topleft05.jpg (18208 bytes)HOMILY
Thirtieth Sunday in Ordinary Time (B)
25 October 09
 


 

Written about three centuries before Jesus’ birth, Plato’s dialogue Timaeus features Socrates—the wise teacher who is awaiting executing—sitting down with three friends, Critias, Timaeus, and Hermocrates.  In this dialogue, the quartet considers why and how the universe was created.  Of significance for today’s homily because the gospel directs attention to the bind man, Bartimaeus, is that portion of Timaeus which contains a long discussion about the eye and vision:

And of the organs they first contrived the eyes to give light, and the principle according to which they were inserted was as follows: So much of fire as would not burn, but gave a gentle light, they formed into a substance akin to the light of every-day life; and the pure fire which is within us and related thereto they made to flow through the eyes in a stream smooth and dense, compressing the whole eye, and especially the centre part, so that it kept out everything of a coarser nature, and allowed to pass only this pure element.  When the light of day surrounds the stream of vision, then like falls upon like, and they coalesce, and one body is formed by natural affinity in the line of vision, wherever the light that falls from within meets with an external object.  And the whole stream of vision, being similarly affected in virtue of similarity, diffuses the motions of what it touches or what touches it over the whole body, until they reach the soul, causing that perception which we call sight.  But when night comes on and the external and kindred fire departs, then the stream of vision is cut off; for going forth to an unlike element it is changed and extinguished, being no longer of one nature with the surrounding atmosphere which is now deprived of fire: and so the eye no longer sees, and we feel disposed to sleep. (¶69)
 

Reading Timaeus alongside today’s gospel, several parallels emerge.  Like Socrates, Jesus—the teacher of God’s word who is to be executed—has been involved in a lengthy dialogue with three disciples, Peter, James, and John.  While the discussion in Timaeus focuses upon the optics and physics of the eye, this discussion shifts to Bartimaeus—the “son of Timaeus”—who is blind, recalling the famous blind Greek prophet, Tiresias, who sees truth even though he is blind, just as Bartimaeus sees the truth—the promised Messiah, the Son of David, is passing by—although he is blind.

What all of this suggests is that the name Bartimaeus very well might be a literary invention on the part of the author of the Gospel of Mark, linking Jesus to that which members of his audience have familiarity with, namely, Plato and other Hellenistic literature.  But, for the author of the Gospel of Mark, there is much more at play in his story because earlier in his dialogue with Peter, James, and John, Jesus taught the three about the ethic of service and the virtue of humility required of disciples.  Peter, James, and John were seeking earthly glory.  But now, when Jesus asks Bartimaeus, “What do you want me to do for you?”, he responds, “Master I want to see.”  What does Bartimaeus want to see that Peter, James, and John didn’t see?  And how is this related to “Immediately Bartimaeus received his sight and followed Jesus on the way?”

In Jesus’ day, blindness was a far more common disease than it is today.  While there were people who were born blind, the prevalence of blindness in biblical times was largely due to a disease causing the water duct under the eyelids to become dry, causing eyelids grow puffy and swollen, as subsequently did the eyeballs.  This highly contagious disease was spread by flies and aggravated by the hot desert sun, winds, and sands.  The only way to contain this form of blindness was to quarantine those individuals who had contracted hits much-feared, dread disease.

Today, ophthalmologists call this disease “ophthalmic conjunctivitis.”  Although this disease has pretty much been eradicated in First World countries, it is still today present in Third World countries.  You’ve likely seen people afflicted with the swollen red eyelids and eyeballs symptomatic of ophthalmic conjunctivitis in advertisements or commercials that are seeking contributions for various aid and relief organizations.  Just like the people who suffered this form of blindness in Jesus’ day, people suffering from ophthalmic conjunctivitis today live in hope that the Messiah will come to heal them of their blindness so they will be able to see all things anew.

As most of you already know, when miraculous healings are related in the gospels, the events normally don’t report a reversal of physical misfortune in the way a standard newspaper article does.  Yes, a paralyzed man does stand and walk.  Yes, a man does stretch out a withered hand and sees it become useful again.  Yes, a girl who was pronounced dead does awaken.   And in today’s gospel, one who “once was blind, now sees.”

As I noted earlier, the physical healing is but one element of a multi-level story.  And, as important as the physical healing is, all of this pales by comparison to the “Good News” which reports that the one who sees anew now believes in the one God has sent, suggesting that this healing about something much more important than a physical healing, and specifically, a spiritual healing.  That is, Bartimaeus—whose name means “son of poverty” or “son of the unclean” and who was blind to so many things in his life—now clearly sees Jesus for who he is.  Jesus is the Messiah—the Savior sent by God—who will heal not only Bartimaeus but also all of the impoverished and unclean of their blindness so that all of these people will see all things anew.

This is the sure foundation of faith: to see Jesus.  It is only after seeing Jesus for who he is—the Messiah whom God has sent to heal all people of their blindness so that they will see all things anew—that can we follow Jesus as his disciples.  Physical sight does not make a disciple; no, to be counted among Jesus’ disciples, our spiritual sight must first be restored.

Remember once again that Bartimaeus was not born blind.  No, he desperately wanted to regain the sight he had lost.  Notice, too, that Bartimaeus didn’t quietly and politely ask Jesus to restore his sight.  No, Bartimaeus shouted out, over and over again, “Jesus, have pity on me...Jesus have pity on me...Jesus, have pity on me.”  And because of his persistence, Jesus stopped dead in his tracks, turned to Bartimaeus, and asked him: “What do you want?”  Bartimaeus pleaded, “I want to see!”  It’s just like my Dad who has macular degeneration.  Like is Mom and sister, my Dad can see only perhaps five percent of what he used to be capable of seeing.  When we talk on the telephone, my Dad will often say, “I wish I could see again.”

So many of us plead along with Bartimaeus and my Dad as did his Mom and sister: “I want to see!”  We want to see where we’ve gone wrong and headed down a dark alley.  We want to see where we’ve acted with what we thought were the best of intentions that really were the worst of intentions.  We want to see how we’ve screwed up and failed so miserably.  We want to see how to make so many things right again.  But, do we really?  How often do we fail to be persistent in prayer as Bartimaeus was?  Did we continually shout out, over and over again over the din of the crowd, “Jesus, have pity on me...Jesus have pity on me...Jesus, have pity on me” so that Jesus will stop for us and make it possible for us to see anew?   Yes, we claim that we want to see; but, more importantly, have we been persistent in prayer so that Jesus will heal our blindness so that we will see all things anew?

There are many of us who gave up a long time ago on God and prayer and, having done so, might today wonder just how we might begin to pray once again?  Today’s gospel provides an answer: begin by beginning but always keep it simple.  All that anyone of us has to do is to imitate Bartimaeus, that is, to pray “Jesus, have pity on me” out of the brokenness, out of the void, out of the turmoil, and out of the darkness of our lives.  The purpose of this short prayer is not to get rid ourselves of the self-inflicted pain of sin but, from the middle of the pain, to allow Jesus to heal us of the blindness that keeps us from being able to see who is standing right there before us, as Bartimaeus did.  When we persist in prayer from the middle of our pain, we practice what is called “the discipline of prayer” where Jesus heals us because of our faith in the one whom God has sent.  “Go your way,” Jesus says, “your faith has saved you.”

Then, too, parishioners and students frequently will ask me, “Father Jacobs, what does it take to be a ‘good Catholic’?”  I suspect those asking me this question are looking for a quickie checklist of specific items they can then use to assess the degree to which they “measure up” to being a good Catholic.  Wouldn’t that be nice?  A list where we could check off what we are doing and are not doing so that we would know definitively whether and to what degree God was judging us to be “naughty” or “nice”?  That’s the stuff of Christmas fantasies!  The answer I give—consistent with today’s gospel—is put in the form of a question: “Can you cite a specific example of what Jesus has enabled you to see about yourself that caused you to leave that behind and follow him?”  So, ask yourself: “Can you cite a specific example?”  Sadly, many aren’t able to answer that question and walk away sad, like the young fellow did in the gospel two weeks ago.

What today’s gospel suggests being a “good” Catholic is, is not about doing what Catholics are supposed to do and expected to do—the “checklist” approach—but a lifestyle constructed upon faith in Jesus, the one whom God has sent, whereby all of us who are blind to so many things in our lives persist in seeking God’s mercy through Jesus Christ.  “Master, I want to see!” is what good Catholics plead for of Jesus.  Like Bartimaeus, good Catholics don’t allow any obstacle to keep them from pleading for Jesus to heal them of the blindness revealed in their doubts, failures, and weaknesses so that, seeing the true state of their lives, they can leave behind their former selves and, like Bartimaeus, to follow Jesus on the way.

As Jesus’ disciples, the author’s important point for telling us the story of Bartimaeus is that it’s a story about us, too.  In all too many ways, all of us are blind—to those places, situations, and people in our lives—to see Jesus.  Even though Bartimaeus was blind, evidently he saw quite a bit for a blind man because he recognized Jesus, got up, and walked over to him.   But, for people like us who actually are able to see with our physical eyes, why don’t we see Jesus?  That’s the spiritual problem Mark wants us to grapple with.  As the theologian Walter Brueggemann has assessed our situation: “I think much of the church has lost its way.  We worry about rules, and morality, we worry about members and dollars, we worry about culture wars and church splits, we worry about imposing our way on others in order to get everyone in the right on morality or doctrine or piety or liturgy…”

When Jesus asked Bartimaeus, “What is it that you want me to do for you?”, the answer required Bartimaeus to see the truth standing who was right there before his eyes and, recognizing this truth, to embrace the pathway where that truth was going to lead him.  Lacking physical sight, Bartimaeus already possessed this spiritual gift.  That is why Jesus said to Bartimaeus: “Your faith has saved you.”

We have physical sight, but do we possess the spiritual sight that is required if we are to be Jesus’ disciples?

That’s what being a disciple as well as a good Catholic requires of all of us: to pray persistently that we might be healed of any blindness, that we will see the truth of who is standing before us, and recognizing who it is, to follow Jesus on the way where he is going to lead us.

 

 

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