You Were There (09/08/10)
I couldn’t believe how fortunate I was to be here on this particular day at this particular time. No, it’s not that. For, I have sat here day by day for many long years now. But, that He should come by! This was fortunate indeed! After all, my condition did not permit that I might go out in search of Him, even with such companions as I had. For, who would associate with me but others suffering the same plight? And, what use a blind man as travel partner to a blind man.
But, He had come. He had come here. Learning that Jesus, this Jesus of Nazareth of Whom so much was being said was passing in the midst of this noisy crowd, it was like a light had gone on in my head, though my eyes remained closed to all vision. He had come for me! He had come this way that I might have the chance to meet Him and yes, to see Him. Even as this thought came to me, other thoughts cascaded behind. Jesus the Nazarene? This was hardly sufficient title for such a man! No, Son of David: that began to give to Him at least a bit of the dignity that was clearly His due. Yet, how had I known He was of David’s line? I recalled no mention of any such ancestry, and it would hardly be expected of one from Galilee, would it? Yet, as the thought came, certainty came with it, and also a confidence quite unfamiliar to me.
Oh, I knew well enough how to be a bit brazen in seeking alms. Over the years, one per force learns what works with people, and just sitting passively against the wall isn’t it. But, now! Now, I felt this shout rise up in me and I could not have stopped from letting it out for all the blessings of Solomon. “Lord! Son of David!! Have mercy on us.” Oh! They were scandalized, these fellow travelers with Him. How dare you shout at this great man! How dare you bother him, you insignificant creature!
You know, it’s amazing how freely people will speak with a man they think cannot identify them, as he cannot see them. Yet, that freedom so rarely trends towards kindness, towards acknowledging that yes, it is truly a man who speaks, not just a container full of sin’s rewards. Anyway, this boldness that had come upon me, it wasn’t going to be stoppered by their complaints. I redoubled my efforts, making certain that Jesus would hear my cries.
He did! He not only heard me, but He stopped for me. Didn’t I say that He had come to town just for me? Yes, He stopped. He sent His companions over to get me – how kind of Him. He could as easily have just called me to make my way over as best I could, but He understood. Then, the question: “What would you have Me do for you?” Seemed pretty obvious to me, so I suppose He wasn’t just looking for the answer but maybe how I would give it. You know what I mean? I mean, it was pretty obvious that I needed my sight restored. He didn’t need that bit of information. But, I guess He was wondering what sort of person I was. Would I make a demand, as though this healing was my right? Would I complain of my plight, demand to know why God had made me this way? Or, would I simply acknowledge Him as best I could, recognize His worth?
Rabboni, I would see again. Even that, though the most respectful title I could think of in that moment, did not seem enough. But, it was enough, apparently, for Him. He had His answer, and He gave me His. Yes, truly He had come to Jericho for my benefit.
New Thoughts (09/12/10-09/14/10)
[09/09/10-09/11/10 – on retreat.]
It is impossible to look at the three accounts before us without facing the question of how one ought to deal with the obvious discrepancies. How many blind men were there? Was it the one, was it two, was it four? Where were they? Were they on the way into town or on the way out? Maybe both? Is this really three accounts of one event, or are there three different events in sight that just happen to be so very similar?
Well, any answer one might reach will remain but a theory this side of heaven, of course. But, that said, is there anything we might hold to with more certainty? There is one thing, to be sure. We can be certain that none of these three accounts is lying. I am willing to push that a little bit and say that we can be certain that there is not even the unintentional lie that creeps in due to faulty recollection. This would seem to me to be a necessary conclusion if we hold Scripture as God-breathed and infallible. There is no evidence of scribal error here that might lead us to blame discrepancies on faulty transcriptions. The accounts are just different and that’s that.
So, if this be true, then it would seem we must hold that there are at least two events being described, though they are quite likely related. For, Matthew is clear that this happened on the way out of town, and Luke is clear that it was on the way into town. Mark, while assigning the event to the outward road, has also included the arrival at Jericho in the very same breath, almost suggesting a certain conflation of events. But, let us start from this premise: that something happened on the way in and something also happened on the way out.
I have seen some suggestion that perhaps Bartimaeus was there in both instances; that having hailed Jesus to less effect as Jesus arrived, he made his way across town to be ready and waiting at the exit. Now, this would require a certain degree of foresight on his part, for I would suspect (although I haven’t gone to any effort to confirm this) that there were more than two gates in the walls of Jericho. Even were there but the two, who was to say that Jesus wouldn’t return to Galilee? On the other hand, Bartimaeus would certainly be aware of the approaching feast, so it would be a pretty safe bet to expect Jesus might depart for points south. Even so, we have just seen the uncertainty even in Jerusalem as to whether He would come or not.
The problem to be found with this idea, at least as presented thus far, is that we have one account that clearly says somebody regained their sight as Jesus arrived, and we have another that clearly says Bartimaeus experienced no such thing until Jesus was leaving. Well, then, there are other theories, and these tend more towards an explanation of artistic license. This is not without merit, for certainly the approach taken with historical accounts in that period differs from standards we might claim to have today. It is entirely likely that Luke, the careful historian, found no issue in rearranging the timing of certain events in order to improve presentation. This violated no scruple of the time. So, yes, he may have relocated the account of a single healing of Bartimaeus to the other end of town in order to contrast the better with his other Jericho account regarding Zaccheus.
If this is the case, though, why is it he is aware of Zaccheus’ name, but makes no mention of the blind man’s name? Maybe it was simply that Zaccheus, being in the office he was, was more likely to be known than Bartimaeus. But, then, if I look at Mark’s account, it would seem that Bartimaeus was familiar enough to be known, too. Or, was this simply the impact of his having followed Jesus? In other words, though they didn’t know him at the time, he became a solid acquaintance.
Now, it’s not impossible, certainly, that there was one blind man who received his healing as Jesus arrived, and that this one, having received, made haste to tell his acquaintance Bartimaeus what had happened. It would surely be fitting that one who had experienced such a thing would testify. It would certainly be in keeping with what seems a clear kingdom principle, that we receive most often in order that we may minister from what we have received. It would, then, evidence a certain sincerity of commitment to this Teacher that he would not just glory in having regained his own sight, but sought out others he knew in need of that same miracle and told them of this Jesus, Son of David, Who was working such miracles. So, yes, it’s not out of the question that the one Luke writes of and the one Mark writes of are indeed two distinct men.
It does seem a bit odd that nobody would mention the connection of the two events, but then, I think the Apostles were catching on that the miracles and those who received them were not so much the point as He Who did the miracles and why He was doing them. But, why then is Bartimaeus mentioned by name and not this other man? Matthew tells us that both of the men thus healed followed Jesus. Why, then, would we learn the name of the one but not the other? I would be inclined to suggest that it has to do with the name itself, and not the man named. According to Strong’s definitions, his name translates roughly as ‘defiled son’. Now, one of the other texts suggested that perhaps it was better understood as ‘honorable son’, but I saw no clear indication as to why this was to be supposed. If, however, we stick with that first translation, it gives a clear sense of how this man was treated by those around him.
Here was one morally contaminated, and there was a certain understanding in these people that such contamination was contagious. Had God not instructed that one mustn’t so much as touch those marked by sin’s disease, lest they become unclean themselves? This explains, at least in part, why his cry to Jesus was reacted to by outrage. You filthy man, you so marked out as a sinner under sentence, you would dare to make yourself known to this Teacher, this Holy Man? What makes you think you have any such right, foul one? Now, that they should suppose him somehow less deserving than themselves indicates a certain lack of learning on their own part. They clearly had not grasped the lessons this Teacher laid out. But, the evidence remains that this is part and parcel of their reaction to the blind man, until this Teacher they follow forces a change of opinion upon them by His own actions.
There remains, then, a bit of supposition to be made as to why Matthew speaks of two men and one event. Some, perhaps from a degree of cynicism, suppose that Matthew just has a habit of exaggerating. After all, they reason, he writes for the Jews, and the Jews expect two or three witnesses to anything that is to be accepted, so of course he tends to double up. To this I say stuff and nonsense! For one, Matthew is an accountant of sorts. Of all who might be inclined to exaggerate the accounts, it would seem he would be the least likely. Besides, his reputation was shaky enough, given his background. Why compound the issues that might be taken with his testimony by falsifying the evidence?
I would suppose that Matthew, being in many ways the more focused on what Jesus was teaching and doing, found that relaying both accounts as distinct events would lessen the force of each. It would be a case where the whole would become less than the sum of the parts. Again, bear in mind the nature of historical account at the time, and this is not so scandalous as we might suppose. The key points are unmolested. At the end of the day, it matters little whether there was one man healed on each end of town, or whether both sat together. The point is in what Jesus was doing and, quite frankly, in what it meant. The healing, as exciting as we find it, wasn’t what any of these three men was getting at. The point all three accounts seek to drive home is that which is brought out most explicitly by Luke: He/they followed. He/they glorified God, testifying and rejoicing in what they had just received. And, then there is the impact: The people saw this and gave praise to God. It was infectious in ways far greater than any fear as to the infectious nature of Bartimaeus’ unclean condition. If the sin was contagious, how much more the removal? This is a theme that, if memory serves me this morning, we find taken up at length in other portions of Scripture.
But, for now, I want to zero in on the impact then and there. God was glorified not only by those receiving, but by those who just happened to see it. Praise is contagious! And, without any sense of ego, the purpose of all this is quite frankly that God may be glorified. It’s not so that He can preen and say, “yeah! I’m da man!” No! It’s that He might be more evidently Who He already Is to those in darkness who have not yet seen Him.
I am brought back to a point I have often visited as I watch Jesus minister. The healing wasn’t the point. It’s impressive, and it was surely a great benefit to those two men, but the greater benefit lay in their response. You see, the healing was not a conclusion, but a prompting. Now that you can see, what will you do? Many had received their healing from the hand of Jesus and simply gone back to life as usual. It seems unimaginable, but there it is. Ten healed, and nine just run off to start enjoying life again. Only one even thinks to come back and thank the Healer. Here, however, we have two men healed, and their reaction is immediate: They began to follow Him. I don’t think they stopped. I would not be surprised in the least to discover these two amongst the 120 who were together in the upper room (Ac 2).
You see, they knew. Bartimaeus knew. Jesus didn’t just happen by. Oh, to be sure, the odds of His passing down the road through Jericho and out to Jerusalem were pretty high. But, even so, He could have come by at any time. He could have taken a different route. He didn’t. He came to Jericho, and He stopped when these men cried out. He stopped so that these two men, who could not so much as see the street on by which they sat begging would see Him. Something in me says that He stopped because in spite of their blindness they already saw Him more clearly than most men with perfect eyesight. “Son of David! Lord!”
Granted this was something of an assumption on their part. It was part of common understanding that Messiah would come of David’s line. Neither were they the first to so identify this Jesus, but the power is not so much in the words of that identification as in the assumption behind it. To call out to Jesus as a son of David was to acknowledge that He was the Son of David, the One prophesied, the Messiah come to save Israel. It was as much a matter revealed to these two by the Spirit of the Living God as was Peter’s confession. There was no question in the shout. There was no shadow of ‘are you?’ in that cry. It was certainty. It was such certainty that they would defy the decency demanded by the crowds around Him. How dare such as you be bothering such as He with your impertinence? This is a holy man and you! You are the son of defilement! It is written on your face for all to see. Yet, the Holy Man was holier than they knew, and He knew that holiness purifies what has been defiled, not the other way about. Holiness is the greater strength.
So, He calls them to Himself. He does more than that, because He is Mercy. He sent of His own to go and bring them. Far from seeing them as inhuman, far from considering them insignificant in their injured state, He saw in them the image of God, the image in which they were created. They were worthy of dignity. So, He sends His men to help them over.
When they have come, there is a question to be answered. “What do you want me to do for you?” Honestly, at face value, that is the most stupid question ever asked. It is patently obvious what they want Him to do. There’s no reason to be asking. But, then, there’s no reason Jesus needed to ask. He knew before they cried out. He knew before He came down the road. He knew why He was on this particular route at this particular time. In fact, He knew that He would receive the answer that mattered. It wasn’t that He needed to hear it. It was that they needed to say it, and perhaps there were those in the crowd that needed to witness what was said.
So, we read the answer that was given Him, and Mark notes a very particular word that is to be found in their reply. Where Matthew and Luke record only, “Lord,” Mark notes a more specific, more honorable address was used: “Rabboni.” So unusual would it be for any man except the high priest to be thus addressed that even in the Gospels we find only one other occasion for its use with Jesus. Mary would respond with that same honorific when Jesus was revealed alive in spite of the grave. “Rabboni!”
This is the answer Jesus sought. That which followed was, as I have noted, obvious. Yes, of course you want to see. But, the question was never really, “What do you want?” but rather, “Whom do you seek?” Recall the question He had asked of His disciples. “Who do people say that I am?” In this word, Bartimaeus has identified Jesus by a term typically reserved for the head of the Sanhedrin. Who was the head of the Sanhedrin? The high priest. So, understand this as I am reasonably sure those who heard him understood it. Bartimaeus had just identified Jesus as his high priest, and so He is, too! He is the eternal High Priest, holding office for the duration of His life, which is eternity. He is the High Priest after the order of Melchizedek: King of Righteousness.
The answer Jesus sought revealed the nature of the man who answered, revealed the depth of his faith. His faith was not in stories and fables. His faith was built on nothing less than Jesus Christ and His righteousness. This is what the answer expressed. Here was a man who valued the true worth of Jesus, and who would not suppose that the restoration of his physical sight was the ultimate blessing. No! Receiving his sight, he would follow this One Who is worthy of all honor.
There is another curious detail that Mark notes about Bartimaeus. Before he came to Jesus, he cast aside his cloak? Reading this, I found myself wondering why this was mentioned, what it signified. Do I have a definitive answer? No. But, I do have some ideas worth contemplating. First, I note that the cloak is described by Zhodiates as being of a loose fitting nature, designed to serve both as cloak and sleeping bag, as it were. Bear in mind, once again, the nature of the man we are considering, specifically how his neighbors saw him. This was a social outcast, a man unclean. Oh, they might give him alms on occasion so that they could feel good about themselves, but the rest of the time he was as good as invisible to them, meant not to be seen and not to be heard. Son of defilement. Don’t get too near, children, he might be contagious!
I would find it very likely that he was homeless, forced by his circumstances to live on the street. As such, the extra protection afforded him by this cloak was rather important. If we look at the homeless in our own cities, we see the same sort of thing. They will have layers of clothing on, if they can but get hold of them, in order to fend off the cold that will inevitably claim them apart from the help of their fellow man. In this light, Bartimaeus is sacrificing something of importance to him. We might even say that he is giving up his most precious possession, and isn’t that a fitting way to honor this One Who has called him?
One could also view it as a vote of confidence, I suppose. He has called me. I won’t be needing this anymore. Or, you could take the more cynical, ‘Life of Brian’, sort of perspective. He won’t be able to beg any longer, if his sight is restored! He’ll be needing a real job. But, I think we do better to focus on the honor this man is showing to Jesus.
In that regard, I want to consider one other aspect of this cloak. Bear in mind that this is a man who per force must sit at the roadside, hoping to get the attention of passers by. Now, those of us in northern climes might want to consider that time, when shoveling the driveway, when we are nearest the road – the road that is slushy with melting ice and snow, and filthy with sand and salt. If you have been there, then you have doubtless known that moment when a car or truck passes, seemingly determined to place his tracks in the deepest of that slush and as he passes by your position, you feel the cold, wet slap of that mess spraying all up your side. Your clothes are a mess.
Take this image with you back into the time period in which this man lived. The roads are always a mess, and with far worse than salt and sand. The roads, in this period, did double service as the sanitation system, the sewer. There may not have been automobiles, but there were carts and wagons, horses and mules, and this man was not merely roadside for the brief period required to clear a spot. He was there day in and day out. There can be little doubt that this cloak of his was filthy with all manner of splashes from that roadway. This, I would note, could only make it harder to obtain the alms upon which he depended. But, quite apart from that, his removing of that cloak before he would come to Jesus speaks volumes as to his recognition of the worth of that Man. It was another mark of honor. Indeed, it manifested a clearer sense of Jesus’ great worth than was likely found in most of the crowd around Him at the time.
Consider just for a moment, that occasion when the prostitute came and anointed Jesus’ feet. The Pharisee in whose house Jesus was dining at the time was horrified. But, Jesus made note of how poorly His host had honored Him as a guest. “You did not even cause my feet to be washed at all, but she has anointed them with her tears!” You didn’t value Me so much as to treat Me even as your equal! You have shown absolutely no sign of acknowledging or even understanding Who is in your house. Bartimaeus, on the other hand, in spite of his exceedingly limited means and in spite of the harshness of his life, was doing everything in his power to honor this same Jesus in every way he was able. Somehow, I get the feeling he would have felt no differently about Jesus even if he had come away still blinded. But, this we will never know, for Jesus did not leave him in his physical darkness, but caused his body to prosper even as his soul clearly prospered (3Jn 2).
Finally, I just want to take note of something about my God. I want you to consider that, while the character shown in this man Bartimaeus is great, the act he has undertaking is no grand thing in itself. What has he done that is so noteworthy? He has begged. He has yelled. He has asked for a healing. And yet, God has seen fit to memorialize this man for all ages! Can you imagine that! We know absolutely nothing about what becomes of Bartimaeus other this day, other than to note that he followed Jesus starting then and there, and apparently remained long enough for one of the Apostles to recall him by name, and to recall with a certain fondness, the powerful imagery of his homely honoring of the King.
I have looked somewhat at what this says about the man, but let me consider what it says about my God. God saw fit to give this man a name and a heritage beyond almost all his contemporaries. You know, there was that other man with him who shouted the same shouts, received the same healings, followed in the same Way, but his name is not preserved for us. Yet, God saw fit to smile upon Bartimaeus, this son of dishonor, and honor him.
Herein lies a lesson for us. It is not the grand acts and the great programs that attract God. Oh, we must have our fruits, we must produce in God’s vineyard, let there be no doubt. But, it’s not the flashy stuff that matters. You know, the whole mega-church thing, with the widely broadcasted headcounts, and the weekly assessments of numbers saved, and the publishing projects and the worship sales: All of that is of less significance to God than the man who, despite having nothing to give by the world’s standards, has given it all to God. All of that is of less than no significance to God when measured against one who has simply accorded Him the honor that He deserves to the best of his ability.
It doesn’t matter how flashy our efforts are. The widow’s mite, you will recall, meant more to Jesus than the grand deposits of the rich. The simple act of this man removing his cloak to honor the One he was approaching meant more to Jesus than all those hosannas that would greet Him as He rode into Jerusalem a few short days later. You see once again that it is not what we do so much as what moves us to do it. It’s not the much that we do that gives God pleasure, it’s the way we seek to honor Him in whatever little bit we can do.
I know this is become one of my recurring themes, but it is only because it is one of Scripture’s recurring themes. We need to turn our eyes to the kingdom of God and the God of the kingdom. If we will but stop trying to impress others, stop trying to impress God and stop trying even to impress ourselves, perhaps we may begin to honor Him more earnestly.
God, as I was reminded during this retreat, spoke to Elijah most clearly in the still, small voice – almost inaudible – not in all the flashy show of power. Many a lesson has been drawn from that moment, but I have one more I would add. God hears us in the same way that He speaks to us. He is not listening to our loud displays. He is not moved by our grand rites and our recitations of accomplishment. His is listening to what we say of Him in the stillness, how we honor Him in the quietness, in those private moments, in the small things.
Somebody was noting last night at men’s group that there are those one or two we know in the church, who are so consistently present and serving as to be fixtures in the house of God, and yet who are so quiet in their efforts, so disinclined to be noted. They seek no shout-out, and likely don’t much care for the ones they occasionally get. To be honored, for such a one, is almost a dishonor, a misunderstanding of who they are. Oh, I can assure you that there is something in even such a servant that appreciates recognition, but that very recognition, while appreciated, becomes something to battle, to get back into its proper place and its proper perspective. No, they serve for the simple joy of doing something – anything – for God.
These, my brother noted, are the ones God will elevate far more than the more visible, more recognized workers in the house. There is truth in this. That truth is compounded by the fact that those who so serve God do so not to be recognized, not to be honored, but simply to express the great love that God has poured out into their lives, that love for Him which cannot but overflow in service to Him and to those He loves.
This is why we find Bartimaeus mentioned and yet that other goes nameless. Bartimaeus wanted no recognition. He wanted no honors for himself, but only wanted to honor Jesus in every way he could. He sought nothing from that honoring effort except to honor Jesus. I feel certain that he could have cared less if anybody even five years hence knew who he was or what had been done for him. Only that Jesus would be all and in all.
Can I make that same claim for myself? Some days, perhaps, and more so today than yesterday, I truly believe. Yes, there is that within which thirsts for a certain degree of recognition. And yet, on those occasions when it comes, I have known that discomfort. I don’t need public acclaim. I don’t like public acclaim. It pollutes me. I don’t know that many can understand this. If I serve for recognition, I serve to no good purpose. Oh, you may get some benefit of my labors, but that matters little. What matters is the kingdom. If I serve, even, in hopes of some heavenly reward, as if calculating the size of my crown or my mansion as I labor, I serve to no purpose but my greed. If, on the other hand, I serve for the glory of my God, then what use have I for being proclaimed? I have none. Indeed, I know myself too well. To be thus acclaimed is a danger to my soul, which is so swift to swell with pride.
What does God require of me, except that I walk humbly before Him (Mic 6:8)? And yet, this is the hardest thing, isn’t it? We must learn how to lift one another up in the Lord without making that one requirement God places upon us more difficult. We must learn how to love others as ourselves without puffing them up. I am not sure exactly what this means for us, how we may best accomplish such a thing, that we lift our brother up but not in pride. But, I know without doubt that this is a thing most needful. To build up in holiness rather than in some sense of having accomplished greatly for my God.
Lord, I pray that as I close out this study, You would in coming days make this answer clear to me. I pray that You would explain how it is I can lift You up in lifting up my brother, how I can build up my brother in ways that will not destroy him. I know it is possible in You. Let it be possible for me.
