On the Heels of a Bad Week Isaiah 59: 1-4, 9-19, Psalm 13, Hebrews 5:12-6:1, 9-12 October 26, 2003, Year B, Proper 25 The Rev. William V. Livingston, Rector Church of the Resurrection, Starkville, Mississippi I have a confession to make. This past week has not been one of my better weeks. Yes, I confess that we priests, at times, have those dark nights of the soul described by the 14 century anonymous author of the Cloud of Unknowing, days that our sure and certain faith doesn't seem quite so sure and certain, days that being a greeter a Wal-mart seems more desirable than parish administration. So, I confess that this past week has been one of those weeks for me. I'm not certain why. Perhaps because my work schedule of the last few weeks has exceeded my energy level and steadily increasing the work hours only results in similarly increasing the number of undone tasks on my to do list. Perhaps because my allergies seem to escalate this time of year, and decreased oxygen equates to decreased energy. Perhaps because the days are becoming steadily shorter and my affect appears to be light dependent. Perhaps because we are beginning to look at next year's budget - a stressful time for all priests. Perhaps because this week I couldn't avoid coming face-to-face with the struggles of being the Church: as I have heard complaints from unhappy parishioners frustrated by actions of other parishioners or by failures of our parish to be what you think Church should be, as I have conversed with some who have concluded the best way to speak against recent decisions of the Episcopal Church is to not pledge to Resurrection, or because I have studied the recently issued Statement of the Primates of the Anglican Church and Bishop Gray's response - both of which acknowledge the desire for unity within the Anglican Communion but also note the fractured times in which we live (both of which will be included in the November newsletter). Most likely my soul's struggle evolves from the combination of all of these. So, as I prepared this sermon yesterday, the typical time to prepare a sermon during such weeks, I didn't do what I am often tempted to do when I prepare a sermon at the last minute. I didn't immediately go to the Gospel and build my sermon on that text. No, I read all of our texts and the Collect for this Sunday's lectionary. Sorry Leann, because I was doing this at home and didn't have the pew sheets, I did not look at today's hymns. I began with Isaiah, the poet-prophet expressing Israel's lament during the exile: "Therefore justice is far from us, and righteousness does not reach us; we wait for light, and lo! There is darkness; and for brightness, but we walk in gloom." I guess Isaiah must have had one of those weeks like mine. "For our transgressions before you are many, and our sins testify against us. Our transgressions indeed are with us, and we know our iniquities: transgressing, and denying the Lord, and turning away from following our God, talking oppression and revolt, conceiving lying words and uttering them from the heart." I had never realized before that Isaiah lived among Episcopalians. Next, I read the Psalm. Not beating around the bush it opens with, "How long, O Lord? will you forget me for ever? how long will you hide your face from me?" It sounds as if the Psalmist had the same week as Isaiah and I. Hebrews begins, "For though by this time you ought to be teachers, you need someone to teach you again the basic elements of the oracles of God." Well, not only Isaiah but also the author of Hebrews apparently knew some Episcopalians. We who should be exemplars of reconciliation stand poised ready to shatter, to break, one more time, the Body of Christ. We who should be the exemplars of God's love in the world have resorted to name calling of those with whom we disagree, telling those who are hurting to pack their bags and be gone, making death threats against the one we consider the cause of our disequilibrium. We who should be the exemplars of community reject those with idiosyncracies we find bothersome and gossip about those to whom we should be extending the love of Christ. Are we sure that the author of Hebrews just didn't sit down and write this letter this past week. (About now, I imagine you're thinking to yourselves: "I hope Bill never has another bad week.") But the Hebrews author doesn't leave us totally out there but also says to us, ". . . we are confident of better things in you case, things that belong to salvation." God is faithful. God always for the good in us. Return with me very briefly to Isaiah. He paints a vivid picture of a depraved society that has turned away from God, a whole community that is contaminated by sin and injustice. There is nothing in the words of the prophet's that would not apply to our times and our society also. And it brings chills down the spine. Listen to the words: "We grope like the blind along a wall, groping like those who have no eyes; we stumble at noon as in the twilight, among the vigorous as though we are dead." With this image of blindness turn with me to the story in Mark and see the condition of the blind Bartimaeus. Unlike the spiritually blind society described by Isaiah, this one physically blind man reacts as though he has been waiting for the coming Jesus. He can't run because he cannot see. He cannot even walk, because the crowd is so thick; he might get trampled over. Knowing Jesus may not pass that way again, he knows it is now or never. From where he sits he shouts from the heart of his soul, "Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me." And, once again, in the Gospel, the Story that you and I are entrusted with the responsibility of telling, we hear the Good News! Jesus, now in Jericho only a few miles from Jerusalem, where a brutal death awaits him, approaches. He is accompanied by the curious and by those who place a higher priority on seats of honor next to him than in clearly understanding who he is. This son of Timaeus, whom they know all too well, this blind man sees what they do not or cannot. His yelling offends them, perhaps his loudness, perhaps his use of the title Son of David, perhaps because of other things they know about Bartameus. Whatever, the reason, they order him to be quiet which only makes Bartimaeus even more determined. In that dusty road, with all the noise of people and animals and the Middle Eastern passions, he shouts even louder the words of faith echoed through the centuries: Lord, have mercy. As he always does when we cry out in despair, Jesus stands still and says, "Call him here." The kind hearted in the crowd do what the Church has supposed to have done since its inception. They open up a path and encourage the blind man. "Take heart, get up, he is calling you." What comforting words. Take heart, the Lord has heard your cry. Take heart, your prayer has reached the ears of the Lord. Take heart, you are no longer alone, you are not a despised person begging by the roadside. Your request has been heard and you are being summoned to the throne of grace. Allowing nothing to restrict him, Bartimaeus casts off his cloak as he sprints to Jesus. And when asked, "What do you want me to do for you?" he responds, "My teacher, let me see again." There's no mud, no spittle, no need for any of this. No, only, "Go; your faith has made you well." My attention moved to today's collect: "Almighty and everlasting God, increase in us the gifts of faith, hope and charity; and, that we may obtain what you promise, make us love what you command; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever." A tall order, almost unrealistic. That is until we, along with Bartimaeus, recognize only the one who knows his or her blindness understands that this may be the last chance and in despair cries out, "Jesus, Son of David have mercy on me." That is until we quit worrying about the voice that offends us and are prepared to say to the one crying out, "Take heart; get up, he is calling you." Until we have cast off our cloak of whatever restricts us: be it possessions, resentment, or just plain pride. Until those of us who hurt, whether because of the messiness in our personal lives, the messiness in our world, or the messiness in our Church hear the words, "Go, your faith has made you well." Let us also turn to the God of all lights and receive the sight that makes us see the Son of God in all his compassion and his mercy. And let us follow on the way, never falling by the wayside. Because, as this story assures us, in the midst of the great crowd, each one of us, however small, poor, despised, and regardless of how dismal our week may have seemed, each one of us matters to Jesus. Thanks be to God.