Last after Trinity

Sermon preached by the Revd Anna Matthews

In Jericho, a pitch on the Jerusalem road by the city gate was a good spot. Bartimaeus is there, his cloak wrapped round him and spread out before him for the collection of alms: a signal to passers-by of his status as a beggar. And it’s from his spot that Bartimaeus cries out to Jesus, ‘Son of David, have mercy on me!’

 A few chapters earlier in Mark there’d been another healing of a blind man, just before Peter’s confession that Jesus is the Messiah. That healing had been done in private, as Peter’s confession was. This one is in public, as Jesus is surrounded by crowds, and Bartimaeus’s acknowledgement of Jesus as Son of David will be followed immediately by his entry into Jerusalem, with the crowds shouting ‘hosanna to the Son of David’.

 Peter’s confession in private looked like he’d finally come to see and understand who Jesus is. But moments later he is telling Jesus he can’t be going to suffer and die, because that’s not what Messiahs do. Jesus rebukes him – get behind me, Satan – and we learn that Peter is still in the dark, still doesn’t see or comprehend what it means to call Jesus the Messiah. And here, in public, Bartimaeus’s acclamation of Jesus as Son of David will be taken up by the crowds who also do not see or comprehend what sort of Messiah Jesus is. Their cries of welcome will turn to taunts and jeering soon enough as they see this Messiah suffer and then bay for his crucifixion.

 Mark is playing here with the idea of sight. The blind see what the seeing do not. Sight, here, is a quality of faith, not of the eyes. And it’s significant that it’s through the witness of two blind men that Jesus teaches about what it means really to see – disease or disability put you on the outside under Jewish law and practice. You were there to be pitied and to arouse mercy in others. Sometimes you were judged for your disability: it was seen as a sign of sin. If you didn’t have family to look after you, there was every risk you’d fall through the gaps and find yourself begging on the streets, dependent on the charity of others. With almsgiving still considered a religious duty it could give a reliable if minimal income.

 But the disciples do not seem particularly interested in performing their religious duty as they hear Bartimaeus crying out. Having, it seems, learned nothing from Jesus rebuking them for trying to keep children away from him, they now try to shut Bartimaeus up, not wanting him to bother Jesus. Yet Jesus, who is finally poised to do what he has come to do, with his face set towards Jerusalem as he leaves Jericho behind, stops for Bartimaeus.

 And Bartimaeus springs up, casting his cloak aside. The cloak marked him as a beggar. It will have been one of his few possessions: a shield against the sun, protection against the cold, the means for him to collect alms. And he casts it aside to go to Jesus.

 It’s the cloak I want to focus on. It represents security, protection, income, identity. Without it Bartimaeus has no status, no income, nothing to wrap himself in against the night’s chill. Yet he casts it aside to go to Jesus because when Jesus asks him ‘what do you want me to do for you?’ Bartimaeus knows what he wants and trusts Jesus to be able to give it to him.

 A bit earlier in the gospel a rich man had come to Jesus and asked what he needed to do to gain eternal life. And Jesus had told him to sell what he owns, give the money to the poor, then follow him. And the rich man had gone away grieving. His cloak was heavy and he couldn’t bear to be parted from it. He wanted eternal life and Jesus was willing to give it to him, but his possessions got in the way. He couldn’t quite bring himself to trust that Jesus would be his security. His cloak shielded him from vulnerability. It marked him out as successful, blessed, one whom others respected, or at least envied. And because so often our possessions end up possessing us, when offered what he wants from Jesus, he isn’t able to cast his cloak aside, and he turns away grieving instead.

 But there are other types of cloak, too. James and John, as we heard in the gospel last week, want the cloak of status, just as some of the Pharisees Jesus argues with cling to the cloak of reputation. Often we cling to this sort of cloak because we think it covers up our insecurities. We think we need the esteem it gives us, the admiration or good opinion of others. This sort of cloak reassures us that we’re okay: we’ve done well and we’ve worked hard. What James and John want from Jesus is glory. But as he tells them, there is no glory without the cross. Following him will mean discarding the cloak of status and reputation, because we are not called because we’re good or productive or high achievers. We are called because we’re loved, and responding to that call and that love will lead us in the way of Jesus. The cloak that makes us put our identity and worth anywhere other than in the love of God in Christ is also something to leave behind.

 Or perhaps our cloak is independence. Wrapped up in it we can convince ourselves we have no need of others. It protects us from their demands, from our need, from their love. This kind of cloak is one we can wrap tightly about ourselves, covering ourselves up, hiding the parts of us we don’t want others to see. To leave this cloak behind risks making us feel entirely too exposed.

 We all have a cloak. Some of us more than one. And cloaks are not bad things in and of themselves. But when they get in the way of us following Jesus it’s time to cast them aside, like Bartimaeus. ‘What do you want me to do for you?’ Jesus asks him. It’s the same question he asks us. What do you want Jesus to do for you? Do you want his healing, his freedom, his forgiveness, his love? Because those things are offered to us, freely, if only we can begin to untangle ourselves from the cloaks we wear. Perhaps you want security, status, belonging, or protection from all that makes you feel vulnerable. He is ready to give that, too, though what he gives will turn our language and perceptions of what we’ve asked for upside down.

Bartimaeus is that rare thing in Mark’s Gospel: a disciple who gets it. He leaves his cloak behind and follows Jesus on the way. And that way is the road to Jerusalem, and to the cross, where Jesus will have his own cloak taken from him, where he will embrace all the vulnerability, the pain, the shame and sin and guilt of our human condition so he can clothe us in his new life, and give us a belonging, a status, an identity and a security that cannot be shaken. What do you want me to do for you? he is asking. It’s time to take off the cloak.