First Universalist
Society of Central Square, NY
Faith & Transformation
Rev. Margaret A. Hart
March 23,
2008
As we heard
in this morning’s opening words, most of us look to Jesus not as a Savior but
as an exemplar, an example of how to live a good and holy life in this
world. I recently heard John Dominic
Croissant interviewed on NPR about Easter.
He is a religious scholar who is famous for being one of the founding
members of the Jesus Seminars, and leading the study of the historical
Jesus. He said that the crucifixion and
resurrection of Jesus cannot be separated, and that belief in the resurrection
is central to Christianity. (That’s why
the celebration of Easter is such a big deal.)
When John Dominic Croissant was asked whether he considered the
resurrection to be metaphorical or real, he responded that he
didn’t think of those as being opposite terms, but thought about whether
something was metaphorical or literal. He said that something,
such as the resurrection, can be both metaphorical and real, but
that he doesn’t see it as being literally true. He gave some historical background to support
his point. I found his explanation to be
refreshing, as I have experienced things as being true, even when there wasn’t
scientific evidence to prove them. It
makes sense to me that something could be deeply real, or true, and explained
by metaphor rather than by literal fact.
This, to me helps to shed light on the miracles which have been
attributed to Jesus. I would like to share one such miracle story from the Bible with you now.
It’s taken from 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’d like to
unpack this passage with you, as it seems to hold great meaning for us. If we can put ourselves in the places of the
various actors in the scene, it may help us to understand their points of
view. First, taking the part of Bartimaeus, the blind beggar sitting by the side of the
road, it might help to close our eyes, to simulate his lack of sight: How did I become blind? Have I always been
blind, or do I have some memory of sight, and of light? Am I totally blind, or is there some light
and indistinct vision? If I am totally blind, how did I find my way to the
roadside to beg? Did my friends help me
to get here? And do they look out for
me, and for the meager handouts I receive?
Am I alone? afraid? or
do I have someone I can trust? How did I know that Jesus could help me? What
gave me faith in him? Had I heard of
Jesus’ reputation as a great teacher and healer, and as the Son of David? How did I know that Jesus was coming near? Had I heard rumors of his travels? Did I hear the crowd approaching and ask
someone who it was? To shout out, not
once but twice, when others were trying to shush me, I must have had great
faith, great desperation, or both. If I
spring up and cast my cloak aside, the coins which have been collecting on the
outstretched cloak will go flying in all directions, and I may not be able to
retrieve them. After all, I can’t see
them. Even though the coins might pay
for a bit of bread, and keep me alive for another day, I must take this
chance. Then Jesus speaks to me. . . to me. . . he asks me a question. . . that
hardly ever happens to me anymore, especially from a respected teacher. Jesus asks me: “What do you want me to do for
you?” He doesn’t assume that he knows best. . . that he knows what I want. But he asks me what I want. I don’t hesitate at all. . I’ve had plenty of time to think about
this- I say, “My teacher, let me see again.”
And it is done, just like that.
Something that might have surprised us both is when I addressed him as
“my teacher”- I had never met the man before.
But something about his kindness, his presence, his openness in asking
me what I wanted, made me realize that he was my teacher, he is my
teacher. And even though he said “go” and I could now see to find my way, I
only wanted to follow him on the way.
Now, let us
open our eyes and imagine ourselves as fellow beggars sitting by the side of
the road: We have different disabilities which prevent us from working and make
us dependent on the generosity and help of others, but we also have abilities
which let us help others. If I am deaf,
but can see, I can help guide someone like Barimaeus
to the roadside and help look after his safety and the coins which are tossed
on his cloak as offerings. And he can
help me with his hearing. We are all in
this world together, so we might as well help each other. It’s too tough to be alone.
Now we can
imagine ourselves as bystanders in this scene:
We see a lot of beggars sitting by the roadside.
. . poor souls. . . there but for the grace of God go I. Perhaps I feel a bit of pity, or guilt, and
throw a coin or two on their outstretched cloaks. Or I might feel resentment.
. . why are they allowed to gather here, to impede the flow of traffic, and to
make us feel guilty? And one of them
keeps shouting out to Jesus to have mercy on him. . . I wish he’d have mercy on
us, and just be quiet! After all, Jesus is coming and we want everything to be
perfect for him. . . we don’t want anything to disturb
him, or to draw his attention away from us.
It’s happened, Jesus has heard the blind man
and is calling him to come. I guess we
need to help him get to Jesus, as that is what the Teacher is requesting, but
it seems like a waste of time. And now
Jesus is asking this blind beggar what he wants him to do for him. . . as if a beggar would know better than the
Teacher! Oh well, mysterious are the
ways of God.
And now we
can imagine ourselves as Jesus: We are
walking along on our way out of Jericho.
It has been a good visit, but some of the disciples still don’t seem to
get it. Our time is limited. Our mission isn’t political, but
spiritual. Some of them are still
concerned about their position in the after life. It’s still a competitive game to some of
them. I wish they would just be here
now, and appreciate the love among us.
God knows we are all in this world together, so we might as well help
each other. It’s too tough to be
alone. Ooh, I hear someone calling to me
for mercy. . . someone who really wants my help. I must call him to me and ask what he wants
me to do for him. He is so sincere and
knows exactly what he wants: “let me see again” he says. That is easy, he has
such faith and knows what he wants. All
things can be accomplished with such partners.
Thinking
about Bartimaeus, I also got thinking about our new
Governor, David Paterson, who is legally blind.
As you know, he recently replaced Governor Elliot Spitzer, who resigned
in disgrace after it was discovered that he had been involved with the
Emperor’s Club, a high-priced call-girl, or prostitution, ring. When Governor Spitzer was elected with a high
percentage of the vote, he had been a successful State Attorney General. He seemed to be bright, articulate,
charismatic, and to have a strong agenda for positive change. But he quickly acquired the nickname of “steamroller”,
which he embodied and embraced. For all
his good qualities and strengths, he insisted on doing things his way, rather
than asking what others wanted and collaborating with them. Many of his good ideas were stalled by
political opponents. As they say, you
can attract more flies with sugar than with vinegar. And we have learned in hindsight that as the
state’s highest prosecutor, he was vigorously enforcing the same laws that he
was quietly breaking. We can most easily
forgive lapses in behavior, but when we see patterns of wrongdoing it is harder
to dig deep into the well of forgiveness.
We can try to remember that all people have inherent worth and
dignity. We can also beware of feeling
that we are especially entitled, or above the law. We have seen too often that power
corrupts. It certainly tempts those who
have it to feel they can do as they please and not get caught. We all need to remain humble and remember:
there, but for the grace of God go I.
In contrast
to Governor Spitzer, Governor Paterson grew up being legally blind. As he said of his new role during a news
conference, “I am used to working in the dark”.
As someone with limited vision, he has had to depend on others at
times. He has also learned to laugh at
himself. When he served in the State
Assembly and became the minority leader, he found it important to collaborate
with others. He hasn’t let his blindness hold him back. It seems, rather, to have helped him realize
that he can’t do everything on his own, but needs to listen to and work with
others. We are all in this world
together, so we might as well help each other.
It’s too tough to be alone.
I recently
read the What I Believe column in the newspaper - I love to read that
column, and have the goal to someday write one.
Anyway, this particular column was entitled Developing Life’s
Priorities, and the author wrote: “I believe that all of us should learn to
do the right thing at all times, and it is better to be kind than to be
correct.” I like the idea of setting our
priorities- figuring out what is most important in this lifetime, and then
working to develop and achieve those priorities. Most of them will require recognizing our
interdependence and working together. To
do this, we will have to remain humble and kind, and realize that we aren’t
always correct, but that we just might learn other ways of achieving our goals
by listening to others as we work collaboratively with them.
Another
column I often enjoy reading is written by Sean Kirst. On St. Patrick’s day he wrote a piece called Quietly
Making a Difference, about a man who keeps his neighborhood on the west
side tidy. The man said: “My mother was
Irish, and she used to always say that cleanliness was not based on class or
money, that a modest income was no excuse to throw trash around”. And he said “I know a lot of people only see
their own property as the place that needs to be maintained and fixed up. But I see the neighborhood as my community
and my territory.” And I would add, that he sees the neighborhood as his responsibility,
not just on Earth Day, but everyday. He
works to keep it clean and attractive, whether that means picking up litter or
planting flowers, and teaching, by example, young people to do the same.
On this
Easter, and as Stewardship Sunday and Earth Day approach, it’s a good time for
us to reflect on the gifts and talents we have been given, and to figure out
how we can contribute to the general welfare.
How will we set and develop our life’s priorities? How will we choose to work and play together
in a way that will allow our community to grow more beautiful? How will we be transformed? Like a butterfly, we may appear at times to
be a slug or a caterpillar, but what are we becoming? Like Bartimaeus, we
may seem to be blind beggars, subsisting on handouts from others. But what are we able to contribute to the
greater good, despite our limitations?
What are our strengths and talents? How do those complement the needs of
our community? Do we have faith in the
goodness of our compatriots? Do we have
faith in ourselves? Do we know what we want? How will we choose to be
transformed?
I would
like to close with this selection from Sarah York in Celebrating Easter and
Spring:
It’s as if
we let parts of ourselves die and stuff them away in a tomb of the soul. Sometimes that tomb is not such a bad place.
It is like a womb--safe and secure, comfortable and predictable. Our tomb-life may be nothing more than the
safety and comfort of a nice predictable routine. Or it may be a shelter from the world and its
problems-- a place to hide from the Jesus who called for a world where people
care for one another. Whether it is
escape or comfort, the time comes for us to roll away the stone and come out.
May it be so.