The Blind Dog… Mark 10: 46-52
The blind man stood on the road and cried.
What did he cry? “Jesus, son of David, have mercy on me!”
Why did he cry? He’d heard enough to have hope.
Today I’m beginning where all good preachers end. I’m beginning with an invitation, with the fundamental question that Christ’s message presents: have you heard enough to have hope?
We often hear how important it is to have knowledge – “do you know about the trinity, do you know about the divine birth, do you know about Adam and Eve, about Intelligent Design, do you know about the 4 spiritual laws…” – but a more fundamental question is this: do you know enough to have hope? Hope that Jesus can lead you out of darkness into light.
This beautiful story of Mark has a couple of elements which I want to point out. Let’s talk about these and get back to the question at hand.
First the story has a blind man with vision. Now, I entitled the sermon the blind dog, because that’s how he would have been seen by many of Jesus’ contemporaries. Categorically the lame were stacked up there with dogs. The view was that they or their parents had sinned and so their handicap was a just result. That’s how the world, how his society viewed him. A punished soul, a presence to ignore except when you find yourself with extra change.
And so, when he was calling on Jesus what did the crowd do? They tried to shut him up. It’s what we try to do with our barking dog. Hush! Your voice is not wanted. Keep in the place where the world has placed you. Stay in that location where you belong. Remain on your chain, stay in your crate, you are not meant for anything else. You blind man, you’ve got no right to hope for any existence, other than begging by the side of the road.
Beware, for there are times when your calling makes people around you uncomfortable and they may very well tell you to be quiet. Your input isn’t wanted. That kernel of faith, that seed of hope, that flicker of vision can be chocked by those threatened by it’s growth.
This blind man wouldn’t have any of it. He shouted all the louder. “Have mercy on me.” He couldn’t see, but he had a vision. He had no sight, but he could see his future – if only Jesus would have mercy on him and deliver him. And so he shouts again.
Barack Obama, a senator from neighboring Illinois, has written a book entitled “The Audacity of Hope.” I’ve not read the book, I’ve not yet purchased the book. I may never read the book. But I sure love the title. I love it for two reasons. One is rather shallow. I love it because he says it came from a sermon his pastor preached. It’s always nice to know someone is listening. But secondly – I love the title because it speaks of the heart of real hope. Real hope is the spring of action – action which may seem audacious, crazy, out of this world, nutty, but action which can change a world.
The blind man, who most wouldn’t have considered a man, would not be treated like a dog. He audaciously, boldly, and daringly called upon Jesus to have mercy.
Let me tell you about one of my temptations. I don’t know if you struggle with this or not, but I do. Maybe this temptation doesn’t rank up there with most of the deadly sins, maybe it wouldn’t make very interesting TV, but I do think this evil ruins many lives, and destroys many people, churches, communities. I call it the “c’est comme ca” temptation.
The French, who I dearly love, have this beautiful saying. It is always pronounced with a shrug of the shoulders. “C’est comme ca” = this is like that. More figuratively it means: buck up, this is just they way the universe is made. You don’t like the combination of vegetables on the meal you are about to order – to bad, c’est comme ca. This is just the way it is, fate has demanded that you have that broccoli whether you like it or not. Historians don’t believe that Marie Antoinette actually said, “let them eat cake,” but I’m pretty sure that she and her husband would have looked upon the poor starving masses and said: “c’est comme ca.”
Cynicism is the easy way. You might call it the broad way. “It’s just that way and there’s nothing you can do about it. No need to go to the doctor, to get an education, to fight the system, to try to bring about change… it just is.” I’ve talked before about inertia being one of the most powerful forces in the universe.
This brings me to point two, the second element in the story: many of the sighted people were blind. They did their best to shut the man up, not because they wanted him to stay blind … generally I don’t think people are that evil. I actually think they thought his plight was… “c’est comme ca.” Nothing could be done. End of story – “be quite, so we can hear Jesus talk about nice little comforting things.”
The thing is, Jesus so rarely did that. What he did was often compassionate, but what he said was often revolutionary.
Did you notice that Mark tells us the blind man’s name? Twice actually. Bartimaeus, then he adds: “that is, the son of Timaeus.” (Bar is a prefix that means “son of”). In a gospel so filled with generalities (the rich young man isn’t named, the boy with the evil spirit isn’t named, the blind man by the pool of Bethesda – none of them are named – in fact this is the ONLY healed person named in Mark), isn’t it odd that Mark mentions his name – and makes sure we understand that it is connected to Timaeus?
It is odd – and let me tell you what I think he’s doing. Timaeus was one of he last dialogues that Plato wrote. Plato lived 300 years before Jesus but he was widely read among the upper classes even 350 years after his death. “Timeaus,” recounts the creation of the universe. A few scholars believe that this passage in Mark is a direct reference to “Timeaus.” As such it is a refutation in which Jesus upends the presumptions about who has a corner on the truth.
In the Platonic world-view, there is an ideal, eternal reality, of which we are an imperfect and transitory reflection. According to Plato, “Nothing can be beautiful which is like any imperfect thing.” The world is not uniformly imperfect, some people are closer to perfection than others. In his view, women, were reincarnated men who were cowards in their earlier life. Those who are closest to perfection are – no surprise – the philosophers. Their “sight” is what leads them to superior “insight”; they see, and so understand, in ways that ordinary mortals cannot.
Listen to a bit of Plato’s essay “Timeaus:” “The sight in my opinion is the source of the greatest benefit to us, for had we never seen the stars and the sun and the heaven, none of the words which we have spoken about the universe would ever have been uttered. …And from this source we have derived philosophy, than which no greater good ever was or will be given by the gods to mortal men... God invented and gave us sight to the end This that we might behold the courses of intelligence in the heaven, and apply them to the courses of our own intelligence which are akin to them,… that we, learning them and partaking of them and partaking of the natural truth of reason, might imitate the absolutely unerring courses of God and regulate our own vagaries. (Plato, Timaeus, 1175).”
Here’s what I think Mark is up to. You can have all of that. Physical perception which leads to knowledge, and still lack vision. You may have your sight, and still be without vision. Paul picks up this theme: If I have all knowledge, but have not love…”
Bar-timeaus represents the person who knows everything, but who believes in nothing, the person who sees much, but who doesn’t see enough. And at the same time, he represents the broken person, the blind dog, that the religious world, the powers that be, tells to be quite, to stay in place.
On one side we’ve got the intelligencia telling us that having ultimate hope, spending our lives in the shadow of that hope, is irrational and on the other side a religious world that says: hush, keep your doubts, needs, sightlessness to your self, just do what we say, live in the way we tell you to… and by the way: c’est comme ca.
Have you heard enough, seen enough, perceived enough in your spirit, to cry out in hope for mercy from God? This is the fundamental spiritual law. This is where all of us must start and end. This is where the Ph.D. and the illiterate must all end and start. Can you call out to the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob… to the son of David… to Jesus our hope and cry for mercy. If so, you already see.
What did he cry? “Jesus, son of David, have mercy on me!”
Why did he cry? He’d heard enough to have hope.
Today I’m beginning where all good preachers end. I’m beginning with an invitation, with the fundamental question that Christ’s message presents: have you heard enough to have hope?
We often hear how important it is to have knowledge – “do you know about the trinity, do you know about the divine birth, do you know about Adam and Eve, about Intelligent Design, do you know about the 4 spiritual laws…” – but a more fundamental question is this: do you know enough to have hope? Hope that Jesus can lead you out of darkness into light.
This beautiful story of Mark has a couple of elements which I want to point out. Let’s talk about these and get back to the question at hand.
First the story has a blind man with vision. Now, I entitled the sermon the blind dog, because that’s how he would have been seen by many of Jesus’ contemporaries. Categorically the lame were stacked up there with dogs. The view was that they or their parents had sinned and so their handicap was a just result. That’s how the world, how his society viewed him. A punished soul, a presence to ignore except when you find yourself with extra change.
And so, when he was calling on Jesus what did the crowd do? They tried to shut him up. It’s what we try to do with our barking dog. Hush! Your voice is not wanted. Keep in the place where the world has placed you. Stay in that location where you belong. Remain on your chain, stay in your crate, you are not meant for anything else. You blind man, you’ve got no right to hope for any existence, other than begging by the side of the road.
Beware, for there are times when your calling makes people around you uncomfortable and they may very well tell you to be quiet. Your input isn’t wanted. That kernel of faith, that seed of hope, that flicker of vision can be chocked by those threatened by it’s growth.
This blind man wouldn’t have any of it. He shouted all the louder. “Have mercy on me.” He couldn’t see, but he had a vision. He had no sight, but he could see his future – if only Jesus would have mercy on him and deliver him. And so he shouts again.
Barack Obama, a senator from neighboring Illinois, has written a book entitled “The Audacity of Hope.” I’ve not read the book, I’ve not yet purchased the book. I may never read the book. But I sure love the title. I love it for two reasons. One is rather shallow. I love it because he says it came from a sermon his pastor preached. It’s always nice to know someone is listening. But secondly – I love the title because it speaks of the heart of real hope. Real hope is the spring of action – action which may seem audacious, crazy, out of this world, nutty, but action which can change a world.
The blind man, who most wouldn’t have considered a man, would not be treated like a dog. He audaciously, boldly, and daringly called upon Jesus to have mercy.
Let me tell you about one of my temptations. I don’t know if you struggle with this or not, but I do. Maybe this temptation doesn’t rank up there with most of the deadly sins, maybe it wouldn’t make very interesting TV, but I do think this evil ruins many lives, and destroys many people, churches, communities. I call it the “c’est comme ca” temptation.
The French, who I dearly love, have this beautiful saying. It is always pronounced with a shrug of the shoulders. “C’est comme ca” = this is like that. More figuratively it means: buck up, this is just they way the universe is made. You don’t like the combination of vegetables on the meal you are about to order – to bad, c’est comme ca. This is just the way it is, fate has demanded that you have that broccoli whether you like it or not. Historians don’t believe that Marie Antoinette actually said, “let them eat cake,” but I’m pretty sure that she and her husband would have looked upon the poor starving masses and said: “c’est comme ca.”
Cynicism is the easy way. You might call it the broad way. “It’s just that way and there’s nothing you can do about it. No need to go to the doctor, to get an education, to fight the system, to try to bring about change… it just is.” I’ve talked before about inertia being one of the most powerful forces in the universe.
This brings me to point two, the second element in the story: many of the sighted people were blind. They did their best to shut the man up, not because they wanted him to stay blind … generally I don’t think people are that evil. I actually think they thought his plight was… “c’est comme ca.” Nothing could be done. End of story – “be quite, so we can hear Jesus talk about nice little comforting things.”
The thing is, Jesus so rarely did that. What he did was often compassionate, but what he said was often revolutionary.
Did you notice that Mark tells us the blind man’s name? Twice actually. Bartimaeus, then he adds: “that is, the son of Timaeus.” (Bar is a prefix that means “son of”). In a gospel so filled with generalities (the rich young man isn’t named, the boy with the evil spirit isn’t named, the blind man by the pool of Bethesda – none of them are named – in fact this is the ONLY healed person named in Mark), isn’t it odd that Mark mentions his name – and makes sure we understand that it is connected to Timaeus?
It is odd – and let me tell you what I think he’s doing. Timaeus was one of he last dialogues that Plato wrote. Plato lived 300 years before Jesus but he was widely read among the upper classes even 350 years after his death. “Timeaus,” recounts the creation of the universe. A few scholars believe that this passage in Mark is a direct reference to “Timeaus.” As such it is a refutation in which Jesus upends the presumptions about who has a corner on the truth.
In the Platonic world-view, there is an ideal, eternal reality, of which we are an imperfect and transitory reflection. According to Plato, “Nothing can be beautiful which is like any imperfect thing.” The world is not uniformly imperfect, some people are closer to perfection than others. In his view, women, were reincarnated men who were cowards in their earlier life. Those who are closest to perfection are – no surprise – the philosophers. Their “sight” is what leads them to superior “insight”; they see, and so understand, in ways that ordinary mortals cannot.
Listen to a bit of Plato’s essay “Timeaus:” “The sight in my opinion is the source of the greatest benefit to us, for had we never seen the stars and the sun and the heaven, none of the words which we have spoken about the universe would ever have been uttered. …And from this source we have derived philosophy, than which no greater good ever was or will be given by the gods to mortal men... God invented and gave us sight to the end This that we might behold the courses of intelligence in the heaven, and apply them to the courses of our own intelligence which are akin to them,… that we, learning them and partaking of them and partaking of the natural truth of reason, might imitate the absolutely unerring courses of God and regulate our own vagaries. (Plato, Timaeus, 1175).”
Here’s what I think Mark is up to. You can have all of that. Physical perception which leads to knowledge, and still lack vision. You may have your sight, and still be without vision. Paul picks up this theme: If I have all knowledge, but have not love…”
Bar-timeaus represents the person who knows everything, but who believes in nothing, the person who sees much, but who doesn’t see enough. And at the same time, he represents the broken person, the blind dog, that the religious world, the powers that be, tells to be quite, to stay in place.
On one side we’ve got the intelligencia telling us that having ultimate hope, spending our lives in the shadow of that hope, is irrational and on the other side a religious world that says: hush, keep your doubts, needs, sightlessness to your self, just do what we say, live in the way we tell you to… and by the way: c’est comme ca.
Have you heard enough, seen enough, perceived enough in your spirit, to cry out in hope for mercy from God? This is the fundamental spiritual law. This is where all of us must start and end. This is where the Ph.D. and the illiterate must all end and start. Can you call out to the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob… to the son of David… to Jesus our hope and cry for mercy. If so, you already see.
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