Thirtieth Sunday in Ordinary Time
Scripture Readings: Jer 31:7-9; Heb 5:1-6; Mk 10:46-52
When Bartimaeus, the blind beggar, heard that Jesus of Nazareth was passing by he cried out “Jesus, Son of David, have pity on me!” But many people harshly rebuked him, telling him to be silent. How strange! In other stories people carried their sick to Jesus for healing. Why do these people rebuke Bartimaeus? What is happening here?
Every event in the life of Jesus is both a love story and a hate story. The lovers are Jesus and his bride, the Church, all those he saves. The haters are Satan and his sentinels, seeking whom they may devour. It is only with the heart that we can uncover the hidden drama of love and hate that is taking place here.
Jesus is passing through Jericho for the last time on his way up to Jerusalem where he will soon be crucified. The heart of Jesus sees a people in peril, and he comes to save them. The heart of Satan sees a Challenger unlike anyone else who has ever been born, and he comes to stop him. Three years earlier, Jesus revealed the loving desires of his heart at a synagogue at Nazareth when he quoted the prophet Isaiah: “The spirit of the Lord has anointed me to preach good news to the poor, release to the captives, recovery of sight to the blind, freedom to the oppressed” (Lk 4:18). In the Hebrew Bible, the Song of Songs describes this love story: Jesus is the Son of God “leaping 
upon the mountains, bounding over the hills, gazing in at the windows, saying, ‘Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away, for now the winter is past, the rain is over and gone. The flowers appear on the earth; the time of singing has come‘” (Song of Songs 2:8-11). But the people of Nazareth did not see Jesus as their Bridegroom. They only saw a carpenter, the son of Joseph, and they took offense at his rebukes. Satan, the Prince of Darkness was also there that day, trembling with such fear and fury in his hatred for Jesus that he wanted to extinguish this great Light, this Dawn from on High. Urged by the Prince of Darkness the people of Nazareth tried to throw Jesus off the cliffs at the edge of their town. So, he left them.
Now, three years have gone by. The Passover is near at hand. Pilgrims by the thousands are making their way to Jerusalem. Blind Bartimaeus sits down on the dusty roadside. He spreads a cloak across his lap to catch the coins that pilgrims toss into it. This lowly beggar is beneath all of those who pass by because blindness and every form of sickness was considered the consequence of personal sinfulness. Even his skin has been burned dark by sitting under the hot sun all day. He is black but beautiful. His eyes are blind, but his heart sees what others are missing, Jesus is the Son of David.
When Jesus passes by someone in the crowd tells Bartimaeus it is Jesus of Nazareth. After three years is that all they see, Jesus of Nazareth, a Galilean passing by? Bartimaeus is blind but he sees more clearly with his heart than those who have eyes. He cries out, “Jesus, Son of David, have pity on me.” In Mark’s Gospel no one had ever called Jesus by that Messianic title. It took a blind man to see Jesus as the promised Son of King David, the Messiah.
This is too much for Satan. His heart is so hardened and blinded with hate that he wants everyone to share his total darkness. The crowd becomes Satan’s voice by rebuking Bartimaeus, telling him to be silent. That’s what’s really happening here. But the bride, Bartimaeus, has heard the voice of the Beloved and cries out all the louder, “Son of David, have pity on me!” Then the Beloved stops and calls him. Oh, bliss! Oh, that we could all hear the Beloved call us, too! At once Bartimaeus throws aside his cloak, leaving everything, letting all the coins snuggling in the folds of his garment scatter where they will. He flung aside this cloak which was his covering against the cold of night and sprang up leaving it behind. How different he is from the very nice, clean, rich young man on the other side of Jericho whose possessions turned him away from Jesus. Bartimaeus, the unclean, leaves his possessions behind to see him whom his heart loves.
Jesus gazed at the blind man and said, “What do you want me to do for you?” “Master, I want to see.” “[Master,] “let me see your face, let me hear your voice, for your voice is sweet and your face is all beautiful” (Song of Songs 2:14). Jesus said to him, “Go your way, your faith has saved you.” “Immediately he received his sight and followed him on the way” (Mk. 10:46). This is a love story. In earlier miracles of healing and salvation Jesus imposed silence on the one who was healed. Not now. Instead, Bartimaeus follows Jesus up from the wilderness of the Judean desert outside Jericho into the Holy City of Jerusalem all the while proclaiming the Son of David. Following his example, the whole crowd begins calling Jesus by that Messianic title: “Hosanna to the Son of David! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord! Hosanna in the highest” (Mt. 21:9).
This is a love story. “Who is this coming up from the wilderness leaning upon the Beloved?” (Song of Songs 8:5). It is the bride, Bartimaeus, who is faint with love. It is only with the heart that we can see the hidden drama of love in this story, and hear him saying, “I am my Beloved, and my Beloved is mine. I am my Beloved and his desire is for me.” But this is also a story of hate. Satan seeks the Bridegroom, not to awaken love but to kill Love. What anguish must have flooded the heart of Bartimaeus when he saw his Beloved crucified a week later, when Satan tried to snuff out the Light of the Beloved with the darkness of death. But the shadow-land of death could not extinguish Light, and death was swallowed up by the Dawn from on High at the resurrection of Jesus. And so, we now know that when we die a good death, we are merely turning off a little lamp at the end of a dark night because the great of dawn of the morning sunrise has come. While we are on earth we are surrounded by darkness. Let us cry out with Bartimaeus in the words of the Canticle of Love, “[Oh], let us see your face, let us hear your voice, for your voice is sweet, and your face is all beautiful. … Draw us after you!” (Song of Songs 2:14). Behold, even today at this Mass, our Beloved hears us and is coming to rest on our tongues, in the kiss of communion. Oh, what happiness is ours today and forever!
Thirtieth Sunday in Ordinary Time
Scripture Readings: Jer 31:7-9; Heb 5:1-6; Mk 10:46-52
Brothers and sisters, as you are aware, the political climate during these last days leading up to the mid-term elections is getting pretty hot. With the Democratic party promising a “blue wave” that will overwhelm and reverse the populist revolution introduced by Donald Trump, and the Republicans predicting the fiasco of Brett Kavannaugh’s confirmation hearings, will actually alienate many Democrats and galvanize Trump’s white working class base—anything can happen on election day—and whatever happens, the consequences are going to be very significant. I have heard commentators reflecting about the possibility of a civil war.
Add to this the clerical sexual-abuse scandal unfolding in the Church, a summer punctuated by increasingly destructive hurricanes, in recent days, pipe-bombs being mailed to politicians in Washington, and our historical moment becomes completely bewildering. How does one formulate a response to the circumstances we’re living through when you can’t really form a picture of the crisis, as to find some intelligible meaning in it. If you are like me, you’re standing sort of frozen-in-place; a bit “blind-sided” by too much news; uncertain how to proceed.
In light of the situation, we find ourselves in, we might reflect on the figure of Bartimaeus in today’s gospel. Bartimaeus can’t see. People and events are swirling around him. He hears voices and the feverish movement of people all around him but he can’t see and because he can’t see where he is going, he’s stopped walking. Hearing that Jesus is passing by, he suddenly begins shouting: “Jesus, have pity on me!” Who is Bartimaeus talking to? Getting his attention at last, he tells Jesus: “I want to see.” He is asking Jesus for a miracle. Who does Bartimaeus think Jesus is?
Who do we think Jesus is? This is a man who once said: “Destroy the temple in Jerusalem, and in three days I will raise it up again”, a saying, John tells us, in which Jesus was actually referring to his own body. Now, think about that. If, for the Jews, the temple was where the very presence of the infinite God dwells, then for Jesus to claim he is the new temple means the very presence and life of the infinite God is in Jesus. It means, Jesus is a Divine Person and is claiming for himself the very authority of God.
Bartimaeus seems to know this about Jesus. He knows who Jesus is. Maybe he knows Jesus better than the disciples or anyone else in that crowd of people walking with Jesus. People who think they can see, think they know where they are going. The people walking with Jesus have acquired a certain familiar attitude toward him, and have come to think of him as their friend, or as we like to say to day: “a companion on the journey”. This familiar attitude isn’t an option for Bartimaeus. He isn’t walking with Jesus. He can’t see. Bartimaeus is standing still beside the road as the crowd passes by. Maybe that crowd of people is us. Maybe we are the crowd who, in the spirit of Vatican II, have come to see Jesus’ in the context of a relationship of “accompaniment”; he and us walking side by side on a journey, and, after a time, have eased into a relationship of familiarity with the Lord.
Today, we are a little more like Bartimaeus. Adversity, brothers and sisters, has a marvelous way of clarifying which one, in this relationship of accompaniment, is God, and which one is not. Unable to make sense of what is happening around us, we feel increasingly unhinged and a little desperate. Maybe that’s not such a bad thing. Think what our prayer would be like, how pure and true our prayer would be if, in the sheer confusion of this historical moment, we simply cried out: “Jesus, have pity on us!” Should we not have every confidence that the Lord Himself will answer us and speaking with divine authority colored by sublime tenderness say: “Beloved, I am here. Do not be afraid. Peace be with you. Now, what is it you would like me to do for you?”
Thirtieth Sunday in Ordinary Time
Scripture Readings: Exodus 22:20–26, 1 Thessalonians 1: 5c–10, Matthew 22: 34–40
“Which commandment of the Law is the greatest?” Our first reading from Exodus lists some of the commandments of the Torah, the Law. There are not just the famous Ten Commandments, The passage in our first reading is from one of three consecutive chapters in the Book of Exodus that follow the account of the Ten Commandments and list seemingly innumerable laws about almost every area of life, public, private, political, and religious. I say seemingly innumerable, because by Jesus’ time everyone knew how many commandments of the Law there were, the greatest of which the scholar of the law as a test is asking Jesus to identify. Everyone, the scholar and Jesus included, knew that there were 613 precepts, commandments, and laws for the Jews. Two-hundred forty-eight were positive commandments—You shall— and three-hundred sixty-five were negative commands—You shall not. Two-hundred forty-eight, because that was the number of bones in the human body, and three-hundred sixty-five because that is the number of days in a year.
To the Jews, the Law was a gift the keeping of which kept you safe and sound, body and soul, through all your life long. Families, the healthiest ones, have their customs and expectations, and monks have their Rule that governs our whole day to make everything, starting with ourselves, sacred and a gift given back to God. For the Jews of Jesus’ time, and today, the precepts of the Law, precisely and meaningfully numbering six-hundred thirteen, where ways to clinch, prove, and rejoice in, through all your actions at every moment of your day, your membership of the people to God. Paul, the Pharisee-turned-apostles, puts it like this: “Whatever you do, do everything for the glory of God” (1 Cor 10:31), with all your bones, through all your days, 24/7. Through the Law you gave yourself back to God as his beloved, his friend, his child. It’s great. So it’s a really tricky question, the one the scholar asked Jesus, “Which commandment of the Law is the greatest?”
This is the third of four questions in a row in Matthew’s Gospel that people ask Jesus to trip him up. We won’t hear the fourth and last one, but the conclusion is, after Jesus answers, “from that day on no one dared to ask him any more questions” (Matt 22:46). It is a shame, because questions, the right ones and asked the right way, can open so many doors to understanding, between people, and between people and God. Mary asked a question, “How can this be?” and look at the outcome of that; and Jesus asked a question, “What are you looking for?” and they asked a question back, ”Rabbi, where do you stay?” and look at the outcome of that (John 1:38). They tested him, “Which commandment of the Law is the greatest?” Well, let’s test ourselves. Can you name the Ten Commandments? Can you name the Works of Mercy? Can you name the gifts of the Holy Spirit and the fruits of the Holy Spirit? How can we know you have them if we can’t give them names? Can you say what is missing from this list of the marks of the Church: One, Catholic, Apostolic? Can you name the twenty mysteries of the Rosary? What is a mortal sin? How do you know you’ve done one? What difference does it make if you know or not? How is your conscience different from your opinions and preferences? How might truth differ from what you feel deep in your heart is right? How many Sacraments are there? Can you name them? Which have you received? What good are they? Do you know why the Eucharist is the 
source and summit of Christian life? What would it look like for you to love God with your whole heart, 24/7? Do you ever think of holiness? Do you know the difference between saying prayers and praying? Can you teach that to your children? Do you know that to love your neighbor as your self has consequences: for business practices, for medical choices, for picking insurance providers, for voting, for where you shop and where you invest your income, for the kinds of social media you use and the films you watch, for who you hang out with and what you do with them? Do you know why saying “I believe” should change the way we think and live? Do you know where true happiness is found?
These are wonderful questions but the truths they intend are more wonderful still. They are the tools and methods daily for giving glory to God, for loving God, our neighbor, and ourselves as the fulfillment of the Law and the Prophets, cool. And if you ask, “But who is my neighbor?” Jesus will ask back, “Which of the three made himself neighbor to the man in distress?” then give a command, “Go, and do likewise.” By the way, the answers can be found in the Catechism of the Catholic Church. The Catechism turns 25th this year. The Catechism, in the words of Saint John Paul II who published it, “is offered to every individual . . . who wants to know what the Catholic Church believes” (Fidei depositum, 3) and what difference believing that makes.
Thirtieth Sunday in Ordinary Time
[Scripture Readings: Jer 31:7-9; Heb 5:1-6; Mk 10:46-52 ]
One day a joyful Charlie Brown sees his friend, the intelligent, well informed little Linus, and says to him, “I feel good. I just got back from the grocery store. Guess what? The owner and his wife both complimented me. They told me I was a very nice boy.” But Linus replies, “In the sixth chapter of St. Luke it is written, 'Woe to you when all men speak well of you.'” Deflated by this rebuke, Charlie Brown leans his head on his hand and sighs, “So much for feeling good about oneself!”
Bartimaeus, the blind beggar, didn't fare any better. When he heard that Jesus of Nazareth was passing by he cries out, “Jesus, Son of David, have pity on me!” But the crowd harshly rebukes him, telling him to be silent. How strange! In other stories people carried their sick to Jesus for healing. Why do these people rebuke Bartimaeus? What is happening here?
Every event in the life of Jesus is both a love story and a hate story. The lovers are Jesus and his followers, all those who are going to become his Bride, the Church. The haters are Satan and all his cohorts, seeking whom they may devour. Let us uncover the hidden drama of love and hate that is taking place in this story.
Jesus is passing through Jericho for the last time on his way up to Jerusalem where he will soon be crucified. The heart of Jesus sees a people in peril, and he comes to save them and make them his Bride. The heart of Satan sees a Challenger unlike anyone else who has ever been born, and Satan comes to stop him. Three years earlier, Jesus revealed the loving desires of his heart in the synagogue at Nazareth, saying, “The spirit of the Lord has anointed me to preach good news to the poor, release to the captives, recovery of sight to the blind, freedom to the oppressed” (Lk 4:18). But the people of Nazareth did not see Jesus as the Anointed one, and far less as their Bridegroom. They only saw their neighbor, a carpenter, the son of Joseph, and they took offense at him because Satan, the Prince of Darkness, was also at Nazareth that day. He was trembling with such fear and fury in his hatred of Jesus that he wanted to extinguish this great Light, this Dawn from on High. Inspired by the Prince of Darkness the people of Nazareth rebuked Jesus and tried to throw him off the cliffs at the edge of their town.
Now, three years later, the Passover is near at hand. Pilgrims by the thousands are making their way to Jerusalem. Blind Bartimaeus is sitting on the dry dusty ground along the roadside. His cloak is spread across his lap to catch the coins that pilgrims might toss into it as alms. This lowly beggar is so enveloped by the dust of those passing by that even his name is symbolic of his condition. Bartimaeus means “Son of the unclean.” Because blindness and every form of sickness was considered the consequence of personal sinfulness. His eyes are blind, but his heart sees what others are missing.
When Jesus passes by, Bartimaeus hears the voice of the Beloved. Someone in the crowd tells him it is Jesus of Nazareth. After three years is that all they see, Jesus of Nazareth, a Galilean, passing by? Bartimaeus is blind but he sees more clearly with his heart than those who have eyes. He cries out, “Jesus, Son of David, have pity on me.” In Mark's Gospel no one had ever called Jesus by that Messianic title before. It took a blind man to see Jesus as the promised Son of King David, the Anointed one, the Savior, whose love is better than wine, whose name is perfumed poured out, the One whom our hearts desire.
This is too much for Satan. His heart is so hardened and blinded with hate that he wants everyone to be caught in his dark kingdom. The crowd, inspired by Satan, begins rebuking Bartimaeus, telling him to be silent. That's what's really happening here, a struggle between Jesus and Satan. But Bartimaeus has heard the voice of the Beloved and he will not be silent, but cries out all the louder, “Son of David, have pity on me!” Then Jesus stops and calls him. At once Bartimaeus springs up, throwing aside his cloak, letting the coins snuggling in the folds of his garment scatter where they will. He flings it all aside. How different he is from the rich young man on the other side of Jericho whose possessions turned him away from Jesus. Bartimaeus, the unclean, leaves his dusty cloak and coins behind and comes to Jesus.
Jesus gazes at the blind man and says, “What do you want me to do for you?” “Master, I want to see.” The bride in the Song of Songs says, “Let me see your face, let me hear your voice, for your voice is sweet and your face is all beautiful” (Song of Songs 2:14). Jesus says to him, “Go your way, your faith has saved you. Immediately he received his sight and followed Jesus on the way” (Mk. 10:46).
This is a love story about a Bridegroom who is going to die for his Bride. In earlier miracles of healing and salvation Jesus imposed silence on those who were healed. Not any longer. Instead, Bartimaeus follows Jesus from Jericho to Jerusalem, all the while proclaiming him, “Son of David.” Following his example, the whole crowd begins calling Jesus by that Messianic title: “Hosanna to the Son of David! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord! Hosanna in the highest” (Mt. 21:9).
This is a love story about Jesus, the Bridegroom, and his followers, the bride. It is only with the heart that we can see the hidden drama of love in this story, and hear the bride saying, “I am my Beloved, and my Beloved is mine. I am my Beloved and his desire is for me.”
But this is also a story about hate. Satan seeks the Bridegroom, not to awaken love but to kill it. What anguish must have flooded the heart of Bartimaeus a week later when he saw his Beloved crucified, when Satan tried to extinguish the Light and Love of the Beloved by the darkness of death and hate. But the shadow-land of death was swallowed up by the “Dawn from on High” at the resurrection of Jesus.
Now we know that when we die a good death, we are merely turning off a little lamp at the end of our earthly night because the great of dawn of the heavenly morning sunrise has come. While on earth we are surrounded by darkness. Let us cry out with Bartimaeus in the words of the Canticle of Love, the Song of Songs, “[Oh, Son of David], let me see your face, let me hear your voice, for your voice is sweet, and your face is all beautiful.” (Song of Songs 2:14).
Behold, even today at this Eucharist, Christ, the Beloved, hears our voice and comes to embrace us. Our bodies will be mingled with his in communion. Oh, what happiness it is to be the Bride of Christ!