Thirtieth Sunday in Ordinary Time B
I’ve
had nine years of higher education—
which
means I’ve studied under a lot of different professors
and
sat through a lot of different classes.
While
I’ve learned a whole lot,
I
don’t remember too many of those particular lectures.
But
one that stands out rather clearly in my memory
is
specifically about this Sunday’s gospel.
It was
in Sr. Elena Bosetti’s course
on
the synoptic gospels—on Matthew, Mark, and Luke.
And
in examining the story of blind Bartimaeus,
she
highlighted a small but crucial detail:
the
way he throws aside his cloak in order to follow to Jesus.
Bartimaeus
was a blind beggar,
which
means this mantle was his only possession.
It
was his covering to keep warm at night.
It
was a defense against the insults or objects
that
might be hurled at him by passersby.
In
an age before tin cups,
it
was also where he would collect any coins
that
kindhearted strangers tossed his way.
“He threw aside his cloak, sprang up, and came to Jesus.”
Can
you see what a big deal is contained in this small detail?
Bartimaeus
is taking a huge risk
when
he comes to stand before Jesus.
Compare
him to the rich young man of two Sundays ago,
who
walked away from Jesus sad because he had many possessions;
it’s
an enormous gamble for this blind beggar
to
throw aside the only possession he has.
Compare
him to the brothers, James and John, last Sunday,
of
whom Jesus asks the very same question:
“What
do you want me to do for you?”;
while
the sons of Zebedee try to secure future seats of power,
Bartimaeus
jumps to his feet
and
asks for the sight that will allow him to follow—come what may.
And
compare him to what Jesus himself is about to do,
for
just turn the page in Mark’s gospel, and it’s Palm Sunday,
when
many are throwing down their cloaks
as
Jesus enters the gates of Jerusalem;
God’s
about to put everything on the line,
to
take the biggest risk of them all—
which
will also see the biggest pay-off—
in
the Passion, Death, and Resurrection of Christ.
Most
of us think of the Christian religion
as
a refuge of safety and security:
a
sure source of comfort in a troubled world,
of
peace and joy amidst so much sorrow.
No
doubt, that’s why folks react so strongly
whenever
change comes to the Church—
whether
it’s a change in church practice
or
the closing of a church building.
“But
we’ve always gone there!
We’ve
always done it that way!”
Bartimaeus—with
Sr. Elena’s assistance—
has helped me to see that the truth of the matter
has helped me to see that the truth of the matter
is actually
quite the opposite:
being
a disciple of Jesus Christ is inherently risky business.
Now,
I’m not naturally a risk-taker.
As
a little kid, you might have easily mistaken me for Linus,
because
I carried a blue security blanket with me
almost
everywhere I went.
And
while I was a summer camp counselor,
I distinctly
remember saying that I prefer my adventures
to
occur “in a carefully controlled environment.”
Even
the modest investments I’ve made looking ahead to retirement
(assuming,
of course, that I’ll ever be able to retire)
have
all been rather careful, conservative ones.
But
things have changed a bit in the last few years.
You
know that, two years ago, I went out
on
a 10-day, 120-mile hike through the heart of the Adirondacks.
And
this September and last I took part in a 90-mile canoe race.
In
between those events,
I’ve
done quite a bit of camping in the mountains:
in
fact, I’ve slept out-of-doors a least one night for the last 22 months.
My
recent bout of outdoorsy activities
has
necessarily come with more than a few risks
(just
ask my worried mother).
Some
of them I took knowingly; others I ran into by surprise
because
I wasn’t as well-prepared as I thought.
But
I’ve learned from them all.
Stepping
out of my comfort zone,
I’ve
not only seen some amazing sights
and
grown in self-knowledge and self-confidence
by accomplishing things I never thought I could;
by accomplishing things I never thought I could;
it’s
also helped me to become a better Christian
and—I
hope—a better priest:
one who’s more willing to take a risk for Jesus.
One
risk I’ve recently taken as your pastor
is
in founding Frassati House.
You’ve
read a bit about it in the bulletin.
In
an effort to reawaken the faith here at St. André’s—
in
particular, among our young people—
I’ve
invited young adult Catholics
to
come and live as missionaries among us.
It
was risky when I brought this new idea
to
our Bishop and the Pastoral Council for approval—
a
project that’s not just new to Malone or new to the Diocese,
but
which hasn’t really been tried anywhere yet.
It
was risky when we started advertizing Frassati House:
would
anybody respond?
But
inquires starting coming in
within
the first hour we posted an ad online.
About
35 young people,
from
more than a dozen states and 2 foreign countries,
expressed
serious interest in coming to Malone for a year or two
to
live and work as parish missionaries.
Mind
you, most of them had no idea where Malone was
(although
that changed after two inmates escaped in June),
but
what they did know
is that
they love Jesus and they love his Church,
and
they want other people to do the same.
And
after many résumés and interviews,
after
much prayer and discernment,
five
young Catholics—two men and three women—
have
taken the risk to come here and help this new vision take shape.
You’ll
be hearing from some of them this Sunday and next.
What’s
the last risk you took for Jesus?
What
cloak, what security blanket, do you need to throw aside?
Are
you willing to step outside your own comfort zone
and
give yourself to the adventure
of
following the Lord wherever he might lead you?
It
could reasonably be said that the Son of God
came
with one mission: to open our eyes.
Christ’s
mission is to open the eyes of our hearts
to
the truth about God—that God is real,
that
God loves us as our Father,
that
God would do anything for us to know and live in that love,
both now and forever;
both now and forever;
to
open our eyes to the truth about ourselves:
that
we are precious in God’s sight,
that
we are called to holiness in this life and to heaven in the next;
and
to open our eyes to the truth about one another:
that
we have all been made in God’s image and likeness,
that
we all have God-given dignity and a duty to defend it.
The
Lord Jesus keeps opening my eyes:
from
a lecture hall listening to Sr. Elena’s lesson,
to
journeys among the mountains and waterways of the Adirondacks,
to
serving you here at St. André’s as your parish priest.
What
an adventure! It’s been worth every
risk!
Jesus
wants to keep opening your eyes, too.
"Take courage; get up, Jesus is calling you."
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