that of Jesus, and we tell the best story possible.
