Happily ever after?
Commentary
Object:
I went to the movie About Schmidt really expecting to enjoy it. I like Jack Nicholson a lot. Others had told me a bit about the movie and his role. Judging from some of the previews, I anticipated a few laughs. Without giving away the plot, I'm not sure enjoyment was the order of the day. Maybe the film was just a bit too realistic for those of us who watch people in the church struggle with grief, loss, retirement, or transitions in life. Maybe the family dynamics portrayed in the film struck too close to home. Or maybe it was because of the lack of a happy ending. Indeed, the conclusion conveyed some moment of revelation in Nicholson's character as he opened a letter from a young African child who had become something of pen pal. But the observer is left to wonder about that transforming moment in the life of the main character. The film ends right there. So we never know about changed relationships or fresh starts or new life. Maybe some of us would just as soon settle for those movies that end with "happily ever after."
Of course, when it comes to individual characters, the gospel narratives are famous for never offering a complete ending. Time and time again we read of people being healed by Jesus, never to come upon them again. Blind Bartimaeus is just such a character. Those yearning for more novelized characters must settle for that gospel writer's minimalist approach, for Bartimaeus "regained his sight and followed Jesus on the way." But that's all we know. We know nothing more about the aftermath or about changed relationships, fresh starts, and new life.
Then there's Job. The Old Testament lesson for this autumn Sunday tells of the very end of the book of Job. The "happily ever after" crowd has to be primed for this part of the poetry and the narrative that is the book of Job. But here is where pastoral experience and intuition kick in. Here is where the happy ending can be more troubling than the open-ended stories of minor characters that come one after another. That's because you and I know far too many people within the community of faith where such happiness and restoration doesn't represent the end of the story. You and I stand to proclaim the gospel week in and week out and look out at a sea of faces that seem far from "happily ever after." And so we wrestle with Job and with Bartimaeus. When it comes to biblical characters, our need for closure never outweighs the reality check that comes with serving the people of God. That's when preaching has to rely solely upon the grace of God, because the church lives its faith this side of "happily ever after."
Job 42:1-6, 10-17
If the preacher has been working his way through the lessons from Job the last three weeks, then the congregation will be yearning for resolution. Even if the preacher chooses to craft a single Job sermon during this season, the congregation will still be yearning for that resolution. Either way, this Sunday's assignment from the Old Testament comes in two parts: Job's response to God, and part of the narrative that tells of Job's restoration.
Chapters 38-41 tell of God's response to Job that comes amid the whirlwind. Given the length and the force of God's answer to Job, Job's response here at the beginning of chapter 42 feels appropriately small. Job begins with an affirmation of God's omnipotence and God's intended purpose: "I know that you can do all things and that no purpose of yours can be thwarted" (42:2). With the very beginning of verse 3, Job quotes God's own argument and then responds. His answer to God's condescending question -- one that sounds like "Who do you think you are?" -- is to acknowledge his own limitations of thought and word. "I have uttered what I did not understand, things too wonderful for me which I did not know." Job admits that he did not necessarily understand the things he has said about God's power and majesty. He was able to offer the words, but he did not have the experience.
Job's playback of God's questions continues in verse 4 as he cites God's demand that God will do the speaking and Job should do the listening. God will ask the questions and then Job will do the answering. Job's final response indicates a shift from the ear to the eyes, from hearing to seeing, from experiencing hearsay to standing as a witness: "I had heard of you by the hearing of the ear, but now my eye sees you." Using that shift of the senses, Job is describing a transforming moment in his relationship to God. This blameless and upright man, whose painful journey brings him toe to toe with God, ultimately describes his transformation. While the reader may be yearning for more resolution, here at the end of the poetic dialogue the resolution comes in the form of Job's self-awareness, repentance, and affirmation of God.
Hebrews 7:23-28
These verses found in the middle of Hebrews serve to establish the uniqueness of Jesus Christ as the great high priest. The distinctiveness of Christ is discussed and tacked on at the end of the longer conversation about Melchizedek. Hebrews 7:23 points out that while there has been a high number of priests, their term of office naturally ends in their death. On the other hand, as Christ reigns eternally in the kingdom of God, his office as priest will be forever. There from that spot, eternal in the heavens, Christ is able to carry out the priestly task. He serves as intercessor and savior. He is the mediator for those who come to God through Christ. By nature of his office, his being, and his divine location, his intercession is forever and his mediation brings salvation (v. 25).
At verse 26, the writer of Hebrews offers a Christological foundation. Christ's identity as high priest is right and fitting because he is "holy, blameless, undefiled, separated from sinners, and exalted above the heavens." No doubt each character trait named here is worthy of further development. Christ's sinless nature bears witness to his exaltation in all creation. Because of that purity, Christ has no need to offer daily sacrifice. Thus another difference between Christ and the earthly priests arises. Not only is his office a permanent one in the kingdom not limited by the power of death, the offering of himself as a sacrifice upon the cross was sufficient once and for all. The completeness of his sacrifice is rooted in his perfection (v. 28). The author's distinction between the high priests appointed by the law and the Son's appointment to office by word of oath seems a bit less clear. At the very least the reference is to 7:20-21, where it says that Jesus received his divine appointment by an oath sworn by the Lord. The language of "a better covenant" found in verse 22 also helps to clarify that distinction of the priestly office from that of Christ as high priest.
The stopping point there at the end of chapter 7 seems a bit unfortunate since chapter 8 begins with a clear summary of the importance of the priestly function of Christ established by God the Creator: "Now the main point in what we are saying is this: we have such a high priest, one who is seated at the right hand of the throne of the majesty in the heavens, a minister in the sanctuary and the true tent that the Lord, and not any mortal, has set up" (8:1-2).
Mark 10:46-52
It is hard to miss the placement of this gospel lection in Mark. Before our text for the day, Jesus has offered yet another prediction of his passion (the third) and the bumbling disciples immediately start to argue about who gets to sit at the right hand of Jesus in the kingdom of God. After the assigned pericope, Mark's gospel moves right to the triumphal entry as the first step toward the death and resurrection of Jesus. In many translations, this passage about Bartimaeus is also framed by some editorial blank space. It would be difficult to imagine a text more set apart in the gospel narratives.
Jesus and his followers came and went to Jericho all in half a verse. The encounter with the blind man happens on their way out of Jericho. Bartimaeus, the blind beggar, is sitting along the roadside. As he gets wind of who is about to pass by, Bartimaeus cries out, "Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me." No doubt many pages can be spent on the scholarly discussion of whether Bartimaeus got it right in terms of the messianic title. Easy to miss is the reaction of the crowds and the disciples. Before his second cry, Mark tells of the stern reaction from those who preferred not to hear from the blind beggar there by the road.
Jesus' own reaction was to stand still. The beggar's need and his cry caused Jesus to stop in his tracks. Only at Jesus' command did the followers there in the crowd tell the man to come and stand before Jesus: "Take heart; get up, he is calling you." As Mark tells it, the blind man's reaction was energetic. He tosses off his cloak, jumps up, and comes to Jesus. Jesus inquires as to the need of Bartimaeus. The petition could not be clearer: "Rabbouni, let me see again." Here there can be little question as to the man's reference to Jesus as teacher.
Jesus offers those words of healing, commendation, and commissioning: "Go, your faith has made you well." Of course Mark points out that Bartimaeus was healed "immediately." Unlike those whom Jesus commands to tell no one, or those Jesus instructs to go home to tell family, or those whom Jesus sends to the priests for purification, Jesus' words here imply the untold life of discipleship -- for the now fully sighted Bartimaeus "followed Jesus on the way."
Application
The preacher ought to pause and ponder the name of Bartimaeus. Sure, the Aramaic translation of "Son of Timaeus" is interesting, and anyone with an annotated Bible can figure that one out. I am more interested in the fact that Mark gives him a name. Matthew tells of two blind men healed. Luke appears to tell this same story of the blind man there by the road, but only Mark gives the name of Bartimaeus. Most of those healed by Jesus remain nameless. A few, like the daughter of Jairus, are named by way of parents. All are faceless and most are nameless. Given the importance of names and naming in the Bible, the significance of Mark's naming of Bartimaeus should not be missed.
Here, just before the passion narrative begins, Mark pauses to tell us about a blind man who now sees. The disciples themselves are still blind to the truth of the suffering of Jesus despite his repeated efforts. They are blind; Bartimaeus now sees. The crowds offer a harsh word of rebuke as the sidewalk beggar cries out in an annoying way. Jesus himself stops and stands still to ponder the need and no doubt to look for a face. In response to the invitation of Jesus Bartimaeus springs to life, hoping against hope that from this Son of David he could receive the eyes to see.
Like Jesus who stands still, the reader is invited by Mark to stop and look at Bartimaeus as well. The pause doesn't come with a face, but it comes with a name. Together with Jesus, Mark offers a contrast to the nastiness of the crowds. The name and the healing of Bartimaeus embody the reach of God's grace and the radical nature of God's hospitality.
Mark tells us that Bartimaeus regained his sight and followed Jesus on the way. The mindful reader of the New Testament will remember that "the way" mentioned by Mark expands in the Acts of the Apostles to include the life of the discipleship and one's place in the growing community of faith. Mark's readers may yearn for more information about the conclusion to Bartimaeus' story. The intention is clear, however, and the story concludes in his life of discipleship. We may yearn for more details, but Mark leaves us with his name, which is not to be lost nor underestimated.
When preachers come upon these gospel narratives, the tendency is often to invite the readers to find their place in the story. Here we could easily place the church there in the crowd annoyed by the expressed need of the world around us. Preachers may choose to invite the church to sit next to the blind man, where even our frail cries for help are heard by the Savior. Those cries go out despite our less developed understanding of the fullness of Christ: "Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on us!" Or maybe this Sunday, the church can be invited to sit with Mark between the disciples' ongoing struggle to understand fully the teaching of Jesus and the heartbreaking experience of watching his walk to the cross. Here in Mark, Bartimaeus receives his sight between the feeble nature of the disciples' witness and the certainty of the Lord's passion. Somewhere between the mind and the heart, the church confronts that suffering of Jesus. And there along that way, that journey of discipleship and worship, the church is privileged to bear witness to the grace and hospitality of God's healing love.
Often preachers are called to be about the task of "naming grace." That is the title of a book by Mary Catherine Hilkert that defines the preacher's need for a "sacramental imagination." Such vision looks into the ordinary places of our lives and attempts to point to and name the very grace of God. This story in Mark reminds us of the different side of "naming grace." The transforming mercy of God bestowed upon us is grace that grants us identity as the children of God. It is God's grace that names.
Alternative Applications
Job 42:1-6, 10-17. There is something about the story of Job that resonates deep within. Far beyond some urge for the happy ending, there is something that strikes very close to what it means to be created. There is something so true about those friends. Earlier in the book, all of the bad things that happen to Job are recounted in a mere 17 verses, and then he and those friends spend 35 chapters talking about it.
Maybe that which rings the truest, maybe the experience that echoes our humanity, isn't the demand for easy answers and endings that define "happily ever after." Maybe the truth comes when you experience the presence of God and you know your view of the human predicament will never be the same again. The truth can come when you find yourself on your knees turning back to the one who created you, and you affirm once again that the promised life-giving, grace-filled presence of God in your life doesn't necessarily come with easy answers and fairy-tale endings.
Maybe that restoration of Job does sound like the stuff of fairy tales. But when it comes to this encounter between God and Job and our faith, the end doesn't come with Job. The end comes with "for God so loved the world," or "When the time had fully come, God sent forth the Son," or "He was wounded for our transgressions, crushed for our inequities," or "On the third day he rose again," or "Lo, I am with you always, until the end of the age."
Now that sounds like an ending... or could it be the beginning?
Hebrews 7:23-28. Most often I would imagine that the faithful remember the promise that comes in the power of the Holy Spirit and that the Spirit intercedes for us with sighs much deeper than words (Romans 8). Notice here in Hebrews that intercession for us comes in and through the priestly identity of Jesus Christ. The eternal reign of Christ reflected in our understanding of the ascension bears witness to his lordship over us and creation. The preacher in Hebrews casts that heavenly dominion in the form of a promise. From there on the throne of God, Christ shall at all times and forever make intercession to God on our behalf.
Of course, when it comes to individual characters, the gospel narratives are famous for never offering a complete ending. Time and time again we read of people being healed by Jesus, never to come upon them again. Blind Bartimaeus is just such a character. Those yearning for more novelized characters must settle for that gospel writer's minimalist approach, for Bartimaeus "regained his sight and followed Jesus on the way." But that's all we know. We know nothing more about the aftermath or about changed relationships, fresh starts, and new life.
Then there's Job. The Old Testament lesson for this autumn Sunday tells of the very end of the book of Job. The "happily ever after" crowd has to be primed for this part of the poetry and the narrative that is the book of Job. But here is where pastoral experience and intuition kick in. Here is where the happy ending can be more troubling than the open-ended stories of minor characters that come one after another. That's because you and I know far too many people within the community of faith where such happiness and restoration doesn't represent the end of the story. You and I stand to proclaim the gospel week in and week out and look out at a sea of faces that seem far from "happily ever after." And so we wrestle with Job and with Bartimaeus. When it comes to biblical characters, our need for closure never outweighs the reality check that comes with serving the people of God. That's when preaching has to rely solely upon the grace of God, because the church lives its faith this side of "happily ever after."
Job 42:1-6, 10-17
If the preacher has been working his way through the lessons from Job the last three weeks, then the congregation will be yearning for resolution. Even if the preacher chooses to craft a single Job sermon during this season, the congregation will still be yearning for that resolution. Either way, this Sunday's assignment from the Old Testament comes in two parts: Job's response to God, and part of the narrative that tells of Job's restoration.
Chapters 38-41 tell of God's response to Job that comes amid the whirlwind. Given the length and the force of God's answer to Job, Job's response here at the beginning of chapter 42 feels appropriately small. Job begins with an affirmation of God's omnipotence and God's intended purpose: "I know that you can do all things and that no purpose of yours can be thwarted" (42:2). With the very beginning of verse 3, Job quotes God's own argument and then responds. His answer to God's condescending question -- one that sounds like "Who do you think you are?" -- is to acknowledge his own limitations of thought and word. "I have uttered what I did not understand, things too wonderful for me which I did not know." Job admits that he did not necessarily understand the things he has said about God's power and majesty. He was able to offer the words, but he did not have the experience.
Job's playback of God's questions continues in verse 4 as he cites God's demand that God will do the speaking and Job should do the listening. God will ask the questions and then Job will do the answering. Job's final response indicates a shift from the ear to the eyes, from hearing to seeing, from experiencing hearsay to standing as a witness: "I had heard of you by the hearing of the ear, but now my eye sees you." Using that shift of the senses, Job is describing a transforming moment in his relationship to God. This blameless and upright man, whose painful journey brings him toe to toe with God, ultimately describes his transformation. While the reader may be yearning for more resolution, here at the end of the poetic dialogue the resolution comes in the form of Job's self-awareness, repentance, and affirmation of God.
Hebrews 7:23-28
These verses found in the middle of Hebrews serve to establish the uniqueness of Jesus Christ as the great high priest. The distinctiveness of Christ is discussed and tacked on at the end of the longer conversation about Melchizedek. Hebrews 7:23 points out that while there has been a high number of priests, their term of office naturally ends in their death. On the other hand, as Christ reigns eternally in the kingdom of God, his office as priest will be forever. There from that spot, eternal in the heavens, Christ is able to carry out the priestly task. He serves as intercessor and savior. He is the mediator for those who come to God through Christ. By nature of his office, his being, and his divine location, his intercession is forever and his mediation brings salvation (v. 25).
At verse 26, the writer of Hebrews offers a Christological foundation. Christ's identity as high priest is right and fitting because he is "holy, blameless, undefiled, separated from sinners, and exalted above the heavens." No doubt each character trait named here is worthy of further development. Christ's sinless nature bears witness to his exaltation in all creation. Because of that purity, Christ has no need to offer daily sacrifice. Thus another difference between Christ and the earthly priests arises. Not only is his office a permanent one in the kingdom not limited by the power of death, the offering of himself as a sacrifice upon the cross was sufficient once and for all. The completeness of his sacrifice is rooted in his perfection (v. 28). The author's distinction between the high priests appointed by the law and the Son's appointment to office by word of oath seems a bit less clear. At the very least the reference is to 7:20-21, where it says that Jesus received his divine appointment by an oath sworn by the Lord. The language of "a better covenant" found in verse 22 also helps to clarify that distinction of the priestly office from that of Christ as high priest.
The stopping point there at the end of chapter 7 seems a bit unfortunate since chapter 8 begins with a clear summary of the importance of the priestly function of Christ established by God the Creator: "Now the main point in what we are saying is this: we have such a high priest, one who is seated at the right hand of the throne of the majesty in the heavens, a minister in the sanctuary and the true tent that the Lord, and not any mortal, has set up" (8:1-2).
Mark 10:46-52
It is hard to miss the placement of this gospel lection in Mark. Before our text for the day, Jesus has offered yet another prediction of his passion (the third) and the bumbling disciples immediately start to argue about who gets to sit at the right hand of Jesus in the kingdom of God. After the assigned pericope, Mark's gospel moves right to the triumphal entry as the first step toward the death and resurrection of Jesus. In many translations, this passage about Bartimaeus is also framed by some editorial blank space. It would be difficult to imagine a text more set apart in the gospel narratives.
Jesus and his followers came and went to Jericho all in half a verse. The encounter with the blind man happens on their way out of Jericho. Bartimaeus, the blind beggar, is sitting along the roadside. As he gets wind of who is about to pass by, Bartimaeus cries out, "Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me." No doubt many pages can be spent on the scholarly discussion of whether Bartimaeus got it right in terms of the messianic title. Easy to miss is the reaction of the crowds and the disciples. Before his second cry, Mark tells of the stern reaction from those who preferred not to hear from the blind beggar there by the road.
Jesus' own reaction was to stand still. The beggar's need and his cry caused Jesus to stop in his tracks. Only at Jesus' command did the followers there in the crowd tell the man to come and stand before Jesus: "Take heart; get up, he is calling you." As Mark tells it, the blind man's reaction was energetic. He tosses off his cloak, jumps up, and comes to Jesus. Jesus inquires as to the need of Bartimaeus. The petition could not be clearer: "Rabbouni, let me see again." Here there can be little question as to the man's reference to Jesus as teacher.
Jesus offers those words of healing, commendation, and commissioning: "Go, your faith has made you well." Of course Mark points out that Bartimaeus was healed "immediately." Unlike those whom Jesus commands to tell no one, or those Jesus instructs to go home to tell family, or those whom Jesus sends to the priests for purification, Jesus' words here imply the untold life of discipleship -- for the now fully sighted Bartimaeus "followed Jesus on the way."
Application
The preacher ought to pause and ponder the name of Bartimaeus. Sure, the Aramaic translation of "Son of Timaeus" is interesting, and anyone with an annotated Bible can figure that one out. I am more interested in the fact that Mark gives him a name. Matthew tells of two blind men healed. Luke appears to tell this same story of the blind man there by the road, but only Mark gives the name of Bartimaeus. Most of those healed by Jesus remain nameless. A few, like the daughter of Jairus, are named by way of parents. All are faceless and most are nameless. Given the importance of names and naming in the Bible, the significance of Mark's naming of Bartimaeus should not be missed.
Here, just before the passion narrative begins, Mark pauses to tell us about a blind man who now sees. The disciples themselves are still blind to the truth of the suffering of Jesus despite his repeated efforts. They are blind; Bartimaeus now sees. The crowds offer a harsh word of rebuke as the sidewalk beggar cries out in an annoying way. Jesus himself stops and stands still to ponder the need and no doubt to look for a face. In response to the invitation of Jesus Bartimaeus springs to life, hoping against hope that from this Son of David he could receive the eyes to see.
Like Jesus who stands still, the reader is invited by Mark to stop and look at Bartimaeus as well. The pause doesn't come with a face, but it comes with a name. Together with Jesus, Mark offers a contrast to the nastiness of the crowds. The name and the healing of Bartimaeus embody the reach of God's grace and the radical nature of God's hospitality.
Mark tells us that Bartimaeus regained his sight and followed Jesus on the way. The mindful reader of the New Testament will remember that "the way" mentioned by Mark expands in the Acts of the Apostles to include the life of the discipleship and one's place in the growing community of faith. Mark's readers may yearn for more information about the conclusion to Bartimaeus' story. The intention is clear, however, and the story concludes in his life of discipleship. We may yearn for more details, but Mark leaves us with his name, which is not to be lost nor underestimated.
When preachers come upon these gospel narratives, the tendency is often to invite the readers to find their place in the story. Here we could easily place the church there in the crowd annoyed by the expressed need of the world around us. Preachers may choose to invite the church to sit next to the blind man, where even our frail cries for help are heard by the Savior. Those cries go out despite our less developed understanding of the fullness of Christ: "Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on us!" Or maybe this Sunday, the church can be invited to sit with Mark between the disciples' ongoing struggle to understand fully the teaching of Jesus and the heartbreaking experience of watching his walk to the cross. Here in Mark, Bartimaeus receives his sight between the feeble nature of the disciples' witness and the certainty of the Lord's passion. Somewhere between the mind and the heart, the church confronts that suffering of Jesus. And there along that way, that journey of discipleship and worship, the church is privileged to bear witness to the grace and hospitality of God's healing love.
Often preachers are called to be about the task of "naming grace." That is the title of a book by Mary Catherine Hilkert that defines the preacher's need for a "sacramental imagination." Such vision looks into the ordinary places of our lives and attempts to point to and name the very grace of God. This story in Mark reminds us of the different side of "naming grace." The transforming mercy of God bestowed upon us is grace that grants us identity as the children of God. It is God's grace that names.
Alternative Applications
Job 42:1-6, 10-17. There is something about the story of Job that resonates deep within. Far beyond some urge for the happy ending, there is something that strikes very close to what it means to be created. There is something so true about those friends. Earlier in the book, all of the bad things that happen to Job are recounted in a mere 17 verses, and then he and those friends spend 35 chapters talking about it.
Maybe that which rings the truest, maybe the experience that echoes our humanity, isn't the demand for easy answers and endings that define "happily ever after." Maybe the truth comes when you experience the presence of God and you know your view of the human predicament will never be the same again. The truth can come when you find yourself on your knees turning back to the one who created you, and you affirm once again that the promised life-giving, grace-filled presence of God in your life doesn't necessarily come with easy answers and fairy-tale endings.
Maybe that restoration of Job does sound like the stuff of fairy tales. But when it comes to this encounter between God and Job and our faith, the end doesn't come with Job. The end comes with "for God so loved the world," or "When the time had fully come, God sent forth the Son," or "He was wounded for our transgressions, crushed for our inequities," or "On the third day he rose again," or "Lo, I am with you always, until the end of the age."
Now that sounds like an ending... or could it be the beginning?
Hebrews 7:23-28. Most often I would imagine that the faithful remember the promise that comes in the power of the Holy Spirit and that the Spirit intercedes for us with sighs much deeper than words (Romans 8). Notice here in Hebrews that intercession for us comes in and through the priestly identity of Jesus Christ. The eternal reign of Christ reflected in our understanding of the ascension bears witness to his lordship over us and creation. The preacher in Hebrews casts that heavenly dominion in the form of a promise. From there on the throne of God, Christ shall at all times and forever make intercession to God on our behalf.
