A sermon preached at Old South Congregational Church, United Church of Christ, Hallowell, Maine, October 29, 2006.
Text: Mark 10:46-52
The Rev. Susan M. Reisert, Minister
Reformation Sunday holds a special place in my heart, in a way. On Reformation Sunday 1990, I preached my very first full sermon. I tried to tell a stupid joke to get it started and, when that didn't work, but I still felt compelled to go on, I guess I knew then that I would continue in this profession. Although I borrowed the title from that very first sermon for today's sermon, I hope that you will feel comforted to know that I didn't borrow much else. To gaze upon even a few paragraphs is enough to find myself wondering who could possibly have written such a terrible piece and, then, to know that it didn't end there. That sermon was delivered in public. Yet, it remains, that I have something of a soft spot for Reformation Sunday. And, probably not just because of that first sermon. There's probably also something about Reformation Sunday speaking to my rebellious heart.
So the legend goes that in the early morning hours of October 31, 1517, a young man, an official in the Catholic Church, named Martin Luther hung ninety-five theses to the door of the church in Wittenburg. This is the legend. It is not likely the truth.
My Reformation history professor back in Divinity School, informed us that Martin Luther actually mailed the theses, along with a letter of protest for the selling of indulgences, to the Archbishop. The legend, of course, sounds better. It may also be helpful to know that Martin Luther had no intention of starting a new church, no intention of forming a whole new movement within Christianity. In mailing, or nailing, his ninety-five theses, Luther was responding to a system that was taking place in the Church that deeply troubled him-the increasingly widespread selling of indulgences in the Church. The whole concept of an indulgence is based on the medieval Catholic doctrine that sinners must not only repent of sins that they've committed, they must also confess these sins and pay some sort of retribution. That they were to pay some sort of retribution led to abuses of various kinds, most notably that payment was often expected in cash.
Luther had already preached against indulgences. But, he wrote the 95 theses partly in reaction to the promotion of indulgences by a certain papal commissioner for indulgences in Germany, to raise funds for the renovation of St. Peter's Basilica in Rome. The 95 Theses not only denounced such transactions as worldly, but denied the pope's right to grant pardons on God's behalf in the first place. Forgiveness could not be achieved through a cash payment, or good works really of any kind, Luther came to realize. Only God's grace could provide what was necessary for us to be in full relationship with God; salvation only came through faith and not be works-justification by faith is the more theological term for it.
So, Luther protested. But, initially his protest was for reform within the Church, not for a whole new movement to come into being. But, his protest touched a cord. Others, it seemed had been troubled by this, and other problematic practices in the Church. Luther, however, remained-for some time-somehow convinced that reform was possible within the Church. But, the Church wasn't swayed. And, eventually, Luther was excommunicated in 1520. This period of great conflict and debate that began in 1517 and continued for quite some time was labeled the Protestant Reformation. We, of course, are descendants of this movement of reform and revolution.
Martin Luther looked upon the world in which he lived, and in the Church that he likely proudly and faithfully served, and saw that things had gone horribly wrong. So, he spoke up. He spoke up loudly and forcefully, boldly. And, he changed the face of the Church forever.
This morning, we focus ourselves on a passage from the Gospel according to Mark that also contains a protest of sorts and, more particularly, one individual's speaking up even in the midst of a large crowd. This morning we consider the healing of Bartimaeus, a blind beggar whom Jesus encounters in Jericho. Let us remember that Jesus is on his way to Jerusalem. He has spoken several times of the his prediction of the Passion that will take place there, but still moves with determination in that direction. Along the way, he encounters various crowds and situations:
As he and his disciples and a large crowd were leaving Jericho, Bartimaeus son of Timaeus, a blind beggar, was sitting by the roadside. 47When he heard that it was Jesus of Nazareth, he began to shout out and say, "Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!" 48Many sternly ordered him to be quiet, but he cried out even more loudly, "Son of David, have mercy on me!" 49Jesus stood still and said, "Call him here." And they called the blind man, saying to him, "Take heart; get up, he is calling you." 50So throwing off his cloak, he sprang up and came to Jesus. 51Then Jesus said to him, "What do you want me to do for you?" The blind man said to him, "My teacher, let me see again." 52Jesus said to him, "Go; your faith has made you well." Immediately he regained his sight and followed him on the way.
Today, the story of the blind beggar begins in darkness. In begins in emptiness. It begins in raw need. And as such, this son of honor, which is what the word Bartimaeus means, offers us a portrait of faith, and this is what faith looks like. Faith is needy. Faith is eager. Faith is assertive. Faith is hopeful. Faith is impetuous and persistent and risky and raw. Faith is personal and relational. Faith ends something and faith begins something. Faith is about God doing for us what we cannot do for ourselves, and faith is about us, out of dumbstruck gratitude doing for God what only we can do. Most of all, faith often leads us to places we would just as soon not go.
When we look at the text, we see, as usual, that Mark's language is lean and stark. Once again, Mark cuts to the heart of the matter--no fuss, no frills, no fluff. The energy of Mark's text puts us to shame-- those of us who are cool, careful, cautious Christians who don't like to rock the boat. Listen to the words describing Bartimaeus. He begs, he shouts, he shouts even louder, he jumps up, he throws off, and, immediately, he follows. He follows this crazy Jesus all the way to the cross. No, there is nothing cool or careful or cautious about Bartimaeus. There is nothing proper or pious or proud. There is no mirage of self-sufficiency to distance him from Jesus. There is just uppity, persistent, honest need, and in offering that need assertively and eagerly to Jesus, Bartimaeus finds purpose. He finds faith. He finds new life.
The Jesus in today's story is fascinating and compelling, pulling us into a place where we probably would not go led by anyone else. When I was a child, it was the Jesus who shooed the adults away so he could play with the children. This was the Jesus who captured my heart. Then when I was a young adult, the Jesus who spoke to the woman at the Samaritan well, the Jesus whose friendship with two women named Mary and Martha was so strong that Martha was able to confess her belief, and faith and knowledge of who Jesus really was, this was the Jesus who gave me the courage finally speak up that I felt that I was being called to the ministry even though almost every single minister that I had known was a man.
And, now, there is another Jesus who energizes my faith. It is the Jesus in today's text, and instead of just giving me what I want, this Jesus makes me do most of the work. Jesus asks me as he asks Bartimaeus, "What do you want me to do for you?" And in the simple brilliance of that question, I, we, are forced to decide what is really important in our lives. Bartimaeus' answer is the answer of mature faith. "I want to see," he says. "I want to see the way things really are so that I can follow you, Jesus, wherever you may lead me."
Now, before we wax too eloquently about the wonderful miracle of today's healing story, let us be clear about what the text is saying. To see with the healing power of Jesus' touch is to see a real world, a world of pain, a world of sin, a world of evil. To see and to follow is to make our own way to Jerusalem, to the suffering that Jesus himself faced from a world that was not ready to see as Jesus wanted them to see. To see and to follow, is also to see a world where the Church itself may very well have taken a wrong turn somewhere. To see and to follow is not simply about the joy of healing; it is about the having the grace and the courage to follow the difficult path, the harder way, the more challenging journey.
Like Bartimaeus, to see and to follow also means that we are called to leave something behind as he left his cloak. What are you being called to leave behind, to shed? What is holding you back from living in the fullness of God's grace? And, what about the Church?
Like the early reformers of the 16th century, we are to look carefully at this institution we call the church and then judge just how closely we are embodying the compassionate and graceful heart of Jesus. And because we believe that God is sovereign, that the risen Christ is living, and that the power of the Holy Spirit continues to make all things new, today we are called to be reformed and always reforming. Yes, we affirm that we are being healed again and again to see things in new ways, in fresh ways--that we are constantly being called to jump up, to throw off the comfortable cloaks of the blind past, and to follow Jesus enthusiastically and gratefully into the unknown dangers and the unimaginable opportunities of that which is yet to come.
We are called to look at the world, and the Church (the big Church), and always be in the spirit of reform and change. Though established by God, the Church is a human institution and so is imperfect, always in need of reflection and reform and change and, sometimes, revolution. We are called to do this even if we are the only voice crying out. Like Bartimeaus, we are called to speak up, and sometimes to shout out about the broken world we live in-this world of injustice, exploitation, greed and hunger. We are called to speak up and sometimes to shout out even when those around us are putting a finger to their lips, encouraging us to keep silence, to stay quiet.
Living honestly a life of faith is about never getting too comfortable with the status quo. Living honestly a life of faith is welcoming the ability to see the world with the eyes of faith, the eyes to see that are offered to us by a Savior who hears us when we shout out, a Savior who will give us eyes to see-except those eyes may lead us to see in very unexpected ways.
Living honestly a life of faith is to reflect seriously on the story that I use every month for Communion-the road to Emmaus story. As those followers sat down at the table to share a meal with Jesus whom they did not recognize, whom they thought to be a stranger, and as their guest took the bread, blessed it and broke it, and as they began to share that meal together, there came a burning in their hearts and they recognized the Risen Christ. And, as soon as they recognized him, he vanished from their sight.
The quality of sight, the profound sight of faith and seeing the Savior at work in our lives, is both fleeting and elusive. Those rare and wonderful moments of truth are miraculous, but they cannot be captured and held. They cannot be grasped. They capture us and bid us to move and to follow, to follow in faith.
And, often we will find that that road is a lonely road, a road that others do not follow, a road that others may even tell us not to travel.
One of Martin Luther's most famous quotes is the one in which he includes the phrase, the emphatic exclamation: "Sin boldly!" This quote comes from a letter that Luther wrote to a friend in 1521: "If you are a preacher of mercy, do not preach an imaginary but the true mercy. If the mercy is true, you must therefore bear the true, not an imaginary sin. God does not save those who are only imaginary sinners. Be a sinner, and let your sins be strong (sin boldly), but let your trust in Christ be stronger, and rejoice in Christ who is the victor over sin, death, and the world."
To live in faith is to live boldly. It is to be confident and assertive. It is to leave behind that which is holding us back. It is to follow even when the path seems difficult. It is to see with eyes that only our Savior can give us. It is to speak up even when we are the lone voice, even when we are told to be quiet or that we are wrong.
So, let us live boldly-in faith and in trust and in the hope that our God will continue to show us the way. Praise be to God. Amen.