Sunday, October 25, 2015

Life Without the Blanket

Mark 10:46-52; Hebrews 7:4-28; 1 Timothy 6:11-19

Mark's Gospel consists of more than “the Jesus Story.” Each of the gospels has a sub-text which applies to those who hear or read the gospel and respond to the grace of Christ embodied in it. The sub-text for Mark is that the narrative describes the essence of faithful discipleship for those in his audience who comprehend God’s saving activity in Christ. For Mark the healing of the blind man in Jericho emphasizes this point which comes to its fulfilment in the Passion narrative which is soon to unfold.

Bartimaeus of Jericho is the last person to respond to Jesus before he began his final approach to Jerusalem and the cross. Since the declaration of his messiahship at Caesarea Philippi, Jesus had been making his way slowly south from Galilee toward the center of Jewish religious activity, Jerusalem. As he went, he consistently taught his disciples about his pending death and resurrection. They neither understood him nor recognized the cost of following him. Indeed, the final mistake they made was to fight among themselves about their positions in the pecking order in the messianic kingdom they believed he was about to establish. How could they have been so blind? We read about the mental and spiritual denseness of the disciples and get the image of Jesus as a bobble head doll, because he must have spent a lot of time shaking his head at the disciples’ failure to grasp even the simplest things he tried to teach them.

The disciples had seen and heard Jesus for more than two years now. Bartimaeus couldn’t see, but he had heard about a man who was saying powerful things and doing wonderful deeds of mercy. He also had a sufficient understanding of his religious heritage to know that the promised Messiah would be from the house of David. That would have been on his mind as Passover approached.

Bartimaeus may not have had all the information needed to connect the dots, but he took his chance. I’m sure he has been disappointed on past occasions by quacks and charlatans. So he shouted his affirmation above the din, “Son of David, show me mercy!” And he nails it.

We are so used to dealing with snippets of scripture that we forget that the gospel writers had very specific ideas about Jesus which guided them in the order and way they recounted the stories of Jesus. The story of Bartimaeus is not an isolated story, at least not in the thinking of Mark. The Bartimaeus event, coming just before Jesus’ entry into Jerusalem on what we know as Palm Sunday, culminates a series of events in Mark’s literary arc.

Near the beginning of this last chapter of the traveling Jesus, Jesus blessed children, rebuking his disciples for trying to send them packing to the nursery out of earshot. “Whoever doesn’t welcome God’s kingdom like a child will never enter it.” Children know something that we adults have either forgotten or stomped out of our spiritual thinking.

A piece down the road a man earnestly asks Jesus what he must do to obtain eternal life. One word keys Jesus into the man’s problem. “Obtain.” The man has evidently made “obtaining” an art form. So Jesus tells him to put it all in reverse: divest. “Sell what you own, and give the money to the poor.” The man went away heart-broken.

In a quiet time later on, the brothers James and John corner Jesus and try to weasel their way onto the short list of those in charge when Jesus is no longer around. (At least they did catch on that he wasn’t going to be around after a while.) They eagerly assert that they can pass the promotion tests – drinking from Jesus’ cup and receiving the same baptism. However they missed the full content of those tests, which they will undergo. But Jesus said it wasn’t up to him who gets the kingdom vice-presidencies.

Mark then threads the narrative around to Bartimaeus, who senses something in all the skit-skat about Jesus and the vibes of the crowd of Passover pilgrims proceeding through Jericho towards Jerusalem. Jesus invites him off the side of the road. “What do you want me to do for you?” “Teacher, I want to see.”

So in the space of one chapter of Mark’s account we meet four men: the rich man, James, John, and Bartimaeus. If all four of them were guests at one of our worship services or activities, who might get the most attention? Which one would you consider the best candidate for church membership? There is a blind man who is going to need a lot of help – physically as well as financially. The Deacons will be wary. There are the two conniving brothers who will beg the Nominating Committee to propose them as session elders so that they can experience the adrenalin rush of power. Then there is the rich man. I can just see the Finance and Stewardship folks salivating at the prospect of balanced budgets and expanded endowments. And the mission folks won’t be far behind seeking gifts for special projects.

Commentator R. T. France notes:
“The last potential recruit we met was an admirable, respectable, and wealthy man, but to the disciples’ consternation he has not been welcomed into Jesus’ entourage. Now we meet a man at quite the other end of the scale of social acceptability, a blind beggar. And it is he, rather than the rich man who will end up following Jesus [on the way] with his sight restored, whereas the rich man has gone away ‘blind’. This man has nothing to lose, nothing to sell, and so his commitment can be immediate and complete. While we hear nothing of his subsequent discipleship, the fact that Mark records his name and his father’s name suggests that he became a familiar character in the disciple group.”(1)
If the key concept about the rich man was the verb “obtain” and his subsequent inability to shed belongings, then the key concept for Bartimaeus is in the participial phrase, “throwing his coat to the side.”

The scripture version that many of us were raised on says that he cast away “his garment.” recent translations have adopted the words “cloak” or “coat.” I think that none of those terms really fit. Here is a beggar who spends his days sitting by the side of the Jerusalem road. Who knows where he spends his nights. My guess is that he didn’t own a coat, not as we think of a coat. Rather than a cloak, I envision him having a blanket, something like a Mexican serape. He’ll throw it over his shoulders and wrap it around himself when it was chilly. Or he could pull it up over head when the sun beat down at midday. It would protect him on those few occasions when the rain would pelt down.

A blanket is best for being settled in one place. It is a hindrance to moving. You can get caught up in the folds as you try to get to your feet or trip over the trailing end if you try to run. For all the comfort and security which a blanket offers, it has its drawbacks.

As the unnamed rich man made a point of obtaining (and had hoped to obtain Jesus as well), the poor blind man named Bartimaeus eagerly threw aside his encumbering covering in order to be received by Jesus.

What encumbers us? What hampers us from getting up and going to Jesus when he call us? What blankets our lives?

The answer to those questions is as unique as each of us. The possible answers are pride, fear, independence, constraining self-control, misunderstanding, security, pig-headedness, bravery, comfort, addiction, narrow-mindedness, narcissism, ignorance, insecurity, peer pressure. I am sure there a lot more. I won’t ask you to call out the name of your blanket. But I will ask you to say its name to yourself.

Naming your blanket is the first step towards unclasping your death-grip on it in preparation to flinging it out of the way in order to get to Jesus. You have to get rid of the blanket if you want to see, to be healed, to live in the grace-filled life that Jesus offers, to follow Jesus on the way.

Bartimaeus demonstrated both perseverance and obedience. He persistently overcame the barriers to his healing and becoming a disciple of Jesus. He was blind and could not get to Jesus; he was rebuked when he called out for mercy. Yet he ignored the reaction of the crowd and came to Jesus. He obeyed immediately by jumping to his feet, leaving behind his only comfort and possession. He knew his desperate condition. Perhaps that is our final barrier. Perhaps we are so enwrapped in the blankets of our living we don't feel our need for him. Do you recognize your spiritual blindness? Are you willing to leave your blanket behind and everything that it represents? Can you respond quickly to Christ’s call?(2)

Throw off your blanket and let Jesus’ words swell in your being: “Go, your faith has healed you.”

Be healed and follow Jesus on the way. There is life without the blanket. May that be your life and may all the thanks be to Christ. Amen.

(1) R. T. France, The Gospel of Mark, New International Greek Testament Commentary (Grand Rapids, Wm. B. Eerdmans, 2014), 422.
(2) “Mark,” Life Application Bible Commentary (Wheaton, IL: Tyndale House Publishers, 2001), 309.

Unless noted otherwise, all scripture references are from The Common English Bible, © 2011 www.commonenglishbible.com. 
Copyright © 2015 First Presbyterian Church of Waverly, Ohio. Reprinted by permission.

Sunday, October 4, 2015

The Disruption of Peace

Mark 10:2-16; Psalm 8; Hebrews 1:1-4; 2:5-12

We all have our personal definitions of peace. Let me be disruptive of your thinking by suggesting a different definition:
Peace is completeness.
The traditional reading of a line in Jesus’ ‘Sermon on the Mount’ is, “Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect” (Matthew 5:48 NRSV). As a rule, perfect means without a flaw, having no imperfections, unable to be improved upon. Our sanctuary Bible translation, The Common English Bible, uses the word “complete” for the word perfect. Yes, grammarians, that may be a slim nuance of meaning but the change of word is insightful. If something is complete, then it is lacking nothing, and nothing additional is needed, Hence, I suggest that peace is completeness. The peace of God lacks nothing. There is nothing additional required. God’s peace is whole in and of itself.

Completeness is the order of creation as God intended it. In the Genesis 1 story of creation, at the completion of each step of creation, God declared it was good. At the close of the sixth and last day of creation “God saw everything he had made: it was supremely good” (Genesis 1:31). In the Genesis 2 story of creation, which explores more deeply the creation of human beings, God determines, “It’s not good that the human is alone. I will make him a helper that is perfect for him” (Genesis 2:18). The initial human being is incomplete without the partner who is “perfect” that is the completion of the other.

The psalmist in Psalm 119, the longest of the psalms, waxes eloquent in line after line praising the perfection, the wholeness, the completeness of the law.

Even the writer of the Letter to the Hebrews uses the notion of perfection and completeness in talking about Jesus:
It was appropriate for God, for whom and through whom everything exists, to use experiences of suffering to make perfect the pioneer of salvation. (Hebrews 2:10)
Jesus is complete. Jesus is perfect. Jesus is whole. Jesus lacks nothing. He has completely, utterly, totally, experienced everything that life encounters. He did not shy away from the things we do, the things that hurt, the things that rip us apart. He allowed himself to be vulnerable to everything. There is no human pain that he did not include in the human suffering that he bore on the cross. Jesus was complete in his humanity as well as his divinity.

When we say to each other, “The peace of the Lord be with you; and also with you,” we are seeking the wholeness, the perfection, the completeness of Christ for each of us.

Yet we are resistant to that peace. Christ’s peace disrupts the fragile framework of our lives. We do work-arounds for the gaps in our lives. We fool ourselves into thinking that things are all right when that isn’t the case. We are used to being incomplete. However miserable we might be, we are unconsciously happy with being the way we are. We settle for our incompleteness and accept it as completeness. We take our vastly imperfect peace and assume that’s all there is.

Christ’s peace is disruptive. That seems inconceivable. Peace is supposed to put everything at rest. Peace is supposed to smooth everything out. But since we have come to accept an imperfect peace as all there is, when Christ’s peace comes near to us and dares to address our imperfection, our incompleteness, we are thrown into a tizzy. Our thoughts are upended, our knowledge of reality is undermined. Our spirits start to churn like a bad case of indigestion. That’s what Jesus meant when he said, “Do you think that I have come to bring peace to the earth? No, I tell you, I have come instead to bring division” (Luke 12:51). Christ’s peace divides us from all that is false within us

The Pharisees were disrupted as they tried enforce their view of life on Jesus. His teaching, his presence, his demeanor, his perfection, his completeness erupted in them. They couldn’t stand that he was complete, whole, perfect, and they weren’t. The peace that he brought wherever he went negated all the incomplete and false peace that had become so ingrained in the lives of God’s people.

We reject the very thing we desire, the absolute thing we need. Christ’s peace disrupts our selfish, ingrown worlds. It doesn’t matter what the subject is: marriage, divorce, women’s reproductive rights, irresponsible gun violence, spousal abuse, affordable health care, child rearing,  pornography, addiction, arrogant ignorance. Christ’s peace disrupts it all and we won’t take it.

Yet as long as our hearts are unyielding, as long as we repel the peace of Christ, as long as we refuse to let Christ disrupt our imitation peace, we will be incomplete, imperfect, and in no way filled with the peace that Christ seeks to bring us.

That’s why it is so significant that Jesus tells the disciples that “whoever doesn’t welcome God’s kingdom like a child will never enter it.” The youngest children have not yet bought into the false peace that years of living have weighted us down with. They haven’t lived long enough to learn racism, hatred, narrow-mindedness. They aren’t complete by any sense of the word. They are often self-centered, greedy, gullible. Nevertheless they are often unswerving in faith and loyalty. They are open to the fullness, the perfection, the wonder, the completeness of life that Jesus lives, teaches, gives.

This table is an opportunity to become like a child again, to welcome the peace, to receive the completeness that Christ offers. For Christ is complete here. He is totally here for us – his body, his blood, his unrestricted offering of himself for us. Every time we eat this bread and drink this cup we proclaim Christ’s saving death until he comes again in glory, until he comes in the fullness, the perfection, the completeness that God has intended from before creation began. We come to this table to shed our false peace and taste freshly the peace which is Christ. And every time we taste the bread and sip the cup we have the opportunity to be infused more with Christ’s peace for our lives, the lives of all God’s people, and the life of creation itself. This ongoing disruption will one day rid us all that separates us from Christ so that we may share his complete peace.

The peace of Christ be with you all. Thanks be to God.

Unless noted otherwise, all scripture references are from The Common English Bible, © 2011 www.commonenglishbible.com
Copyright © 2015 First Presbyterian Church of Waverly, Ohio. Reprinted by permission.