Sermon from Sunday, March 19, 2017

Reading:  Mark 10:46-52

For the third week in a row, we read the Gospel story of Jesus’ healing of a blind man named Bartimaeus.  This week we focus on the particular miracle that Jesus performs – helping a blind man to see.  Some say this is what Christian education and faith development programs are all about – helping ourselves and others to see things properly – to see the world, world events, ourselves and others as God does, so we can live and act accordingly.

 

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.

 

Towards Sunday, March 19, 2017

For two weeks already, and for two more after this Sunday, we will be reading the story in Mark 10:46-52 about Jesus healing a blind beggar of Jericho named Bartimaeus, to help us explore five practices of fruitful congregations.

The first week, we focused on Jericho's history of walls tumbling down, as a way of exploring and celebrating the ways of Radical Hospitality in our congregation (and asking whether there are maybe still more walls than we realize, that could use a little tumblin'.)

Last week, the emphasis was on Bartimaeus' blind desire to be near to Jesus and not to miss out on gift of God's messiah, as a way of understanding Passionate Worship in our life as a church.

And this week?

The particular miracle of healing blindness and of helping Bartimaeus see, as a way of understanding, celebrating, and perhaps praying for new ways of practicing Intentional Faith-Development as a congregation.

Is blindness a good image of what the world suffers from, these days?

Is healing from blindness, and being made able to see in new ways a good image of what Christian education is, and what it accomplishes?

How are children's eyes opened, and to what are they opened, at Fifty?

How are adults eyes opened, and to what are they opened, at Fifty?

What have your eyes been opened to in our church?  What would you like to be able to see more clearly, or deeply?

 

Sermon from Sunday, March 12, 2017

Reading: Mark 10:46-52

A NOTE about the sermon series for Lent, of which this is the first:

Lent is a season of self-examination, focused on how we are following Christ in living the life and love of God in the world.  It can be personal or communal, and this year we focus on how we as a church are living the life and love of Christ.

In a book called Five Practices of Fruitful Congregations, Robert Shnase -- a bishop of the United Methodist Church, outlines five practices, and we will look at our own church life through the lens of each:

March 5 -- radical hospitality
March 12 -- passionate worship
March 19 -- intentional faith-development
March 26 -- risk-taking mission and service
April 2 -- extravagant generosity

In the story of Jesus healing Bartimaeus (in Mark 10:46-52) of blindness, all five practices are acted out in some way, and each Sunday we will explore how we act them out in our life as a church and as a body of Christ today.  This week we focus on the blind longing of Bartimaeus not to miss Jesus, as a way of exploring our own practice of, and longing for worship.
 

 

A blind beggar, sitting by the roadside,

hears that Jesus of Nazareth is nearby –

maybe just this one time and for only a moment,

and he begins to shout out and say,

“Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!”

His name is Bartimaeus and he lives in the city of Jericho, and but for those two details is his story not also our story, every time we gather for worship?

Like him we hear that a messiah has come and is near, but we do not see him.  It seems others have, and have been touched and made whole by him.  Hungry people have been fed.  Thirsty souls have been satisfied.  Broken and bent-over people have been healed and made well.  People at odds have been reconciled and re-united.  Empty and wandering people have found new meaning and purpose.  Sinful people, ashamed of their own lives, have been forgiven, set free, and welcomed into gracious, loving community with others around them.

We would love to see that.  We would love to see the messiah, know the presence of God, feel the healing love of God in our lives, in this church, in the world we inhabit. 

Maybe one time we did, but now have just the memory of it.  Maybe we glimpse it a little bit, but we’re not really sure.  Maybe we don’t know what Jesus really looks like, and we don’t even know where to look.

In some deep corner of our hearts, every time we come here on a Sunday morning as a Christian church to worship God, are we not like blind Bartimaeus shouting out to the heavens and to the darkness that surrounds us, “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!  Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on us!”?

In the story there is a happy ending.  The blind man – Bartimaeus, finds himself in the presence of Jesus. 

Jesus stands still and says, “Call him here.”

And they call the blind man –

the people around him, say to him,

“Take heart; get up, he is calling you.” 

So throwing off his cloak, he springs up

and comes to Jesus.

How many times and in how many settings and in how many stages of our life have other people done that for us?  Told us to take heart, that Jesus is not only calling us, but waiting for us?  That he was not only waiting for us, but they would help us find our way to him?

I doubt that any of us ever come to God and find the healing love we so long for, alone.

Every Sunday – there are so many who help to make this place and this time a place of worship for us.  From the people who clean the sanctuary and keep the yard outside neat and in order, to those who greet and usher and help teach Sunday school and staff the nursery, to the people who plan the worship and the music and prepare the bulletins and show the slides and sing in the choir and show up Sunday after Sunday to fill the pew beside you or in front or behind you, so you know you’re not alone, and not the only one wanting to see and be touched by Jesus.

And that’s only this one hour Sunday morning.  What about the rest of our lives and all the people who help us in so many ways to find our way to God, to get to the place where Jesus waits for us, to be able to hear a word and feel a touch of healing in our lives.

“Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me” is a prayer that is answered maybe always and only through the help and the ministry of other people in our lives.

So the blind man said to him, “My teacher, let me see again.”

Jesus said to him, “Go; your faith has made you well.”

Immediately he regained his sight and followed him on the way.

Our life is changed when we really see and meet Jesus.  New meaning emerges.  New directions take shape.  We begin to follow and live a different way.

And it’s not only us that’s changed.  Our being-changed changes others around us as well.  Makes them more open to something new in their life as well.

Because Bartimaeus did not write his own story.  He did not insert himself into this telling of the story of Jesus.  It was somebody else who saw him, saw his healing, saw him then following Jesus, who decided this had to be part of the telling of who Jesus is, and what Jesus does.

I wonder if the people who saw and told and retold the story of Bartimaeus until it just forever became part of the story of Jesus, were also at least some of the people who at the beginning of the story tried to keep Bartimaeus quiet, told him to shush, didn’t think he belonged in the picture and the story at all?

But then they saw something they weren’t expecting.  They saw Bartimaeus and Jesus in a new light.  The blinders were taken from their eyes.  They too were changed.  And they could not but tell the tale.

I wonder, when we are healed and have our eyes opened, or when we see someone else’s life changed for good in some way by God and by Jesus, does it change us as well and make our understanding and our telling of the story of God and of Jesus that much bigger, and wider, and more inclusive of the most unlikely characters?

Because aren’t we all blind Bartimaeus sitting by the roadside, shouting out, “Jesus!  Son of David!  Have mercy on me!”?

Sermon from Sunday, March 5, 2017 (Lent 1)

Reading:  Mark 10:46-52

A NOTE about the sermon series for Lent, of which this is the first:

Lent is a season of self-examination, focused on how we are following Christ in living the life and love of God in the world.  It can be personal or communal, and this year we focus on how we as a church are living the life and love of Christ.

In a book called Five Practices of Fruitful Congregations, Robert Shnase -- a bishop of the United Methodist Church, outlines five practices, and we will look at our own church life through the lens of each:

March 5 -- radical hospitality
March 12 -- passionate worship
March 19 -- intentional faith-development
March 26 -- risk-taking mission and service
April 2 -- extravagant generosity

We will look at these practices and our commitment to them with the help of one Gospel story all five Sundays -- the story in Mark 10:46-52, of Jesus healing Bartimaeus, a poor beggar of Jericho, of blindness.  This story is the last public incident in the life of Jesus just before he begins -- in fact, just as he begins his final journey to Jerusalem and the triumphal entry (Mark 11:1-11) which we will read the following Sunday -- Palm Sunday, April 9.

In the Bartimaeus story all five practices are acted out in some way, and each Sunday we will explore how we act them out in our life as a church and as a body of Christ today. 

Why are we doing this?  Why are Elgin and Wes McEneny, Dave Furry, Lillian Klemp, Jane Franks, Mike Fennema, the Trustees and the Property Committee and the Council giving so much time and energy, and committing so much of the church’s money to installing a lift and making sure it’s done right?

Is it because of the law – that in 5 or 10 or whatever years our building will be illegal without one? 

Is it because we need it – because some of our most active members find it increasingly hard to get up and down the stairs to the Lower Hall and the Upper Room, and they can’t take part – get excluded from things the rest are able to do?

Is it also because we care about the needs of others beyond us?  That we’re sensitive to the needs of people not here yet, and who we’d love to invite in?  Who we’d like to be able to invite to use our building for events of their own?  Who we wish would feel comfortable enough here, and welcomed enough here, to join us in something that may be of interest or help to them?

The story we’ve read this morning – and that we’re going to read for the next four Sundays, takes place in the city of Jericho – just on the edge of it, actually. 

Did you ever learn that old Sunday school song about Jericho – the one with the chorus:

Joshua fought the battle of Jericho, Jericho, Jericho.
Joshua fought the battle of Jericho.
And the walls came a-tumbling down.

It’s a song about the time way back in the beginning of Israel when the people have escaped from slavery in Egypt, have travelled in stages across the desert of Sinai, and after a 40-years’ journey are at long last coming into the Promised Land, the land of Canaan.  Behind Joshua as leader – Moses has already died, they cross the Jordan and begin to take over parts of the land.  A lot of battles are fought and heavy losses are suffered as they attack and overcome the defences of a number of cities.  Except for the city of Jericho, where something really different happens.

Here at God’s command instead of attacking the walls and the people behind them with swords, spears and bows and arrows, and having to win by violent conquest, the people march seven times around the city, blow their trumpets and rams’ horns as loud as they can at the completion of each circuit, and on the completion of the seventh circuit and the seventh blowing of the horns, the walls … yes, the walls came a-tumblin’ down.  The walls separating them from the people inside, and from where they want to be as well, just come tumbling down.

What a wonderful image of the kingdom of God coming to be in the world! 

Walls just a-tumblin’ down.  Walls that people put up around themselves, disappearing.  Walls to defend ourselves and to keep what we have for ourselves, no longer working.  Walls that keep others locked out and us locked in, no longer being there.  Walls that divide and separate humanity into insiders and outsiders, no longer being part of the world we share.

Is it still possible for walls to come a-tumblin’ down?  Without battles, without having to fight, without one side having to beat the other, without terrible losses of so many kinds on both sides of the wall?

In the time of Jesus there were walls still in Jericho.  The people of Israel themselves rebuilt the walls as soon as they moved in.  They were as concerned and obsessed with protecting themselves against others as the original people of the land had been before them.

And it wasn’t just physical walls that they built and maintained.  It never just is.

In the time of Jesus the city of Jericho was a city of many segments and many different populations.  So close to Jerusalem, it was a bedroom community with neighbourhoods of up 12,000 Jewish priests and Levites who worked at the Great temple in Jerusalem.  There were poorer, more common Jews who came in from the countryside to find a better life, who ended up in poorer parts of the town separate from the Temple class.  Jericho was a Roman provincial capital with Roman and Gentile bureaucrats and officials – like Zaccheus the tax collector, who were generally hated by the Jews and would have had their own part of town to live in – probably the more affluent and comfortable.  And then there were the really poor, the lame and the blind, the lepers and the outcasts, who lived on the charity of others, but in their own ghettos and conclaves apart from the people who gave them alms. 

All kinds of walls, with communities defined and divided by race and religion, by class and culture, by occupation, employment, disease and disability.  And those walls were – and still are, as hard to breach as any physical wall.  Did you notice, for instance, how when poor and blind Bartimaeus starts calling out for help – for healing of his disability and loneliness, a lot of people around him and around Jesus tell him right away, and quite angrily, to be quiet and not make a ruckus about his blindness and his need.

He is out of place.  To the people who are there to see and be with Jesus it seems he doesn’t belong with them.  He isn’t acting appropriately, and doesn’t fit in.  Jesus, as far as they could see, has something else on his mind.  He is starting on his way to Jerusalem, the holy city, and to their mind, this man just hasn’t got the memo.  Wrong time and wrong place.  There is – or at least there should be, a wall to protect them from having to deal with him, and to keep people and problems like him away from who they are and where they are going.

Does that ever happen – do we ever fall prey to that easy human impulse to exclude, to push away, or to not open up as much as we think we do, in our life as a church? 

We have all kinds of ways of welcoming others, of opening ourselves and our building to people around us, of inviting people in to be fed, to be cared for, and to be included.  We also go out to where others are, and we really do extend the circle of our care out into the community in so many ways.  We remembered and celebrated a lot of these things at the start of our worship, and no doubt there even more.  This is a great church to be part of, for that very reason.

But is there still – is there always some room to grow in what we do and how we do it?  Maybe in addition to what we already do?  Are there some doors yet that could be opened a little bit more?  Some circle that could be made even wider?  Some wall that still stands, that with a little circling and a timely few trumpet blasts we could make come a-tumblin’ down?

Jesus, when he hears the faintest cry for help

that everyone else around him is more than happy

to try to keep quiet and make go away,

is the One who right away stops,

stands still to hear the cry even better,

and says, “Call him here.  Let her come.  Bring them to me.”

Are there times,

are there ways,

are there ministries and groups and activities of our church

by which we can say to those around us

even more than we already do,

“Take heart, get up, he is calling you”?