Sermon preached by The Reverend Dr. Harold T. Lewis

SERMON PREACHED BY THE REVEREND DR. HAROLD T. LEWIS, RECTOR CALVARY EPISCOPAL CHURCH, PITTSBURGH, PENNSYLVANIA ON THE TWENTY-FIRST SUNDAY AFTER PENTECOST
29 OCTOBER 2006


"The blind man said to him, "Lord, let me receive my sight." (Mk. 10:51)

Jericho was a large, important city in Jesus' day, a sort of crossroads. Jesus and his disciples, on their way to the Passover celebration in Jerusalem, spend the night there. As they resume their journey the next morning, they come across a blind beggar on the side of the road. This was not an uncommon sight. Beggars, be they blind or lame, often stationed themselves roadside, since they knew a crowd of pilgrims would be passing by, and pilgrims on their way to a religious festival in Jerusalem were likely to be in a generous mood. But it sounds like the beggar in today's Gospel is a known entity. He has a name, Bartimaeus, and judging from the reaction of the crowd, it would appear that he was a man who frequently turned up and proved to be an irritable presence. Respectable, pious folk don't like people in rags who shout out things, disturbing the peace, so the pious go to lengths to distance themselves from the irksome intruders. "Oh, it's that tiresome man," they say to themselves, as they urge him to be quiet.

This reminds me of a story about a hapless visitor from another faith tradition who visited a rather staid Episcopal Church. About a third of the way through the rector's sermon, she shouted "Praise the Lord!" The people looked at her disdainfully, and wished that she would disappear. Later in the sermon, particularly moved by the preacher's remarks, she belted out, "You tell it like it is, pastor!" The people were horrified and started praying in earnest for her immediate removal. Finally, at sermon's end, the woman stood up at her pew, and shouted, "Alleluia!" Now it was Lent, and the congregation was aghast! So immediately they dispatched an usher, clad in cutaways and striped trousers. He leaned over the visitor in her pew and asked, "Madam, what is the matter?" "Nothing is the matter, sir," she replied. "I got religion." "That may well be, madam," replied the supercilious usher, "but you didn't get it here!"

But if we take even a casual glance at Scripture, we will see that it is just such people --- poor, marginalized, oppressed, or infirm --- that seem to have more insights, even more faith than the religious people whom they irritate. The publican turned out to be more religious than the Pharisee [Lk. 18:10-14]; the persistent widow more faithful than the judge [Lk. 18:1-8]; the paralytic at the side of the pool in Bethsaida was more of a believer than the religious townspeople who railed against him because Jesus healed him on the Sabbath [John 5:1-19]. Bartimaeus was no exception; not only did he have more faith; he was far more theologically astute than the crowd. He calls Jesus "Son of David." He knows him to be the Messiah, and not some itinerant miracle-worker. And when he addresses Jesus in this way, two things happened. First, Jesus stood still. He just didn't slow down; he stopped and gave his full attention to the beggar.

This reminds me of an incident involving Claudette, which took place on Martha's Vineyard several summers ago, when the other Administration was still on Pennsylvania Avenue. Claudette was walking down the street just as Bill Clinton and his entourage emerged from an ice cream parlour. The President shook Claudette's hand, and engaged her in conversation for a few moments. I will spare you Claudette's description of Mr. Clinton's looks, and her vow never to wash that hand again, but suffice it to say that what impressed her was that she felt that for a brief period, she was the only person in the world that mattered to Bill; as he looked into her eyes, she had her undivided attention. (I am grateful she did not have her checkbook with her!)

The other thing that happened is that the fickle crowd, who until now was hushing him up, now encourages Bartimaeus to speak to Jesus, almost taking credit for bringing him to Jesus. "Come, he is calling you," they say. Now if Jesus' question to the blind man, "What do you want me to do for you?" sounds familiar, it's because we heard it last week. It is the same question that he asked of James and John. Those disciples, as you remember, wanted power and status --- instant political ascendancy --- to sit on the right and left hand of Jesus --- which they thought was their just reward for being faithful followers of the Lord. But Bartimaeus simply wanted his sight to be restored. Isn't it funny that those on the inside, the people that stayed with Jesus 24/7, clearly already in a powerful position, wanted even more recognition than those on the outside? The outsider simply wanted to be able to see. Now we don't know what James and John would have done with their power, had Jesus granted it, but we can imagine, judging from the lambasting that Jesus gave them, they would have lorded it over the other ten disciples. What does Bartimaeus do with his sight? Jesus tells him "Go, your faith has made you well." Bartimaeus, now blessed with eyesight, could have gone back to his village, basked in the fame of having been healed by Jesus, and become gainfully employed. But no, he takes Jesus' words as an invitation, not a dismissal. Then, having thrown off his cloak, he springs up and follows Jesus in the Way. He becomes a disciple. Unlike the rich young ruler, unwilling to give up any of his possessions, Bartimaeus gives up his only possession, a cloak, in the knowledge that in return, he would be enveloped in the seamless robe of Christ.

Insiders and outsiders. Despite our claims to be inclusive, our default position as human beings seems to be a penchant to hold up exclusivity. We learn it in school. In the second grade, I was a rabbit. That meant I was in the advanced reading group, who could read faster and with more comprehension (yes, it is never too early to prepare for the SATs) than the unfortunate dim-witted turtles on the other side of the classroom. (I often wonder how different life would have been had I been deemed a turtle instead of a rabbit.) There are more serious insider-outsider scenarios. Sometimes they are based on gender. A woman in this parish, who belongs to a certain downtown club in this city which will remain nameless, recounted how for years, as the guest of her father, had to enter the club through the ladies' entrance. The civil rights movement was a lesson for all of us about how this country institutionalized an insider/outsider system based on race. And there have even been intra-racial examples of insiders/outsiders. Older parishioners in my parish in Washington who grew up in the nation's capital when it was a highly segregated town, recounted to me that in their segregated high school, there was an exclusive club made up of fair-skinned African Americans who were granted membership in that club solely for their ability to "pass," and be admitted to an all-white theatre!

Unfortunately, the church, being made up of the same people who are members of society, is not immune to the 'isms' around it. A French philosopher, Alfred Loisy, once said that Jesus preached the Kingdom, but the church happened instead!" (Jesus a preche le Royaume, mais c'est l'Eglise qui est venue.") So often, churchfolk, so caught up in the trappings of power, go to great lengths to grasp even more power and status illusory though they may be. They seem intent on building up their version of the church, however small and exclusive it might end up to be. My eyes have been made bleary by reading just a sampling of the blogs that find their way onto my computer. Bloggers who believe themselves to represent the true, valid and undivided church, claiming to be the only ones who preach the faith once delivered to the saints, while relegating the rest of us to the status of usurpers at best, heathen at worst. Indeed, the clergy and lay delegates from Calvary are steeling ourselves for rhetoric along these lines that will be all too prevalent at diocesan convention this weekend.

My sisters and brothers in Christ, I ask that we, like Bartimaeus, begin to concentrate on the Kingdom. The Kingdom of God reaches outward, not inward. It accepts, and does not reject. It embraces and does not spurn. I am indebted to a canon at Westminster Abbey who once said that the church is more verb than noun. The church, far from being contained in whatever box people decide to put it in, is found in many places, sometimes even more among the so-called outsiders. It was, of course, William Temple, archbishop of Canterbury sixty years ago, who reminded us that the church is the only institution that exists for the benefit of those not its members.

Bartimaeus and all the outsiders --- the least, the lost and the last --- understood this. May we who too often are blinded by our own sense of importance, we who, as Isaiah says, grope blindly along the well, get the message as well.

Let us pray: The Church of God a Kingdom is, Where Christ in power doth reign, Where spirits yearn till, seen in bliss, The Lord shall come again. There rich and poor, from countless lands, Praise Christ on mystic rood, There multitudes reach forth their hands To take God's holy food. O King, O Christ, this endless grace, To us and all men bring, To see the vision of thy face, In joy, O Christ, our King. [Lionel Muirhead, No. 387, The Hymnal 1940] AMEN.