I have had three conversations in the past week where people
said, “I’m struggling in my faith.” For each of them, the nature of the
confusion or struggle was different. In the end, though, it was simple: they
looked up to God, and they just felt like they couldn’t see him.
It’s not an unusual thing. We want to see God, or at least
feel his presence, especially at difficult times or turning points in our
lives. It would be ever so much better if we just felt that God, like a
comforting parent, would be prodding us in the right direction, or saying “You’re
fine – keep going.” But sometimes it seems he is nowhere to be found.
Over the past few weeks we have been hearing of the story of
Job, the man who was tested in extraordinarily difficult ways. He lost his
children, his wealth, and his health. His friends tried to help but really only
made matters worse. He stayed faithful to God, but as more and more bad things
happened to him, he asked God, “Why aren’t you helping me out here? I’m feeling
pretty alone right now.” God, being an
Old Testament kind of God, finally got a little annoyed with Job and said, “Kiddo,
I’ve been with you from the start and I’ve been with you all along. Don’t
question me.” And Job sat back and said, “I guess I was wrong to ask you
questions. You were there all along, although I was so wrapped up in my own
problems that I couldn’t see you. I heard, but I didn’t understand. I didn’t
see. Now I do.”
Seeing God. It’s what we seek, isn’t it?
In our Gospel today, Bartimaeus is a blind beggar who calls
out to Jesus and says, “Hey there, Jesus, help me out here!” I suspect
Bartimaeus was like one of those folks who beg on the street corner. We see
them every day as we drive to work, and they’re a little annoying with their
cardboard signs and sad faces. Begging
is their profession, something that some of us would say that they choose to do
for a whole host of reasons. But unlike the folks on the street corner,
Bartimaeus had no other option. There was no work for a blind man. It may have
been that he was turned out by his family. But I suspect that he was at that
same spot every day except the Sabbath, calling out and asking for money from
passersby. He may have gotten pretty good at recognizing particular people by
the sounds they made: old Joshua had a bad limp, and always walked with his
little dog, so the sound of their steps was a step-drag-patter-patter along the
hard sand of the road. When Bartimaeus
heard that step-drag-patter-patter, he called out “Joshua, old friend! Can you
spare a few coins for a blind man?” Miriam had eight children, and he could
hear them talking and fussing at each other from a quarter-mile away. As they
approached, Bartimaeus would call out “Miriam,
good mother! Can you give a coin or two to me in thanksgiving for your
wonderful healthy children, who all have the sight that I lack?” When he heard
the rolling of wooden wheels and the clop of hooves, he knew the Roman
centurion was going past, and he didn’t call out – he simply hid himself,
because sometimes the soldiers would beat beggars who asked for alms at the
roadside.
But one day, Bartimaeus sensed something different, a
different energy around him. He heard people walking on the road, a good crowd
of them by the sound of it, people whose steps he didn’t recognize, voices he
hadn’t heard before. Yes, there were some of his neighbors in the crowd, but
there were newcomers as well. And as they approached, the words left Bartimaeus’
mouth before he even thought of them: “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!”
He wondered if he was possessed by a demon, that he should
say such words. He didn’t know this Jesus. He had never met him before. He had
learned in the temple that a Son of David would come and be the anointed one,
the Messiah, but he had no way of knowing that this man, this stranger, was it.
And yet, he knew, and he spoke. He could see behind his blind eyes who this man
was.
The religious leaders, those Pharisees and priests, they
seemed not to understand who Jesus was.
They could not see. But Bartimaeus
understood and cried out. Even in his blindness, he could see who Jesus was.
Some people near the annoying beggar told him to be quiet,
but he cried out again, “Have mercy on me!” And Jesus heard his cry. He stopped
stockstill in the middle of the road and said, “Bring him over here.” So the
crowd, including those people who had just said “be quiet,” guided him over to
Jesus, this man whom Bartimaeus had never before met. And Jesus said “What do you
want?” And the blind beggar said, “I want to see.” And Jesus looked at him.
Jesus knew that this man who was blind saw him, really saw him, in a way that
the religious leaders did not. Jesus healed his eyes, praising his faith, but Jesus
knew that his sight was already healed by that faith. Jesus simply repaired the
mechanics.
That is the thing about sight. What do you see? When you
meet a neighbor, do you see a middle-aged person with a slight limp and graying
hair, or do you see the joy in his face that he’s gotten a new job, or the
loneliness after the death of a beloved one? When you come to church, even a
church like this, to worship God, do you see the cross and the chalice and the
cup or do you see the ineffable love and strength of the God who made us? What
do you see?
Oftentimes, as Job discovered, it is hard to see God. We
have to work to sense him among us, alongside us, within us.
But the gift of Christ in our lives is that we have been
given someone who was human like us, someone who talked as we talk, who walked
and got tired and enjoyed a good meal. When we see Jesus, though, we don’t only
get a picture of a human being. We get a window into what God looks like. We
can see God, through Jesus Christ. We are not alone. He is like us, and
understands us better than anyone can. He is with us, and feels our joys and
our pain better than anyone can. He is in us, and sees the world in which we
live with clarity, and sometimes with sadness.
Job had it right. We may have some sense of our Divine
Creator – Job talked about hearing God – but it takes a special patience and a
special faith to actually see God. And this place helps us see God, doesn’t it?
Look up at the blaze of colors in the trees. Look at the water running in the
spring. Smell the crisp damp air and see the reds, oranges, and greens of newly
harvested apples and pumpkins. God is here for us to see, and for us to seek,
if we trust our faith and our senses.
Amen.
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