Throw Off Your Cloaks
Mark 10:46-52
They came to Jericho. As he and his disciples and a large crowd were leaving Jericho, Bartimaeus son of Timaeus, a blind beggar, was sitting by the roadside. When he heard that it was Jesus of Nazareth, he began to shout out and say, ‘Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!’ Many sternly ordered him to be quiet, but he cried out even more loudly, ‘Son of David, have mercy on me!’ Jesus stood still and said, ‘Call him here.’ And they called the blind man, saying to him, ‘Take heart; get up, he is calling you.’ So throwing off his cloak, he sprang up and came to Jesus. Then 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.’ Jesus said to him, ‘Go; your faith has made you well.’ Immediately he regained his sight and followed him on the way.
I admit, I have a tough time with miraculous healings in the Bible, and with miracles in general. I have a lot of reasons for this—there’s of course the constant nagging, logical confusion, wondering why things like this don’t seem to happen today. But more so than that, for me, at least, is the fact that a handful are healed here and there, but there are so many more people suffering; don’t they all deserve this miraculous remedy? But thankfully, these are questions to wrestle with another time, because the miracle that Tom just read about is a little different. For starters, it’s pretty anticlimactic. Jesus just seems to kind of do this on this way to Jerusalem; a flick of the wrist, a declarative statement, ‘your faith as made you well,’ and that’s that. It’s a miracle, technically, but it’s not especially spectacular. The reason for this, I believe, is that the miraculous healing isn’t really the point of this story. There’s so much rich allegorical and figurative language in here; this short passage is so much more than just a quick healing.
There’s a line in this week’s passage that might be familiar to you: “What do you want me to do for you?” Jesus asks, once Bartimaeus makes his way to him. If this is indeed familiar to you, it’s because it’s the exact same question Jesus asked of James and John last week, when the two disciples came to him, foolishly demanding to be in positions of power and glory at Jesus’ right and left hand when they entered Jerusalem. Jesus asked that question of James and John knowing full well he was not going to give in to their demand; knowing that that moment was going to be a teaching lesson, not a shuffling of power positions. But when Jesus asks this question of Bartimaeus, it’s different. He knows that Bartimaeus is a troubled but good man; he knows he’s a man who’s been dealt a rough hand in life—lacking eyesight, being forced to make some sort of living by begging on the streets—and yet his faith remained strong. He asks Bartimaeus the same question he asks James and John to make it clear—this man may be physically blind, but he sees much better than you all. And so Jesus does grant Bartimaeus’ request, and adds to his spiritual vision and intuition by granting him the literal eyesight he was missing.
Now, I have to say, this passage falling on Stewardship Sunday is quite a God-moment for me. Because stewardship can be so awkward, right? Especially for a community of private New Englanders. Asking for money in roundabout, tactful ways is hard. No one wants to do it, especially not me, someone who two weeks ago spend the sermon talking about defrauding workers, lambasting billionaires, and reminding us of the fact that Jesus saw wealth as a curse rather than a blessing. But folks, money is a necessary evil in our world, right? We need to keep up this community alive, to keep folks outside this community comfortable and safe. And thankfully, this scripture passage for today makes discussing these things a little easier. Because let’s go back to Jesus’ repeated question here: “What do you want me to do for you?” What a perfect question for Stewardship Sunday, thank God!
Because I think we can think of this question in multiple ways. First of all, the obvious: what can we do for this church? But I think before we start thinking that way, we can think, what can the church do for me? Or for many of us here, what has the church done for me? I’m thinking of Arnie Powell who stood up here just a few weeks and talked about how much this community meant to him, and was there for him during his battle with cancer. And I’m thinking of all the ways Arnie was inspired to give back to the church—and I’m not just talking about financially, because stewardship is about so much more than money. I remember when I started here about a year ago, Arnie had recently retired, and he was so enthusiastic to help folks out in any way he could—whether it was giving people rides, helping less able-bodied folks with their shopping; and of course he used his own vocational talents to make so many improvements to this church building. He was always ready and willing. But you know, I don’t want to make it sound like it was some kind of obligatory tit for tat thing—because people like Arnie don’t help individuals and communities because they feel like they should. I think they’re truly inspired by such a loving and compassionate community like this one. Because that’s the thing—stewardship shouldn’t feel obligatory. Giving back shouldn’t feel like a drag. It should be something you want to do because you’re inspired to do it. So for this Sunday, and for the rest of these weeks when we’re going talking about giving and pledging and stewardship, I want you to think about a time this congregation has inspired you—a time when you realized that this church is vital to your own well-being and spirituality, as well as this community’s. Maybe you’ve volunteered for the Christmas Project, and you’ve seen the looks on Hartland resident’s faces when they receive their packages. Maybe you come to Bible study, and are inspired by lively conversation and debate and curiosity among your peers. Maybe you’ve worked the roast beef suppers, and you’ve been inspired by the community coming together to catch up and to reconnect. Maybe you’ve come to the youth-led services after the mission trips and been inspired by the wisdom coming from the church’s youth. And I know it might be hard to dig up some of those memories because things have been kind of on hold, right? And sometimes it’s hard to feel inspired through a computer screen. But this church, all of you continue to do great things and continue to inspire one another.
And one of the ways this church is such a steward of the community is in how welcoming it is. And we are way ahead of the disciples here, in this respect. Once again, it seems like the disciples haven’t learned much from the lessons Jesus tries to teach them over and over. Because when Bartimaeus cries out to Jesus, “…have mercy on me!” the disciples rebuke him. They sternly tell him to be quiet. I’m picturing the disciples walking around Jesus as a sort of forcefield, as a human shield, trying to quite literally gatekeep Jesus’ love and compassion from this desperate but faithful man; trying to keep Jesus’ love and compassion and power all to themselves. But Jesus won’t have it, and when he tells the disciples to let Bartimaeus through, they pull this ridiculous 180, flipping from, “be quiet!” to “what are you doing, take heart! Jesus is calling you, c’mere!” as if they hadn’t been just condescending to him as if he were a little child—who, by the way, Jesus also welcomes into his circle.
A few months ago, I took part in a research study focused on people who had moved to Vermont during the pandemic. At one point during the discussion, in talking about how isolating Vermont can be, even pre-pandemic, people in this focus group were trying to come up with welcoming community gathering places, and struggling to come up with them. I sat there, anxiously waiting for someone to bring up religious communities, until I, the token pastor of the group, finally had to say, “umm… hello, places of worship?” And now, I know there are many places of worship that are not unconditionally welcoming; I know that churches have gotten a bad rep over the past few decades… centuries even. But this group struggling to come up with welcoming places for people to gather in the community made me so sad; and it made me even sadder that welcoming churches like ours, like the UUs at Four Corners weren’t even a blip in people’s brains. It just showed me how incredibly vital and necessary spaces like this are; and it showed me how one way to be a true steward is to be the church out in the world, and make it known that congregations like ours, must always be present to ask, “What do you want me to do for you?” and mean it. Because people are desperate for community. People are desperate for connection, and we need to make it known that we are a place where people can be their true and whole selves; that we are a place where they can receive that community and connection that they are so desperately craving. In fact, just the other night at the Trustees meeting, Patty was telling me that one of the reasons she chose to make the Brick Church her home, was because when she was church-shopping, Pat Richardson made sure to talk to her after church. Simple as that—a hello, an introduction—apparently something that hadn’t happened at other churches Patty had tried out. What a simple and lovely act of stewardship.
In Bible study this week, we talked at length about the cloak that Bartimaeus dramatically throws off himself, tosses to the side when he receives to the call to come to Jesus. We talked about how first of all, for an unhoused beggar, this cloak was probably shelter, a blanket, something very important to him. But it was probably also pretty cumbersome; a hindrance to making his way through the crowds in order to meet Jesus. And so he felt confident, enthusiastic, and faithful enough, to do away with this prized cloak, in order to meet Jesus, in order to unburden himself, in order to become whole, and join this growing Jesus movement.
I’d like to think of this church as being a place where we can throw off our cloaks, where we can throw away our doubts and our burdens and just be. And not just on Sunday mornings, but whenever we’re doing something in the name of Christian compassion, in the name of Jesus; whenever we’re inspired to do something kind and welcoming and giving—whenever we feel that life-giving connection that we receive from Jesus, and that we receive from this loving community. When we are out in the world, we need to be stewards of the people, and ask, “what do you want me to do for you?” Because people are desperate for human connection, and sadly, many people have forgotten that churches are a place to receive that connection. Or maybe it’s that many people don’t think of churches as welcoming, as place where we can throw our cloaks off and be our unapologetic selves, but together as one.
When Bartimaeus has his eyesight, it is simply written that he “followed [Jesus] on the way.” He was so inspired, not just by the gift of literal eyesight, I don’t think—but also by Jesus’ love and compassion for him—for a man who was probably considered unclean, untouchable by other people. I think he was inspired by the love and acceptance of this new Jesus movement, even despite the disciples being cliquey jerks initially.
And that’s the wonderful thing about stewardship. Stewardship can start with a simple hello, a simple introduction, a simple welcome. It starts with making people feel seen and accepted and loved. You all already have that covered. So let’s figure out other ways that we can be stewards of this church and of this community. Let’s figure out to whom we need to ask the question, “what do you want me to do for you?” And let’s continue to make sure this church is someplace where we can unburden ourselves; where we throw our cloaks off and be unapologetically ourselves, together. Amen.
