Abandon your cloak to gain your sight

 

THIRTIETH SUNDAY IN ORDINARY TIME – YEAR B

 

Introduction

Homer saw, but he is depicted as blind. He was the symbol of inspired men, of those who, to penetrate profound truths, hidden from ordinary mortals, must close their eyes to the reality of this world. In ancient Greece, even the wise men, the soothsayers, the rhapsodists were considered blind: they had to abstract from the deceptive appearances, ignore the earthly glare, and grasp the gods’ light and thoughts.

Their passionate search for truth and their commitment to education to wisdom was praiseworthy, but, in front of the great enigmas of the universe and man, they had to surrender; they groped in the dark, they remained blind.

The Peripatetics, wearing the cloak, the symbol of those who cultivated the love for wisdom, discussed the truth while walking around the acropolis of Athens; the academics, the Epicureans and the Stoics reflected on pain, happiness, pleasure, and the meaning of life. In Athens, called by Cicero “the lamp of all Greece,” everyone, like the blind, turned their eyes yearning for the light. But it was not from that city that the light of the world would come.

Tiberius was reigning in Rome when, in the mountains of Galilee, a carpenter from Nazareth began to announce the Good News. It was then that “the people who sit in darkness have seen a great light” (Mt 4:16). For the ancient philosophers, the time had come to lay down their cloaks and lift their gaze: from on high, “because of the tender mercy of our God by which the daybreak from on high will visit us to shine on those who sit in darkness and death’s shadow, to guide our feet into the path of peace” (Lk 1:78-79).

 

• To internalize the message, we will repeat:

“The proposals of the world envelop me in darkness; those of the Gospel are light.”

 

First Reading: Jeremiah 31:7-9

 

In the dictionary, under the entry’ jeremiad,’ we find: long, sad speech. Jeremiah is the prophet famous for his announcements of doom and his constant threats of catastrophe. Yet there was a time in his life when he, too, broke into encouraging predictions and uttered lively oracles. It happened when the pious king Josiah initiated a profound religious reform and undertook the reconquest of Samaria, taken from Israel a hundred years earlier by the Assyrians. Biblical scholars call these oracles, gathered in four chapters the Book of Consolation (cc. 30–33), are a succession of invitations to joy and celebration because the Lord still loves Israel (Jer 31,3.15-20) and is about to make a prodigious intervention in its favor: he will bring back to their homeland the exiles deported to Nineveh.

Today’s reading is taken from this section of the book of Jeremiah. After the invitation to praise the Lord, to honor his name, and to rejoice (v. 7), the prophet already seems to contemplate the group of exiles returning to their land. He observes them and sees the blind, the lame, pregnant women, and women in labor (v. 8)—a genuinely distinct group. No one would feel like betting on the journey’s success; one does not go far with such people, one does not walk fast. Their condition is desperate: they are blind and unable to find their way, lame and unable to move, women weighed down by pregnancy, or afflicted by the pains of childbirth. Only a miracle from the Lord can lead such an ill-assorted group to their destination. Yet, it is precisely the people reduced to this state that attracts the Lord’s gaze and moves him to compassion. He loves every person, but he has special care and attention for those who are in difficulty. It is on those who are like the exiles in Nineveh that he stoops to bring them to life.

Those saved from deportation, called to retrace the path that led them away from their homeland, represent those who, having strayed from the Lord, have become prisoners of vices, bad habits and sin, no longer have the strength to return to God and perhaps do not even wish to do so. If liberation depended only on them, if they had to rely only on their moral strength, they would have every reason to resign themselves to slavery. Even the deportees considered themselves a remnant of failures, but it was from them that God restarted the history of Israel.

In the last part of the passage (v. 9), Jeremiah describes, using the images of the exodus from Egypt, the return of these deportees. They cross the desert without encountering any difficulty; they suffer neither hunger nor thirst, as had happened to their fathers fleeing from the slavery of Pharaoh. The Lord makes them meet rivers of water and traces out a straight and comfortable path on which they cannot stumble.

The consoling words of the prophet are repurposed today to remind us that the story of these exiles is our own. Those who turn away from the Lord experience “weeping” (v. 9), but the path of return, though demanding and challenging, is also strewn with satisfactions that, like so many springs of gushing water in the desert, the Lord strives to make us encounter.

 

Second Reading: Hebrews 5:1-6

 

The Letter to the Hebrews was written for Christians of Jewish origin who had believed in Christ but who continued to feel nostalgic for the Temple in Jerusalem and the solemn ceremonies there. They were tempted to return to the reassuring practices of the ancient religion. The author of the letter—a Christian well versed in the Scriptures and the traditions of the people of Israel—clarifies this difficulty by explaining to his brothers and sisters in faith that Christ is a priest infinitely superior to those of the Old Covenant.

In today’s passage, he recalls, first of all, the characteristics of the priests who offered sacrifices in the temple. They had to be chosen by God; they could not attribute this honor to themselves without being called by the Lord, like Aaron. Then they had to be men, not angels because only those who experience human weakness in their flesh can understand the fragility and sins of their brothers and sisters and know how to be in solidarity with them (vv. 1-4).

Jesus possesses both these characteristics. He did not attribute to himself the glory of being high priest, but it was conferred on him by the Father (vv. 5-6). Then he is fully man: he has experienced pain and temptation and, therefore, can pity our mistakes (vv. 7-10).

This reading has a consoling message not only for Jews nostalgic for their religion but also for some Christians today who perhaps still regret the ancient rites, traditions, the old catechisms so clear and precise, the devotions so reassuring. Today the Church gives them Christ in the Scriptures and the Eucharistic bread, and this twofold food is immensely more tasty and solid than any other food of the past.

 

Gospel: Mark 10:46-52

 

This passage ends the central part of Mark’s Gospel in which Jesus clarified the goal of his journey and set out the moral demands that must be met by those who wish to follow in his footsteps: gratuitous love, without reserve and limits, renunciation of possessions and all ambition, selfless service to his brothers and sisters.

Jesus has already covered a good part of his path: he started from Galilee, went down along the Jordan, and is now in Jericho. There are only 27 kilometers left to reach the destination. He is about to begin the ascent to the holy city, and with him are the disciples and a large crowd (v. 46).

From the historical point of view, a large crowd next to Jesus is likely because the caravans of pilgrims went to Jerusalem in large numbers on the Passover. Still, from the theological point of view, it is surprising. One cannot understand how it is possible that so many people still follow Jesus after he clearly announced the destiny that awaits him, the bitter cup he must drink, the rushing waters of hatred, persecution, and martyrdom in which he must immerse himself (Mk 10:38).

There is only one explanation: those who accompanied him did not understand or did not want to understand the meaning of his words. Even the disciples have not yet freed themselves from the distorted idea of the messiah that they have in their minds. In their hearts, they continue to delude themselves, hoping that the gloomy predictions he made were uttered in a moment of bitterness and discouragement and they are convinced that everything will end in triumph in the end.

Their spiritual condition is like that of the blind; they have eyes impenetrable to any light beam, insensitive to the most intense colors. The Master first rebuked them, to no avail: “Do you not yet understand? Are your hearts hardened? Do you have eyes and not see?” (Mk 8:17-18), then he began to cure their blindness, with difficulty, intervening several times, as he did with the blind man of Bethsaida (Mk 8:22-26). The central part of Mark’s Gospel is all about his attempts.

He is now in Jericho and, before beginning the ascent to Jerusalem, he performs one last sign: he heals another blind man. On the occasion of the Passover, the Jews were particularly generous in the giving of alms: they felt obliged to involve even the less favored in the joy of the feast. For the beggars, the exit of the city of Jericho, where the road begins to climb towards Jerusalem, was the ideal place to stand and beg for help from well-disposed pilgrims.

Among these beggars sitting by the side of the road, there was, at the time of Jesus’ passage with the group of disciples, a blind man, identified by his last name, Bartimaeus. The account of his encounter with Jesus, reported by all three Synoptics, is much more than a page of the news. The intention of the evangelist Mark is also a parable, an allegory of man enlightened by Christ. Bartimaeus is the image of the disciple who finally opens his eyes to the light of the Master and decides to follow him along the way.

Let us consider the stages that led to his healing. The first shot shows him sitting along the way (v. 46). Living is moving, planning, building, cultivating ideas. Bartimaeus, on the other hand, rather than living, survives; he is immobile, repeats the same gestures and the exact words as an automaton, he is accompanied every day in the same environments; he seems resigned to the painful condition that an inauspicious destiny has assigned him. He represents the man who has not yet been enlightened by the Gospel and the light of Easter: he does not walk towards a goal; he gropes, caught up in the perennial and mysterious succession of being born, living, and dying.

He asks for alms (v. 46). He is not self-sufficient; he must beg for everything, even his affections; he depends on others, on things, on events. The first step he takes toward healing is becoming aware of his situation (v. 47). Only those who realize that they are leading a meaningless, unacceptable life decide to look for a way out. Some adapt to their condition, those who become attached to the disease that allows them to live lazily on handouts, those who take pleasure in their state. Bartimaeus does not resign himself to the darkness in which he is immersed.

One day he realizes that something is about to change. He hears about Jesus (vv. 47-48) and understands that he is about to be presented with the opportunity of a lifetime: he can meet the “Son of David,” listen to his healing voice, open his eyes. He overcomes hesitation and fear, embarrassment, and shame. He cries out, asks for help, no longer wanting to remain in his state.

Healing from spiritual blindness also begins with a deep inner restlessness, with the rejection of a life devoid of values and ideals, with an internal dissatisfaction that stimulates one to seek alternative proposals, that makes one attentive to new discourses, to models of life different from those that society and current morality propose.

The encounter with those who follow the Master is the first step towards the light (v. 47). Before reaching Christ, one encounters the disciples, and there are difficulties to overcome. Those who reflect and begin to wonder if what they are doing makes sense soon realize that they are moving against the grain; they immediately feel thwarted in their efforts to meet the light of heaven. Colleagues in bowls, ambiguous business partners, and even friends, perhaps in good faith, put obstacles in the way, invite silence, suggest forgetting the evanescent themes of faith, smile at the torments of the soul, object that these are the concerns of psychologically weak people.

In the face of this opposition, the blind man is not discouraged; he continues to invoke the light, is not ashamed of his condition, does not hide his anguish; he cries out and asks for help from those who can open his eyes. Even those who accompany Jesus can be an obstacle for those who try to approach the light of the Gospel. It seems impossible that those who followed the Master from Galilee, listened to his word, and belonged to the group of disciples could still be spiritually blind (Mk 8:18) and an obstacle to those who want to encounter Christ. Yet it happened in Jericho, where “many scolded Bartimaeus to silence him,” and it continues to happen today.

Verifying whether Christ has indeed enlightened one or whether one only follows him materially is quite simple. This is revealed by the sensitivity one has to the cry of the poor who asks for help. Those who are bothered by it, those who pretend to ignore it or try to silence it, those who are busy with higher, more devout, more sublime projects and do not have time to take care of those who are groping in the dark, those who believe that there is something more important than stopping to listen, to understand, to help those who wish to meet the Lord, these people, even if they impeccably fulfill all religious practices, are still blind.

Jesus hears the cry of Bartimaeus (v. 49) and demands that he be brought before him. His call does not come directly to the blind man; someone is in charge of transmitting it. These mediators represent the authentic followers of Christ, sensitive to the cry of those who seek the light. They are the ones who devote much of their time to listening to the problems of their brothers and sisters in difficulty, who always have words of encouragement, who show the blind the path that leads to the Master.

 

In words addressed to those who have spent a lifetime in the darkness of error, there is no reproach, but only an invitation to joy and hope: “Take courage; get up, he is calling you” (v. 49). We have thus come to the last stage. The blind man leaps to his feet, throws off his cloak, and runs to meet the one who can give him sight (v. 50). These are very unlikely gestures; this is not how a blind man behaves typically. It would be more logical to expect that, placing his cloak on his shoulders and moving with an uncertain step, he would let Jesus accompany him. Instead, he throws everything away, leaps to his feet, and runs quickly.

As it appears, the scene cannot but have a symbolic value and a theological message to communicate. In Israel, the cloak was considered the only possession of the poor man: “This is his only covering; it is his cloak for his body. What will he sleep in?” (Ex 22:26). Like every beggar, Bartimaeus placed it on his lap and used it to collect alms. The gesture of abandoning it, together with the few coins that some benevolent passerby placed there, indicates the complete, decisive, and radical detachment from his lived condition. The life he had led up to that moment no longer interested him.

His gesture recalls the one that the catechumens of Mark’s communities made on the day of their baptism: they threw away their old clothes, they rejected what prevented them from running after the Master. It was the sign of the renunciation of the old life, habits, and behaviors incompatible with the choices of those who Christ has enlightened.

The story concludes with the dialogue between Jesus and the blind man (vv. 51-52). The Master asks every person who seeks the light to make his profession of faith to believe in the one who can open his eyes. The encounter with Christ and with his light places one in a condition that is not easy.

Bartimaeus was sitting before; now he must start walking; before he had a “profession” that, for better or worse, fed him, now he must invent a completely new life; before he had a place to live, he lived among known people and friends, now he must leave for an adventure that is challenging and risky.

Those who approach Christ must not delude themselves that they will have a comfortable and trouble-free life. The experience of Bartimaeus teaches us that the journey that awaits those who have welcomed the light is a very arduous one; it obliges us to review habits, behaviors, friendships and demands that we manage our lives, our time, and our goods in a radically new way.

Whoever wants to be enlightened by Christ must choose between the old cloak and the light.