30th Sunday in Ordinary Time - B 2024

Occasionally, a story in Scripture captures the essence of the human story—where we’ve come from, where we are, and where we’re meant to go.  Today’s Gospel passage offers just such a story in the encounter between Jesus and Bartimaeus.

Jesus is leaving Jericho, embarking on His final journey to Jerusalem.  By the roadside sits Bartimaeus, a blind beggar.  Hearing that Jesus is near, he cries out, “Jesus, Son of David, have pity on me!”  But his cries are met with admonitions and rebukes.  The crowd tells him to stay quiet.

Notice a few key details here.  First, Jesus is leaving Jericho, a city lying more than 800 feet below sea level—the lowest point in Israel.  In Scripture, Jericho often symbolizes distance from God, a place removed from the heights where God dwells.  Bartimaeus is described as the son of Timaeus, which means “honor” in Greek.  The son of “honor” has fallen to a desperate state, living as a blind and lowly beggar in a place symbolic of separation and distance from God.

Doesn’t this capture an essential part of the human story?  Created in love by God, we were made to live in harmony with Him.  Humanity lived in a place of honor.  But through Adam and Eve’s disobedience, humanity fell, losing the honor of closeness with God and becoming blinded to His love.  Instead of dwelling in paradise, humanity found itself in a state of poverty and darkness.  We lost sight of God and blindly reached out to false gods for fulfillment, repeating the cycle of separation.  We had grown comfortable and content with our miserable state which hardened our hearts and blinded us to the beauty to which God invites us.  Yet through it all, God continued to call us back to Himself.

Returning to Bartimaeus, we see that Jesus calls him despite the voices trying to silence him.  Bartimaeus boldly throws aside his cloak, springs up, and moves toward Jesus.  Think about his courage: as a blind beggar, the cloak may have been his only possession, possibly even his bedding or his means of gathering alms.  Casting it aside was a bold move, especially since in his blindness he might have difficulty retrieving it.  Yet he rushes to Jesus with nothing to hold him back, trusting that an encounter with Jesus will bring healing.  Jesus indeed heals Bartimaeus.

Isn’t this symbolic of the healing Jesus offers to humanity?  As the New Adam, Jesus undoes the work of the old Adam.  Where Adam was disobedient, Jesus remains obedient—even unto death on a cross.  Through this obedience, salvation is won, and like Bartimaeus, humanity, though fallen from honor, is invited to rise and follow Christ.  Jesus’ call is extended to each of us, blind beggars fallen from a place of honor.  But when we hear Him calling, we face a choice.  We can remain where we are—comfortable perhaps, but stagnant.  Sometimes it’s easier to stay blind to God’s love and accept life as it is, even if it means living in ignorant poverty.  Or we can respond as Bartimaeus did, casting aside whatever holds us back, and moving, perhaps stumbling awkwardly, toward Jesus.

Bartimaeus, having been healed, hears Jesus say, “Go your way; your faith has saved you.”  But instead of returning to his old life, Bartimaeus follows Jesus.  His sight restored, he now truly sees, knowing where he is called to go.  He is called to follow Jesus.  And so it should be for us.  To encounter Jesus is to follow Him—not as a fair-weather friend, but as a disciple willing to stay close through joy and hardship.  Jesus is on His way to Jerusalem to face suffering and death, and yet Bartimaeus goes with Him.  In following Jesus, we will face crosses, but beyond each cross lies the promise of resurrection: a new life, a renewed relationship with God.

The Lord calls each of us just as He called Bartimaeus, even if not to a prominent role.  Bartimaeus wasn’t called to be an apostle, yet he faithfully followed Jesus and was healed.  All of us are called to encounter Jesus and follow Him.  All of us are called to be saints.  We don’t know much more about Bartimaeus, but we can imagine he became a saint.  That’s all that really matters.  Similarly, the Good Shepherd calls each of us by name.  He wants to heal us.  He wants us to follow Him.  We might not be as blind as Bartimaeus, but we often lose sight of what truly matters, mistaking what isn’t worth having or doing for what is.  Our life’s work must be to draw near to Christ, allow Him to heal us, unite our will to His, and follow wherever He leads.