I
don’t think I have ever spent so long with one little story – sitting with it week
after week, looking bit by bit at this gathering around Jesus on the edge of
the city of Jericho, seeing it slice by slice as an example – a model of what
we still are, what we do still as Christian church – as community gathered
around Jesus on the edge of the city today.
Week
one, we looked at the ethos of the city itself – Jericho, the place where the
walls came a-tumblin’ down, as an image for the radical hospitality that’s one
of the things we practice and do as a church.
Week
two – last week, we looked at the beggar Bartimaeus in his darkness crying out
to be included, just wanting to be near Jesus and God’s salvation of his life –
like us in passionate worship, bringing all we have and don’t have, all we are
and are not into the presence of God, to want to draw near and open ourselves
to God as much as we can, to be blessed and feel God’s saving love in all our
life.
And
now this week – we focus on the specific miracle that happens, the gift that is
asked for and given – the healing of blindness, the gift of being able to see,
as an image of what our Christian education and faith-development are most
deeply about.
When
Bartimaeus comes into the presence of Jesus, Jesus asks, “What do you want me
to do for you?” And the blind man says
to him, “My teacher, let me see again.”
Is
blindness what we most suffer from in the world today? In our own lives, and in the life of the
world? Is blindness, tunnel vision,
short-sightedness, sometimes just an unwillingness to look too closely in
certain directions, the cause of many of the ills we suffer?
And are
Christian education and faith-development a matter of learning to see – maybe
in a new way, maybe for the first time, maybe see again or more deeply what we
need to see, to live well?
And
even as I say this, this part of the story – Bartimaeus’ blindness and Jesus’
healing of it, is not easy to talk about without feeling glib or
superficial. Because I think of Japhia’s
actual, physical problems with seeing – the visual challenges she faces. Diabetic retinopathy has gradually reduced
her vision over the years, through retinal bleeds and scarring. Three vitrectomies – invasive total-eye
surgeries to repair retinal tears, have furthered blinded her, with each
surgery disrupting the eye in some way.
Since the last surgery, her bad eye is now her better eye, we hope for the
operated eye to recover still some more, and her vision now is darkened and
unclear.
It’s hard
for me to remember this, though, and easy to forget. Because around home, where she knows where
everything is, and can do things by habit and by rote, she manages well. She gets around, does stuff, with our
big-screen TV she can watch and follow movies and TV shows. She seems normal. And I forget how little and unclearly she
sees, how scary it is for her to go outside, and to be among strangers and
facing new things. It’s one reason her
life becomes more insular and confined.
And I
wonder if this is true of all of us when it comes to our faith development and
living as people of faith in the world.
When we’re here in a place we know well, doing things we are familiar
with, that we can do by habit and by rote, we do well. We do stuff, organize, arrange and
manage. We seem and we feel normal and
healthy.
But
out there, do we know how to live and move as freely and confidently as people
of faith? Or do we have trouble? Is our vision unclear and cloudy when it
comes to seeing the world, life, other people, even our own life in the world,
the way God intends, the way God wants us to, and wants to help us to?
I
think of how in the Greek Orthodox tradition, the focus of attention is not so
much on how bad the world is – how evil and fallen and in need of being saved,
as much as on how full it is still and always of God’s glory and God’s good
purpose and activity, and how blind we are to it, and in need of having our
eyes opened.
Environmentalists
and First Nations people have been telling us this for years – that we need to
begin to see Earth and all life in it differently than we have, and that the
ecological crisis is largely a result of how badly and un-spiritually we have
viewed the world around us.
People
involved in progressive ways in inter-religious, inter-cultural and even inter-national
dialogue and action tell us repeatedly that the biggest barrier to progress in
our not being able to see the other – whoever the other is, in a full and
compassionate way, not being able to see their perspective, their needs and
their fears, not being able to see and honour the image and good will of God
that exists within them as much as in ourselves.
Seeing
is believing; and believing is also seeing clearly enough what we need to see
to be able to live and move and act with confidence as people of faith in the
world.
A few
years ago a group of about a dozen people at Fifty spent 10 or 12 weeks reading
and discussing a book by Marcus Borg called The
Heart of Christianity, and one thing we talked about was that knowing
doctrine and being able to accept and repeat certain “truths” written in books
about God, is not what being Christian is about – but that the purpose of doctrine,
truths, and the stories of the faith is to open our eyes in new and true ways
to the world around us, and to the presence, the good purpose, and the living
activity of God in the world – so we can then shape and live our lives in the
world accordingly.
We
know so much. We live in an information
age. But with all we know, do we know
what counts, what makes a difference, what we need to know as people of faith
to be people of faith. Do we see what
God wants to help us to see?
When we
come into the presence of Jesus, Jesus asks, “What do you want me to do for
you?” I wonder if, like Bartimaeus the
blind man, we say to him, “My teacher, let me see again.”
We’re
good at teaching our kids what they need to know to be able to see the world and
God’s presence and good purpose in it.
In Sunday school, Vacation Bible School and in other ways here and at
home, we teach them the stories of God and the images of faithfulness that will
shape the way they see things. And in
the way we do it, in the environment we create, the kinds of relationships we
insist on in Sunday school and VBS and elsewhere, we help them see how it’s
done and how it works out in practice.
And it’s all good. It’s
intentional faith-development.
I just
wonder, though, when we get to be adults, do we sometimes think we’re beyond
that? We cope so well inside the church,
and can manage and do so much by habit and by rote – do we forget that with
every new day and every new issue and every new twist of life and of history, we
need to see again, or in a new way, or maybe for the first time where and how
God is, and where and how we can be as people of faith.
When
Bartimaeus comes into the presence of Jesus, Jesus asks, “What do you want me
to do for you?” And the blind man says to
him, “My teacher, let me see again.” And
Jesus says to him, “Go; your faith has made you well.”
I
wonder how we get there, and what we do as a church – what each of us does in
our own lives, to help Jesus and God help us to see.
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