Being Bartimeus and Jesus

Homily: 30^th Sunday in Ordinary Time – Cycle B

Friends, in our first reading today, the prophet Jeremiah talks about the Israelite exiles returning from their dispersion to Jerusalem—God's holy city.  His message from the Lord contains beautiful language that, for the exiled Israelite, would have been the best news that he/she had heard in a very long time.  Here Jeremiah takes on roles beyond that of prophet: the role of “angel”, or “God’s messenger”, as well as “evangelist”, that is, someone who brings “good news”.  The message is beautiful because it names the anawim, that is, the poor ones, who might not otherwise be included in a large traveling group—the blind, the lame, mothers with children, etc.—and declares that they, too, will be included in this return to Jerusalem.  Still further, the news declares that this will be a triumphant return: in which the roads by which they will return will be smooth—in order to make the travel easier—and that there will be abundant water along the way, so that no one loses strength.  Those Israelites would have heard in this message the contrast to the other great return from exile—the Exodus from Egypt—in which their ancient forefathers traveled over rough roads and were often without water on their journey to the land which God had promised them.  This contrast would have increased their joy at this good news.

As I reflected on this passage, images of the migrant caravan making its way from Honduras, through Mexico, and towards the United States came to mind.  Please allow me to say, up front, that I am not equating this caravan of migrants and the ancient Israelites.  There are obvious differences: the migrants are leaving their homeland, not returning to it, and, as far as I have heard, this isn’t a migration foretold by God.  Nonetheless, there are similarities: those in the caravan are fleeing what, for them, feels like a desperate situation in their homeland; thus, the news of a caravan going to a land in which they have hope for a better future for themselves and their families inspired them to begin the journey.  The images of women with children and other seemingly weak persons taking part in this caravan also resonate with me as I reflect on this passage.  Now, I don’t claim to know what the right thing to do will be when they arrive at our border, but I hope that we will hear their hopes and respond gracefully.

Going back to the scriptures: in the Gospel we see Jesus enacting a fulfillment of this prophecy from Jeremiah.  If you’ve been following along over the past few weeks, Jesus has been on his way to Jerusalem: his final trip to Jerusalem.  Over the past few years, he had been teaching and quite a large group of disciples had begun to follow him.  On this last trip to Jerusalem, going up for the great feast of Passover, this large group of disciples were following him: giving us an image of the exiled Israelites being led back to God’s holy city.  Leaving Jericho (itself a city of symbolism: as it was the city at the lowest point—geographically—on the journey to Jerusalem from which one truly began his/her “ascent” to God in Jerusalem), the blind man Bartimeus calls out to Jesus and asks for “mercy”.  He uses the messianic term—”Son of David”—to address Jesus, thus also indicating that Jesus is doing something bigger than just “going up for the feast”.  Jesus stops, calls the man to him and grants him his desire to see.  Although Jesus dismisses the man to his own way, Bartimeus begins to follow Jesus to Jerusalem: the blind now joining in this “return from exile”.  While this, in itself, is an important connection to make, I think that there is more for us to take away this Sunday.

One image that came to mind while I was reflecting on this Gospel passage was the “running scene” in the film Forrest Gump.  Forrest is in middle age and has accomplished amazing things in his life.  He’s lost his mom and some close friends and in a moment of reflection, he decides to get up and start running.  Although he didn’t intend to go far at first, as he reached each “boundary” (the street, the town, the county, the state), he just decided to keep running.  He ran to the Pacific Ocean and then turned around and ran to the Atlantic Ocean.  Then, he turned around and ran back to the Pacific Ocean: all, by his own account, “for no particular reason”.  Soon the media finds out that this guy is running coast to coast continuously and people start to take interest.  People are intrigued and think that he must be some sort of “spiritual or political guru” to do something so radical and yet to be so quiet about it and so begin to follow him.  They think that he must be going somewhere and want to follow him there.  Ultimately, however, Forrest wasn’t going anywhere: he “just felt like running”.  And so, when he stopped feeling that way, he stopped running and went home: leaving his “followers”, stunned and speechless, in the middle of a desert highway.

I thought of this because of the contrast to Jesus in the Gospel.  There, Jesus is going somewhere: he’s leading people to the fulfillment of the promise; he’s leading people to Jerusalem, where he will be crucified.  Those who are following him, are following him to the cross.  The healing of the blind man Bartimeus shows us that Jesus came “to make all things new”; and his leading people to Jerusalem where he will be crucified shows us that it is through the cross that he will accomplish it.  Still more, the healing of Bartimeus and his subsequent following of Jesus shows us that Jesus desires that no one be left behind: if only they would cry out to him for mercy and respond to him when he calls.  For us who have been called and responded, it is a reminder that Jesus is not leading us to nowhere, but rather from our exile to the “new Jerusalem”: which is eternal life in God’s heavenly kingdom.

My brothers and sisters, one thing we should take from these readings today is this: that we are both Bartimeus and Jesus.  Bartimeus because we all have spiritual (and perhaps physical) blindnesses that only Jesus can heal; and that we have to cry out to him, asking for his mercy.  Jesus because he chooses to work through us so that others might come to experience his mercy, too.  We, therefore, must both cry out to him for his mercy and call out to the blind who are on the side of the road to come to him.  To put it, perhaps, more distinctly: here in the Mass we are Bartimeus; then, at the end of Mass, we are sent out to be Jesus.

Friends, here we are: in exile in this world!  But God knows that he made us to be with him in the eternal holy city that he has prepared for us.  We are following Jesus, who desires to lead all who willingly come to him into that eternal city and his death, resurrection from the dead, and ascension into heaven is our proof that he isn’t leading us to nowhere, but to that place to which, deep within us, we desperately long to return.  Let us, therefore, cry out to him today for his mercy (and for mercy on all those torn by violence in this world!) and receive from him—from this altar—what we most desire: union with him.  Then, armed with this euangelium—this good news—let us go back into the world to proclaim it with our lives.

Given at Saint Mary’s Cathedral: Lafayette, IN – October 28^th, 2018

Church and Forrest Gump

By God's grace, I've had the last few weeks without parish or seminary responsibilities to reflect on my experience in Guatemala and I've finally hit on a way to describe it that sums up how it has affected me. I hope that it transmits well what I perceive as my experience to you as you read it.

One of the most significant things that I think I've experienced has simply been a greater appreciation of what it means to be Church. The Church is not a place, not a building of stone and steel and wood, but it is a body, that is, Christ's body, which is a union of persons, the faithful who have been sacramentally initiated into it, and so it seems to me that whenever we experience another person, that is, whenever we consciously recognize the personhood of someone whom we've met, what we really experience, in part, is a new dimension of the Church, the Mystical Body of Christ here on earth. These dimensions often times are almost unnoticeable if we aren't paying attention. Sometimes, however, they expand our vision beyond what we thought we were looking for.

With this in mind as I reflect back on my experience in Guatemala, I am struck by how my life has become intertwined with people whom I have no logical reason to have ever met. When describing my experience over the past few weeks, I've recognized how much I sometimes must seem a little like Forrest Gump. For those of you who may not be familiar with the movie, it is the story of a man whom most wouldn't give much credit to. He is unassuming in appearance and mentally slow. The story unfolds as Forrest shares his life experiences with various people one day while waiting for a bus. Each person is amazed as this unassuming man reveals his amazing life experiences and how they have intertwined his life with some of the most famous people and important events of his time. Yet, he doesn't see it as anything outside of the ordinary. He just sees it as his life, as if it was normal to receive the medal of honor and to have meet president Kennedy as well as to have "fallen into" a wildly successful shrimping business and gotten in on the ground floor of the Apple corporation. I suspect most of you have seen this movie and so this description, hopefully, is sufficient to bring it forward in your consciousnesses. (If not check out the Wikipedia article on it.)

And so, in my reflections and in sharing my experiences, this is something of what it feels like. As I describe my experiences, I often times don't see anything out of the ordinary about them. I just look at them as experiences that anyone might have that, if given the opportunity to have them, would have. Yet I see in the faces of others this sense of amazement that causes me to reflect back and to see just how incredible some of these experiences really are. I also see, however, that these are not experiences that are far from us, because in the end these are all part of the experience of being human, that is, the human experience. By sharing with each other our experiences of other people, the relationships and the intertwining of our lives, we share more and more of what it really means to be human. When we come to experience this more and more we become more authentically human. Authentic humanity, then, is the shared experience, that is, the experience of community, which, in part, is what it means to be Church.

And so it is with joy that I share these experiences with you and I am humbled by the blessings through which I have been given the opportunity to have them. I thank you all for continuing to share my journey with me and I look forward, with hope, to the continued journey. As always, thank you for your prayers!