Jesus (42 page)

Mark offers the story of Bartimaeus before the Crucifixion as if to illustrate the meaning of discipleship. The story also follows two separate predictions of Jesus's Passion. In Mark's ninth chapter, Jesus predicts his death, but the disciples “did not understand what he was saying.” And immediately before meeting Bartimaeus, Jesus speaks of his coming suffering, and once again two of his disciples, James and John, miss the point. (They ask Jesus instead who is going to sit alongside him “in your glory.”) For Mark, discipleship means coming to see who Jesus is and learning how to follow him. The disciples are blind for the most part. The blind man, however, sees.
⁶

It was also clearly a story of immense importance to the followers of Jesus, for Bartimaeus is the only direct recipient of a miracle—other than the apostles—to be named in any of the Synoptic Gospels.
⁷
Bartimaeus believes in Jesus's power, he refuses to let the crowd stifle his enthusiasm, and he professes Jesus as his teacher. “Get up!” Mark says to
us
, as a rallying cry. “He is calling you.”
⁸
The story's placement also underscores the idea that discipleship means following Jesus into places of suffering.

John Meier looks at a variety of elements of this compelling narrative—the preservation of Aramaic names and words (Bartimaeus and
Rabbouni
), the unique use of the man's name, the unusual appellation “Son of David,” the tying of an individual to a specific site (Jericho) at a specific time of the year (before Passover) and a specific period in Jesus's ministry (before Jerusalem)—and declares its presentation in Mark as one of the “strongest candidates for the report of a specific miracle going back to the historical Jesus.”
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It is not surprising, says Meier, given the dramatic miracle and the fact that Jesus met Bartimaeus on the way to Jerusalem in the presence of so many of his followers, that his disciples would have remembered the persistent and faith-filled man from Jericho.

T
HE STORY OF
B
ARTIMAEUS
is not just a story about something most of us will never experience—a miraculous healing—it is also a story about something common to our experience: desire and conversion.

Desire often gets a bad rap in religious circles because of two common misinterpretations. First, we think of desire only in terms of surface wants. (“I want a new car!”) Second, we think of it only as sexual desire or lust. (“I must have you!”) But without healthy desires we would cease to exist in any real way. We wouldn't want to study or learn. We wouldn't want to earn a living to support our families. We wouldn't want to help lessen suffering. And without sexual desire, we wouldn't even be here.

Jesus sees something liberating in identifying and naming our desires. Once we scrape off any surface selfishness, our deepest longings and holy desires are uncovered: the desire for friendship, the desire for love, the desire for meaningful work, and often the desire for healing. Ultimately, of course, our deepest longing is for God. And it is God who places these desires within us. This is one way God calls us to himself. We desire God because God desires us.

People often need to be encouraged to recognize these deep longings, which can help guide their lives, especially if they have been told to ignore or eradicate their desires. Once they do so, they discover a fundamental truth: desire is one of the engines of a person's vocation. On the most basic level, two people are drawn together in marriage out of desire—physical, emotional, spiritual. Desire plays an important role in vocations in the working world. How else does the future scientist, for example, grasp her vocation to study biology other than by finding her high school biology classes interesting?

Notice that Jesus does not say, “Bartimaeus, just accept the way things are.” That's what the crowd is saying: “Be quiet!” Jesus encourages him to name his desire. He asks him directly, “What do you want me to do for you?”

Bartimaeus's encounter with Jesus also highlights the importance of being honest in our relationship with God. It would be difficult for the blind man
not
to ask Jesus to heal him from something that had troubled him all his life, especially if he knew Jesus's reputation as a healer. In a similar way, when we stand before God in prayer, we should feel comfortable expressing our longings. If you say only what you think you “should” say in prayer, while denying your deep desires—if you obey the crowd's order to “be quiet”—your relationship with God might grow cold. God invites us to be honest about what we desire, even though this can be a challenge when those desires are not fulfilled. But even in those difficult times God invites us to remain in the conversation. And this includes the transparent sharing of our deep desires. God craves our honesty.

Jesus says to Bartimaeus: “What do you want me to do for you?” But more: “What does your heart tell you? What are your desires? When you listen to your heart, what does it say?” Jesus listens to Bartimaeus, who listens to his heart.

Naming our desires is also a sign of humility. Bartimaeus knows that he cannot heal himself. Neither can we. We stand before God aware of our limitations. In the simplest analysis, we need help. Why not admit it?

Finally, we sometimes need to ignore the crowd, especially when they tell us to shut up. “Don't desire something better for yourself,” they say to Bartimaeus and to us. “Give up those ridiculous hopes of change. Stop hoping for something new.” By contrast, Jesus doesn't shout, “Be quiet!” Jesus's voice is different than the crowd's. Gently, he asks, “What do you want me to do for you?”

The encounter with Bartimaeus is also a story of conversion, characterized by the blind man's casting off of his cloak. It was probably among his most valued possessions, an outer garment that could be used as a coat and, at night, as a blanket or even a bed. It would have been almost unthinkable for a poor man to throw aside his cloak. Thus his cloak is a beautiful symbol of conversion. “So throwing off his cloak, he sprang up (
anapēdēsas
) and came to Jesus,” says Mark. Like the nets that Peter must let go of, Bartimaeus leaves behind some of his past in order to see his future.

F
INALLY, THIS IS A
story about ministry. My friend Paula noted that the lessons of this Gospel passage extend beyond Jesus “standing still.” If you look at the narrative carefully, she suggested, Jesus's distinctive form of ministry becomes clearer.

First, Jesus enters Jericho with “his disciples and a large crowd.”
¹⁰
Ministry is relational and is often carried out in groups. Being a minister also involves the idea of a journey, whether that means journeying with an individual spiritually or traveling physically to a particular place to be with someone. Jesus is happy to minister with others, not just for others. He calls people together to minister together.

Second, Mark's explicit naming of Bartimaeus shows the importance of knowing the person we're trying to help. On the road outside of Jericho, Jesus does not minister to a “blind man,” a “beggar,” or a “poor man”—to a member of a faceless socioeconomic group or to an anonymous person with a generic illness, but to an individual with a name and a history: Bartimaeus, son of Timaeus. This was one of the most important lessons I learned in my first year as a Jesuit. In the hospital ministry as a novice, I had initially thought I would be working with “the sick.” That was true. But truer still was that I was working with individuals, people who had their own stories and dreams. I wasn't working with “the sick” as much as I was working with Rita, Gene, and Frank.

The preservation of Bartimaeus's name is a strong indication that after his healing Bartimaeus became a well-known individual in the early Christian community. It is a reminder of the importance of not simply meeting a person's needs in ministry, but treating a person as an individual.

Third, Jesus asks Bartimaeus, “What do you want me to do for you?” Jesus, said Paula, does not presume to know what the blind man would ask of him. As a minister it is tempting to believe that you already know what the other person needs.

During my hospital chaplaincy in Boston, I met an elderly woman with a long-term illness, named Rita. In my eagerness to be a good hospital chaplain, I spoke with her only about the things I thought a chaplain should speak about: God, prayer, and suffering. But Rita wanted to talk only about her two brothers, who were both Jesuits. Every time she began to talk about them, I tried to steer her to more “important” topics. One day the director of pastoral care suggested that I talk to Rita about her interests, rather than mine. I did, and we eventually became friends. In time, we did end up speaking about God, prayer, and suffering. But first I needed to give Rita the dignity of listening to her. If Jesus is willing to let the other person take the initiative, so should we.

After Jesus heals Bartimaeus he says, “Go; your faith has made you well.” (In Mark and Luke the Greek is
sesōken
, saved you.) Ministry affirms people and then offers them the opportunity to grow and change. Ministry also offers them the opportunity to follow Jesus themselves and perform the works of charity. And that's not limited to professional or organized ministry—we all have opportunities to minister to, or care for, one another.

It's not clear how Bartimaeus followed Jesus, whether for a day or a lifetime. But the preservation of his story indicates that Bartimaeus became a faithful disciple in his own way.

S
OMEONE ELSE WAS WAITING
for Jesus in Jericho. As Luke tells it, after he heals the blind man, Jesus, accompanied by a great crowd, spies something strange. The chief tax collector in the town, a man named Zacchaeus, is perched high in a sycamore tree, straining to see Jesus.
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“He was trying to see who Jesus was, but on account of the crowd he could not, because he was short in stature,” says Luke.

For the people of Jericho, the sight of the diminutive tax collector sitting in the tree probably made them laugh derisively. Most people likely despised the chief tax collector, who worked for the Roman overlords. In Jesus's time, Jericho was a wealthy town, ideally located for commerce in the Jordan Valley, and so it served as a major center for taxation for the Romans. Zacchaeus, as chief tax collector (having responsibility over other tax collectors), would have been an integral part of a corrupt system and thus seen as one of the “chief sinners” of the area. To be chief tax collector would have brought both wealth and contempt. Any laughter over his undignified behavior would have been magnified by the people's detestation of him.

Maybe they also laughed because he was unusually short. And how would he have reached the branches of the sycamore tree? Maybe by climbing a nearby wall and jumping onto a branch, or asking someone to hoist him up—further actions to attract derision. And given the loose-fitting clothing of the time, perhaps a great deal of Zacchaeus would have been visible to the crowd below.

None of this deters Zacchaeus. He is, quite literally, going out on a limb for Jesus, risking his dignity to see the Master. Luke says, “He was trying to see who Jesus was.” What a wonderful line! Weren't the disciples? Aren't we all? Zacchaeus may have thought,
Who is this Jesus, about whom everyone is so excited? Could he possibly help someone like me?

Before hearing a word from the tax collector, Jesus calls up into the sycamore tree. “Zacchaeus,” he says, “hurry and come down; for I must stay at your house today!” I can imagine Jesus laughing as he looks up into the branches.

How did Jesus know his name? He probably asked, and the people around him may have said, “Oh him? That's the chief tax collector, Zacchaeus.” Jesus seems delighted by Zacchaeus's willingness to do something out of the ordinary to find salvation.
The tax collector? How wonderful!
Once again Jesus approaches someone seen as undesirable. His offer to dine with the man demonstrates an example of “table fellowship,” Jesus's practice of sharing meals with all kinds of persons and a public statement of welcome and worthiness.
¹²
In effect, Jesus is showing God's hospitality to sinners by letting the sinners show him hospitality.

How did Zacchaeus know about Jesus of Nazareth? Luke's description makes it plausible that Zacchaeus knew something about Jesus beforehand. Reminiscent of the fishermen dropping everything to follow Jesus at the Sea of Galilee, his immediate response makes more sense when we presume prior knowledge of Jesus. Maybe Zacchaeus had heard tales about Jesus—news of Bartimaeus's healing probably traveled fast in Jericho. Perhaps he had simply been waiting for a second chance—a way out of being one of the most hated men in town. Or maybe he was looking for a way out of whatever sins he had committed.

Zacchaeus clambers down and welcomes Jesus with rejoicing (
chairōn
). Joy is a natural response to the presence of God. But the crowd doesn't approve. Why would Jesus want to dine at the house of a person who, in the view of some in the crowd, was the “chief of sinners”?
¹³
Plus, Jesus doesn't wait to be invited, and he doesn't wait for Zacchaeus to apologize or make an act of restitution—he makes the first move with the sinner. Luke tells us that “everyone”—this would include the disciples—grumbles.

Their resentment does not dampen the joy of the one who has met Jesus. Zacchaeus “stood there” or “stood his ground” (
statheis
), implying that Jesus and Zacchaeus had already begun walking to the house.

Then Zacchaeus says to Jesus, “Look, half of my possessions, Lord, I will give to the poor; and if I have defrauded anyone of anything, I will pay back four times as much.” There is some debate over whether the Greek is saying that he
will
do that or that he is
already
doing that. Either way, he is willing to give half of his earnings to the poor, and if he discovers that he has cheated anyone, he makes restitution. Zacchaeus is observing the requirements of the Jewish law at the time, even going beyond them.
¹⁴
It is as if he is trying to say to Jesus and the crowd: “You may hate me, but you don't know me. I'm trying my best to follow the Law by caring for others.” It is also an unmistakable act of humility, a public confession of sin in front of people who probably despise him.