Shout Into the Darkness

Scripture: Mark 10:46-52


On the surface, it seems like a simple feel-good story. Bartimaeus is blind. He asks Jesus to restore his sight. Jesus does so. The headline reads: “Bartimaeus Healed!”

But when we look more closely we discover that this is actually a very complex story. We discover that it is a story dense with meaning and layered with subplots. We discover that it is a story overcast by shadows of human bias, selfishness, and cruelty. And we discover that it is a story about what faith looks like and what faith calls us to do.

I will candidly tell you that this is one of my favorite stories in the Bible. I will confess to you that “blind Bartimaeus,” as the poet Longfellow called him, is one of the figures in the history of our faith that I love the most. And, here, I hope to help you find in this story what I have found in it. To do that, I want to walk through the story with you, because, in my view, it deserves that sort of close attention.

The story begins by telling us that Jesus and his disciples came to Jericho. Of course, Jesus visited Jericho a number of times and interesting and important things always happened on those occasions. Jesus was baptized in the Jordan River near Jericho; he was tempted in the mountain range that adjoins Jericho; it was in Jericho that Zacchaeus climbed a tree to get a better look at Jesus; and Jesus set the parable of the Good Samaritan on the road between Jerusalem and Jericho. If the story takes place in the vicinity of Jericho, then something big is about to happen. And it does.

So we’re told that as Jesus and a “large crowd” were leaving Jericho they passed by a man named Bartimaeus, who was sitting on the side of the road. The text gives us several pieces of information about Bartimaeus. And that information helps us understand what comes next.

Of course, Mark tells us that he was blind. Apparently, he was not blind from birth because later in the text he asks Jesus to let him see "again." But clearly he had been blind long enough to find himself in desperate straits.

Mark also tells us that Bartimaeus was the son of Timaeus. Now, if you look Timaeus up in most biblical commentaries it will tell you this about him: he was the father of Bartimaeus. Of course, that doesn't help much since Bartimaeus literally means "son of Timaeus." But here's the point: Timaeus was nobody special, and neither was Bartimaeus. Bartimaeus did not come from a family of wealth and stature; he did not come from a family that had the resources to support someone who had become blind.

Perhaps this explains something else Mark tells us about Bartimaeus. He was a beggar. He did not have a way to sustain himself. So, every day, he had to suffer the shame and indignity of pleading with people to help him. And we can rest assured that these pleas were regularly met with ridicule and scorn and disdain.

Now, before we go any further, we should pause here to ask some pointed questions: What kind of society would allow this to happen? What kind of society would have so little regard for the health, the well-being, and the dignity of individual persons that it would fail someone like Bartimaeus? Is that kind of society very different from our kind? How many people like Bartimaeus do we pass on the streets that we travel? All questions worth considering.

Anyway, as Jesus and the crowd passed Bartimaeus he called out—indeed, the text tells us that he shouted out. He shouted: “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!” He shouted into the darkness.

I think this is terribly important. We obviously don’t know much, if anything, about Jesus’s physical appearance. In one of his most famous sermons, Peter Marshall describes Jesus as striding up and down the streets of Jerusalem, his skin bronzed from walking in the sun, his arms thick and his big hands calloused from work in his father’s carpentry shop. I like the image, although I realize it has little foundation beyond the imagination of a great preacher.

Still, it seems to me likely that Jesus had a remarkable physical presence. It was the kind of presence that could make men drop what they were doing and walk away from their labors when he said nothing more than “Follow me.” It was the kind of presence that made people throw themselves at his feet just so they could touch the hem of his garment.

Perhaps there was something in his eyes. I think about those eyes, sometimes; do you? Imagine being the woman at the well who told Jesus that she had no husband. Imagine Jesus looking at you with those eyes—those eyes that could peer down into the depths of your very soul; those eyes that could see your every infidelity. And then imagine Jesus saying “woman, woman, you’ve had five husbands.”

But Bartimaeus knew nothing of this. He could not observe Jesus and make judgments based on what he saw. He could not peer into Jesus’s eyes and witness the divine spark. He could not look into Jesus’s face and find that it invited confession and offered consolation. He could not watch as the young and fearless prophet went about the business of changing the world.

No, Bartimaeus experienced Jesus as a voice coming from somewhere out in the darkness. That was all he had to go on. In this respect, it turns out that Bartimaeus’s experience of Jesus Christ may be a lot like yours and mine.

So, what did Bartimaeus do? Did he do what we do? Did he sit there and ponder his uncertainties? Did he wait for things to become plain and obvious? Did he pray for light—all the while taking comfort in the shadows?

No. Bartimaeus shouted into the darkness. He called out with as loud a voice as he could muster. He sucked in his breath and threw his whole full-throated voice into the night.

Imagine the courage this must have taken. A hundred times a day Bartimaeus lifted his soft beggar’s voice to ask for help. A hundred times a day Bartimaeus quietly pled for whatever food or drink or money a stranger could spare. And many days—perhaps most days—Bartimaeus got for his trouble a hundred silences, a hundred insults, perhaps a hundred beatings. Life had taught him to ask with fear and trepidation.

But not this time. This time, Bartimaeus did not whisper in shame and terror. He shouted in hope and expectation.

Some of the people around him didn’t approve. Mark tells us that “Many sternly ordered him to be quiet.” Why would anyone—let alone “many” people—tell poor Bartimaeus to stay put and shut up? Why would they begrudge him an encounter with Jesus? The text doesn’t tell us.

Maybe they did so out of snobbery and bias. After all, Bartimaeus was a second-generation nobody. He begged for a living. He occupied the lowest rung on the social ladder. Who was he to speak up?

Maybe they said this out of selfishness. They had pressing matters to discuss with this prophet. They had needs. And those matters and needs were more important because, well, they were theirs. Why should they give their time over to someone else—let alone that bum Bartimaeus?

Or maybe “many” people said this because one person said it. That is, of course, how cruelty works, how it spreads, and how it gets out of control. One person says something mean or belittling or spiteful and another person joins in and then another and another. No one stops to think. No one pauses to let their conscience intercede.

This can lead in directions people do not intend. It can lead to tragic consequences. Indeed, it could be argued that this is what led to the crucifixion of Jesus Christ.

In any event, many people told Bartimaeus to hold his peace. And he ignored them. In fact, he defied them. Mark tells us that in response to their “orders” he cried out “even more loudly.” So there he is: solitary; disrespected; impoverished; blind; vulnerable; defenseless; surrounded by hostility. And yet he musters the bravery to call out to Jesus, louder and louder and louder.
You really have to love the fight in this man.

Apparently, Jesus did. So he stopped and had someone tell Bartimaeus to come to him. And here Mark gives us a fascinating little detail: he tells us that Bartimaeus threw off his cloak and “sprang up” in response.

Maybe that detail doesn’t mean anything. But I’ll tell you what I think it means. I think it means that Bartimaeus—for all his hope and expectation—still harbored some reservations. Bartimaeus still entertained a little uncertainty. Bartimaeus still wondered whether this man—like the hundreds he encountered every day—would ignore him, turn away from him, and keep walking.

But when Bartimaeus realized that Jesus stood waiting for him his hope began to harden into faith. He leapt to his feet. He rushed to Jesus’s side. Bartimaeus, who had spent so many years pleading into the darkness for help, and who had who had good reasons to be skeptical, had found something in which he could truly believe—a savior who heard his cries.

Jesus asked him what he wanted; Bartimaeus said he wanted to see again; Jesus assured him that his faith had made him whole; and Bartimaeus regained his sight. This part of the story resembles many of the other healing stories. But there is a difference here. In my view, it is an important one.

You see, in the overwhelming majority of the healing stories told in the gospels, the story ends when the healing takes place. This holds true for Matthew, Chapter 8, when Jesus heals a man who suffers from leprosy and heals the servant of the centurion; Matthew, Chapter 12, when Jesus heals a man with a withered hand; Matthew, Chapter 17, when Jesus heals a boy who suffers from seizures; Mark, Chapter 7, when Jesus gives hearing and speech to a man who was deaf and mute; Luke, Chapter 13, when Jesus heals a woman who couldn’t straighten her spine; Luke, Chapter 14, when Jesus heals a man who has dropsy; Luke, Chapter 22, when Jesus heals the ear of the slave of the high priest that had been cut off by one of his own disciples; and John, Chapter 4, when Jesus heals a young man of a fever. In all these stories the healing occurs and nothing more is said about it.

This can prove extremely frustrating. For example, the last line in John’s telling of the raising of Lazarus is this: “Jesus said to them, ‘Unbind him, and let him go.’” Don’t you want to know more? Don’t you want to know what Lazarus did with the life he regained? The story doesn’t tell us.

A few stories do provide some additional details—and they’re delightful and leave us with some wonderful images. For example, in Matthew, Chapter 9, Jesus heals a paralytic, and in John, Chapter 5, Jesus heals a man who has been bed-ridden for thirty-eight years, and in both of these stories the end comes when the man picks up his bed and carries it away. Then there’s the story in Luke, Chapter 8, when Jesus heals a sick child. That story ends when the parents give the child something to eat. Some things never change.

The story of Bartimaeus, however, ends as very, very few others do. Bartimaeus asked for his sight. Jesus gave it to him. But once Bartimaeus received what he wanted from Jesus he did not pick up his cloak and go home. He did not wander off to take care of business. He did not head into town to celebrate. Instead, the story tells us, Bartimaeus followed Christ. That is how this story ends: “Immediately he regained his sight and followed him on the way.”

In my view, that is what makes this such a magnificent story—perhaps the best healing story of them all. All of the healing stories involve miraculous recoveries. All of the healing stories involve people of great faith. All of the healing stories provide examples of people asking something of Christ and receiving it. They are all beautiful and inspiring.

But this story has a twist—one that, like all good twists, comes right at the end. Because it turns out that while Bartimaeus asked for his sight he actually found something better. He found a divine presence behind the distant voice he had shouted toward in the darkness. He found a savior who would stand still amidst the din and clamor of life and hear his cry … and mine … and yours. He found something, many of us would say the only thing, that is finally worth following.

Ah, Amazing grace. How sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me. I once was lost but now am found. Was blind, but now I see.

Amen.