The Rev. Sara Warfield
Scripture: Mark 10:46-52
Rev. Sara asked Riley at the very last minute to record the sermon, so it was a bit hastily done and is a little rough. The last few seconds of the sermon are cut off in the video, but the full text is below.
Last week, our scripture told us about Jesus saying that he has come to give recovery of sight to the blind, and today we once again have a gospel involving healing blindness. But the big question today is: whose blindness was actually healed? We’ll get to that in a second. First, I want to talk about how we think about blindness.
We have this phrase, “blind as a bat.” It’s true. Bats have tiny little beady eyes that definitely see differently than our eyes. They generally don’t see the same range of color as human eyes generally can. But their eyes are much more sensitive to light. They can literally see in the dark. But along with that, they also “see” the world using echolocation. Meaning they send out sounds that bounce off the objects around them and return to them, telling them what size the object is and how far away it is. They construct the world around them with sound. Whales and dolphins do the same thing in the water. Their eyes are tiny compared to the rest of their bodies, but they can see in ways we couldn’t possibly imagine.
The same goes for humans who are blind. There’s this assumption of pity for them, this desire to heal them, that a lot of them simply don’t understand.
“I do see the world,” they might tell us. “Just not the same way you do.”
Most blind people memorize the layout of their homes, their schools or workplaces, even entire cities, so that they can get around easily. Even the cane they carry or the dog who leads them helps them to “see” the world around them. Some blind folks even use echolocation like bats and whales, sending out little clicks with their tongue and processing the echo they get back to form a “picture” in their mind of where things are in their world.
They do see the world. Just not the same way you do.
And that right there illustrates the most dangerous blindness: the expectation that others see the world the same way we do.
In today’s gospel, Jesus actually overcomes the crowd’s blindness. When Bartimaeus, the blind beggar, shouts out to Jesus, “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!” the crowd sternly ordered him to be quiet. To them, Jesus has more important things to take care of, more important people to minister to, than some blind beggar in a back alley.
In fact, today’s passage is the culmination of many stories of the disciples refusing to see how Jesus sees. In this same chapter, when parents bring their children to see Jesus, the disciples respond the same way as the crowd does to Bartimaeus: Jesus doesn’t have time for this. But Jesus sees things differently: “let the little children come to me.” When Jesus tells the disciples that he must suffer and die, James and John get angry. “That’s not what a savior looks like.” But Jesus sees things differently: “The Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life a ransom for many.”
“I do see the world,” Jesus keeps saying. “Just not the same way you do.”
The most dangerous blindness is not Bartimaeus’ blindness, it’s the crowd’s blindness, the disciples' blindness. The most dangerous blindness is our inability to recognize that we all see the world differently, our inability to welcome and make space for the ways other people see.
Then Jesus said to Bartimaeus, “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.
Our faith calls us to make the same request Bartimaeus makes, and trusting that our faith will open us to seeing that others see differently.
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Our Stewardship Campaign this year is centered around the theme of home. There’s a difference between a house and a home. As I wrote in the stewardship letter, “For me, home is a place where I can fully and freely embody who I am and how I’m feeling.” Reframed around today’s gospel, home is a place where all who live there can recognize that each of us sees the world differently, a place where we make space for all those different ways of seeing, where we welcome all those different ways of seeing.
I know some of us grew up in places that were often more like houses than homes. Maybe it didn’t always feel that way, but often. Where our way of seeing the world was discouraged or where conformity to one way of seeing the world was strictly enforced. And let’s be fair: our parents and caregivers were only teaching what they themselves were taught. This kind of blindness gets passed on from generation to generation.
But that’s where faith comes in. Of all the people in today’s gospel, Bartimaeus is the most faithful, because he asks Jesus to heal his blindness. Despite the pressure around him to stay quiet, to not bother Jesus, he saw his opportunity and shouted out because he wanted to see.
Are you so brave? Am I so brave? Can we even recognize how we don’t make space for the ways other people see? Can we even recognize our own need for healing?
And let’s be clear: part of that healing is recognizing that your own different way of seeing is not only valid, but that it is beautiful.
And this is where I get back to the idea of home. I also wrote in the stewardship letter that so many of you have told me that St. Luke’s feels like home to you. Every time I hear that, my heart bursts—in a good way! When I hear that, I hear, “I feel like my different way of seeing the world is welcome here.”
But home isn’t just about being welcomed. It’s also about welcoming others, making space for the different ways others see the world. Because home isn’t just a place to settle in, it’s also a safe space to practice, to nurture ways of being that we can take out into the world and make it feel a little more, well, homey.
That’s what Jesus does in the gospels. He heals blindness, yes, but not exactly in the way we expect. Time after time, he makes space for other ways of seeing.
So we get to come to St. Luke’s, where not only our different ways of seeing are welcomed, but where we are free to admit to our own blindness and ask for healing, like Bartimaeus did. It’s a place where I am free to admit to my own blindness. I am so grateful for those of you who have come to me and told me that you’re seeing something—an issue, a dynamic, a scripture—differently than I am. You help me to see our community more fully so that I can pastor this community more fully.
Because home is a place, as I said last week, where we get to come as we are, in all our beauty and in all our brokenness. Where we can safely share our gifts and name our challenges.
Today is Gratitude Sunday, and I am grateful for this place and for each of you who bring your own way of seeing to this little corner of the Body of Christ. It’s also a day when we translate that gratitude into investment, into our commitment of time, skills, and money to St. Luke’s.
I’ll be doing the same. I filled out my pledge card online last week. Today, we will collect all of our pledge cards and celebrate our hope for St. Luke’s in 2025 and the great abundance of gifts in this community. We will celebrate the ways that all our different ways of seeing come together to help build the Kingdom of God among us: in our church, in our families, in Gresham, and in the world.
Amen.
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