There was a question that I sometimes would be asked, and too many times, it really bugged me.  It’s a simple question, and I’m using it as my sermon title.  “What do you want?”  That sounds easy enough.

I guess it started when I was in high school.  Maybe some of you can relate to this.  Some of my classmates would say, “I’ll go to college (some would have a particular one that they were dead set on), and I will major in whatever.  That will set me up for this-or-that career—or I’ll have a certain job waiting—and this is how my life will go.”  It was all mapped out.

Ben Stiller in deep thought as Derek Zoolander

Please don’t misunderstand me.  I’m not opposed to setting goals!  I’m not opposed to actually planning things!  But with the way they were describing it, it felt like they were removing all the mystery from life.  They were removing the fun.  Sometimes I would wonder, “What’s wrong with me?  Why don’t I feel the need to chart everything so meticulously?”

When I got to college, I had a certain roommate for two years.  He was a really cool guy.  His major was Accounting, and he absolutely hated it.  Going outdoors—working outdoors—was what he really loved.  Like so many other people, his theory was that you go to college to get a job.  (That’s how you answer the question, “But what can you do with such-and-such a major?”  That one especially gets posed to liberal arts majors.)

I was way on the other side of the spectrum.  For me, college was about exploring, learning about new things.

I was baptized when I was 21.  By then, I had already graduated with my Bachelor’s degree in Political Science.  I had lost interest in the directions that would take me, at least as a career.  As I became involved with the church, that question resurfaced: What do you want?  And like before, sometimes it really bugged me.

My first meaningful experience with church was the Assemblies of God.  I’m grateful for it.  For someone like me, who lived too much in his head, I needed that really heartfelt experience of the faith.

At the same time, when there is so much emphasis placed on following the leading of the Holy Spirit (which can be a frustratingly vague proposition), sometimes other things get overlooked.  That could include stuff like familiarity with the scriptures, the advice of wise people in the church, and the desires and interests God puts within us.  (Although I suppose all of that goes along with the leading of the Spirit!)

I went to the Assemblies of God Bible college in Florida.  After graduation, I was back to that question.  What do you want?  I rephrased it as, “What should I do?”  I wanted God to give me an absolutely clear direction.  This was a matter of much prayer.  In a way, I wanted God to remove the mystery and fun that I mentioned earlier in connection with my classmates.

So, while waiting for the lightning bolt of inspiration, I went back to the job I had during my breaks from college: McDonald’s.  I worked there for quite a while until I finally decided to go to seminary.  But on more than one occasion, when I couldn’t answer the question “What do you want?” I felt like there must be something wrong with me.  And bringing in the perspective of faith, maybe I was ignoring the Holy Spirit!

Speaking of the perspective of faith, that brings us to our story in Mark’s gospel: the healing of blind Bartimaeus.  (And I will get back to the question, “What do you want.”)

First of all, in case you’ve never noticed this, Mark is the gospel writer who is the least likely to go into great detail.  He just races along.  Mark uses the Greek word for “immediately” (ευθυς, euthus) more than Matthew, Luke, and John put together.  And his gospel is the shortest.

So if you’re binging on caffeine, or sucking down a Red Bull, this might be the gospel to read!

Look at the way our story begins in verse 46.  Mark tells us that Jesus and his disciples come to Jericho.  We have no idea what they do there.  The next thing we hear—they’re already leaving town, and they do so with “a large crowd.”  That’s when they encounter “a blind beggar [who’s] sitting by the roadside.”

We’re told that his name is “Bartimaeus son of Timaeus.”  That’s actually a repetition.  In Aramaic (which was the language they spoke), the word for “son” is “bar.”  So it’s “son of Timaeus, son of Timaeus.”  There is some confusion.  It looks like he’s anonymous; maybe that’s one way of saying he’s a nobody.  As a blind beggar, it’s no doubt the way he’s been treated.

And yet, we often see these reversals in the Bible.  Scripture is filled with subversive, counter-cultural ideas.  The word “Timaeus” (τιμαιος) means “honorable” or “esteemed one.”  The name Timaeus refers to a “worthy one.”  You know, this blind beggar might be somebody after all!

Whatever the case, he doesn’t let the crowd keep him quiet once he hears that Jesus of Nazareth is on the way.  Maybe he senses that Jesus is a kindred spirit.  Nazareth is not exactly the most cosmopolitan of places.  There were plenty of people who thought of Jesus as a nobody!

Bartimaeus doesn’t care.  In fact, he is calling out to him, loudly shouting, “Son of David!”  We’re told that some people “sternly ordered him to be quiet” (v. 48).  Sternly ordered—rebuked—the recipient of expletives.  I imagine the language hurled at this blind beggar, this nobody, is as crude as it is colorful.

Actually, shouting out “Son of David” would get you noticed.  “Son of David” is a messianic title.  It hearkens back to King David’s dynasty.  At the time, the messiah was expected to lead the Jewish nation to independence.  That would mean going against the Romans.  So Bartimaeus, stop shouting this dangerous stuff!  We really don’t need that kind of attention.

Eventually, Jesus appears before Bartimaeus, and he asks the question, “What do you want me to do for you?” (v. 51).  What do you want?  It would seem to be obvious.  He’s blind!

“Jesus healing blind Bartimaeus” by Johann Heinrich Stöver, 1861.

As Debie Thomas says, “But Jesus asks, anyway.  He doesn’t presume.  He doesn’t reduce Bartimaeus to his blindness.  Instead, he honors the fullness and complexity of a real human being who likely has many desires, many longings, and many needs.  In asking the question, Jesus invites Bartimaeus into the honest self-reflection essential to growth and healing.”[1]

Earlier in the chapter, Jesus poses the same question to James and John.  They are looking for positions of power and prestige, sitting “one at your right hand and one at your left, in your glory” (v. 37).  Bartimaeus has a very different answer.  “My teacher, let me see again” (v. 51).  Let me see.

I have a question.  What does it mean to see?  Aside from the obvious physical definition of seeing, what does it mean?

Certainly, we can think of seeing as understanding, of coming to a realization.  It’s that moment when the light comes on.

At a deeper level, prophets have sometimes been called “seers.”  That’s a challenge for all of us—to see beyond the outer appearances into the depths where the true nature of things is hidden with Christ in God.

Do we ever, as I mentioned before, think there’s something wrong with us if we don’t know what we want?  And again, getting more specific, do we ever blame ourselves if we can’t see—if we can’t understand something?  “Why didn’t I see that?”  If so, we should remind ourselves of something.

The crowd considered Bartimaeus unworthy.  What good is a blind beggar?  But Mark makes a point of naming him, even if there is, as I said, some confusion about it.  (Matthew and Luke in their gospels leave him nameless.)  Mark takes the extra step of granting him that dignity.  His name itself says that he is “worthy”; he is “valuable.”

Still, that worthiness, that value, is not something Bartimaeus worked for.  It was given to him.  The same is true with us.  The truest and deepest worthiness is not something we work for.  I say that, because that type of honor can be taken away.  We can mess up; we can fail to see something, and there it goes!  Rather, the truest and only real measure is the worthiness and esteem we receive from God.

Jesus recognizes Bartimaeus’ need, but he doesn’t presume.  He doesn’t patronize him.  He asks him the question.  “What do you want me to do for you?”  Jesus enters into relationship with this son of Timaeus.  Far from saying, like some in the crowd, “Shut up, you dirty beggar,” he shows interest in him.

What do you want?

Ultimately, I would think, the answer is to be loved.  And it doesn’t matter if we are one of the beautiful people or if we have screwed up badly and made a wreck of our lives.  Really, that’s part of the human condition.  We make mistakes; we sin.  So often, we stumble in the darkness.  Maybe even today, some of us are experiencing our own kind of darkness.  We are blind beggars.

Again, we hear the question, “What do you want?”  We want—we need—the love of God.  The love of God is an intensity that we cannot imagine or conceive, blind beggars that we are.  But that is grace.  That is the gospel.  That is the good news.

Now here’s something that qualifies as a post script!

This, of course, is Reformation Sunday.  Reformation Day falls on the 31st.  It marks the day in 1517 when Martin Luther posted what amounted to an editorial, a letter to the editor, on the church door in Wittenberg, Germany.

Years earlier, when he was a young man, there was an event that flows from my thoughts on, “What Do You Want?” and my expressed hope that the Lord would strike me with a lightning bolt of inspiration!

Martin had been studying law for a few weeks, and he went to visit his parents.  As the story goes, on the way back, he was surprised by a heavy thunderstorm.  Caught in an open field, he sought shelter under a tree.  A sudden lightning strike caused him to throw himself down onto the earth.  In mortal fear he prayed and vowed, “I will become a monk!”

He had toyed with the idea of being a monk for some time.  Did the lightning bolt help him decide “what do I want?”

Eventually, he left the monastery.  He proposed reforms to the Roman Catholic church which were rejected.  He never envisioned a church that would be named after him.  The forces he set in motion could be blamed on that thunderstorm!  The lightning bolt answered the question for him: “What do you want?”

May it not take a lightning bolt, but the fire (and the silence) of the Spirit to lead us down that path.

[1] www.journeywithjesus.net/essays/1988-let-me-see-again

I need to admit something.  There was a time when I would have never dreamed that I’d be doing what I’m doing now.  And I’m not talking about being a pastor, which I believe I mentioned once.  I mean what I’m doing right now this instant, that is, speaking in public.

I was one of those poor souls who would put “public speaking” near the top of the list of things I dreaded doing.  I had to force myself to take a public speaking class in high school.

When I became a Christian and started going to church—I was 21 when I was baptized—my pastor saw something in me and asked if I wanted to preach a sermon.  (This was a church with Wednesday night services, so that would be my time slot!)  I think I said “yes” because, as much as for any other reason, I didn’t want to disappoint him.

The first time I preached, I’m sure I was visibly terrified.  I forgot to breathe.  My chest tightened up.  I found myself trying to race through the words.  (Oh Lord, please let this end.)  My vocal inflection was terrible, that is, unless you’re a fan of anxious monotone!  However, over time, I gradually got better.

There was one particular night when I was scheduled to preach.  I was completely calm, perfectly at ease.  Then while he was introducing me, the pastor, reflecting on past bouts of nerves said, “Well, I wouldn’t want to be him right now!”  He thought he was lightening the mood, trying to be helpful.  It didn’t work.  He inadvertently spoke worry and negativity into my brain.  I was back to being visibly terrified!  By the grace of God, I’ve made steps in conquering my fear of public speaking.

I begin with this reminiscence to demonstrate my tiny experience of gaining a little bit of courage.

Courage is something that is woven into the Easter narratives, in all four of the gospels.  We hear the message, “Do not fear.”  We hear the encouragement.  Even before we get to Easter, on Maundy Thursday, the gospel of John reports one of the last things Jesus says to the disciples: “take courage; I have conquered the world!” (16:33).  In other places, the Greek word (θαρσεω, tharseō) is translated as “take heart.”

That makes sense.  Our English word “courage,” coming by way of French and before that, Latin, literally means “heart.”  It’s related to the word “cardiac.”  If you’ve got courage, you’ve got heart!

In today’s gospel lesson from Matthew 28, both the angel and Jesus say to Mary Magdalene and the other Mary (there were several Marys), “Do not be afraid” (vv. 5, 10).  Do not fear.  Do not lose heart.  The gospel writers list various permutations of women at the tomb of Jesus, but the one constant is Mary Magdalene.  She’s given special attention.  She is courageous in a way none of the male disciples ever are.

We see that she is sent—in John’s gospel, she’s the only one sent—to tell the other disciples that Jesus has been raised from the grave.  For that reason, she is called “apostle to the apostles.”  An “apostle” (αποστολος, apostolos) is “one who is sent.”  She’s a messenger to the messengers.

Ron Hansen reminds us that women “were not admissible as legal witnesses according to Jewish law.”[1]  The overall disbelief of the men regarding Mary Magdalene’s claims is to be expected.  It shouldn’t be a surprise that they seriously doubt what she’s saying, especially when it’s something so outrageous.

At the same time, Jesus did tell them that he would come back from the dead (v. 6, 26:32).  Still, what can you do with that—something so inconceivable?  And then there are those who say Jesus’ claims about resurrection were tacked on later, as an addition to Matthew’s gospel.

Having said all of that, sometimes we don’t take the disciples’ state of mind very seriously.  We already know the end of the story.  That’s what we’re celebrating today.  Death has been defeated.  It is the death of death.  Christ being raised means he can no longer die.  He is the pioneer of resurrection.  We who are in Christ share in the resurrection.  We will die and emerge with life eternal.

image of St. Mary Magdalene is by Karmie Varya at http://stmarymagdalenes.org/stmarymags-karmievarya.jpg

As I say, the disciples don’t know that yet.  Look at verse 1: “After the sabbath, as the first day of the week was dawning, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary went to see the tomb.”  There’s not much said about the sabbath after Maundy Thursday and Good Friday.  The sabbath is a time to rest.  However, I don’t think the disciples find much rest on that sabbath.

We now call that sabbath Holy Saturday.  The disciples are in a state of grief.  They have been bereaved.  They have been traumatized.

Shelly Rambo, who is a professor at Boston University School of Theology, has done work on the subject of trauma.  She has worked with military chaplains; they have firsthand knowledge.  For our purposes here, she’s looked at trauma from a theological point of view.  Thinking about my comment on our knowing the end of the story, she says in our rush to get to Easter (to get to the party!), we tend to not pause and reflect on Holy Saturday.  It’s so important to not fly past it.  And here I am saying it, when it was yesterday!  But that’s the beauty of the liturgical calendar.  We re-live the life and story of Jesus every year.

Rambo says that traumas don’t necessarily end.  “Traumas are moving—and we could say bleeding—into other traumas.”[2]

She talks about church folks, saying “in the case of many people who are living beyond traumas, the resurrection [is] often heard as a rush to get over it, to recover, or as pressure to live into resurrection when in fact the reality of their trauma [is] still very present.”  It is possible for there to be an element of insensitivity when we automatically expect everyone to join the festivity.

So back to the disciples.  Remember, they don’t know what’s going to happen.

Our friend Shelly continues, “That made me think about how hard it is to witness suffering, how hard it is in the chaos in which you don’t know whether life’s going to emerge for someone.  So in a sense, the preacher or the Christian leader becomes the Mary and the beloved disciple and the Thomas who don’t have a clear sign of life.”

At first, the disciples don’t recognize Jesus.  In John’s gospel, Mary Magdalene mistakes him for the gardener.  Then, in the depths of their sorrow, they realize that it really is him.  Jesus is alive!  Notice how Matthew describes the two women.  “So they left the tomb quickly with fear and great joy, and ran to tell his disciples” (v. 8).

“With fear and great joy.”  Maybe one way to look at that would be as the transition of Holy Saturday to Easter Sunday.

(Maybe we get a small taste of fear and great joy by riding a roller coaster!)

I started with my story of moving from almost panic and paralysis to a much greater sense of comfort when speaking in public—one little victory of courage.  How about more meaningful cases of courage?

How about among you?  Can you think of a situation in which you found courage, you were encouraged, when it looked like death had won?  When it looked like all hope was lost?  Then, somehow, new life emerged?  A light began to shine in the darkness?  Did you discover newfound powers?  And to continue with the borrowed image: have you ever been in a state of “fear and great joy”?

Last week, I used Philippians 2:5-11 as my Palm Sunday text.  It speaks of Jesus emptying himself: his refusal to grasp on to power, his willingness to travel the human path, even to the point of being a slave, to the point of being homeless, even to the point of dying, and even suffering the disgrace of dying on a cross.

The constantly self-emptying, loving community that is the Holy Trinity permeates throughout all of creation, throughout all the cosmos.  Because of that, nothing is ever truly lost.  No act of self-emptying, however small, is ever wasted.  And ultimately, at the end of the day, nothing that dies truly remains dead.  On this weekend, we remember the reality of death (for now), but we celebrate the inexpressible joy that comes with rebirth and resurrection.

I won’t speak for anyone else, but we non-courageous types need that message and the hope of life it carries.

“Jesus said to them, ‘Do not be afraid; go and tell my brothers to go to Galilee; there they will see me’” (v. 10).  Jesus said, “take courage; I have conquered the world!”

[1] www.journeywithjesus.net/Essays/20140414JJ.shtml

[2] www.faithandleadership.com/qa/shelly-rambo-the-space-between-death-and-resurrection