27 Oct SUNDAY, OCTOBER 27,2024
I read all of today’s readings right before my overnight shift at the hospital began. The verses seemed rather appropriate since there were references to the Lord saving people (everyone comes to a hospital to be saved, right?) and of gathering all sorts: such as those from a distance like Adams and Franklin Counties, Hanover and Hagerstown.
Included with those the Lord will gather are people who cannot see or walk, those with child, and those in labor. Yes, on any given day in any large region or hospital, the Lord will gather many from all directions, even some from so far away as would take hours to travel by foot, by camel, chariot, other land vehicle or helicopter.
Jeremiah wrote, “A great company shall come weeping and be consoled as they are led along a straight path by brooks of water. And they won’t stumble for the LORD said, ‘I have become a father to Ephraim, [which another name for Israel.]’ Sing aloud with gladness for Jacob, and raise shouts for the chief of the nations; proclaim, give praise, and say, ‘Save, O LORD, your people, the remnant of Israel [people claimed by us and by you as loved ones.]”
As the psalmist wrote, “Restore our good fortune so we may have dreams once again like when our mouths were filled with laughter, our tongues with shouts of joy so that we, too, may say, “The LORD has done great things and we are glad indeed. Let those who sow with tears reap with songs of joy, shouldering their sheaves.” My mom and grandmother who were raised Baptist used to sing the old hymn, “Bringing in the sheaves, bringing in the sheaves; We shall come rejoicing, bringing in the sheaves.”
Upon leaving the on-call room to make evening rounds throughout the surgical and ICU family waiting areas, I came upon the hospital’s version of a large crowd, that is, groups of six or more family members bearing concern. They line up in chairs pushed up against the walls, lie down across them and well-placed ottomans, surrounded by purses, parcels, beverages and food.
They are people of various ages and ethnicities. Many are busy talking to other people and they appear to be in transition, changing shifts, as it were, taking their turn at showing up and being present amid a time of tragedy and unpredictable challenge. I introduce myself to some without interruption, others I plan to revisit within the hour.
Meanwhile, a blind beggar whose name is Bartimeus, which in fact means, son of Timeus, sits by the roadside. When he heard that Jesus of Nazareth and his disciples were leaving Jericho, he began to shout out and say, “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!”
You see, Jesus was not named according to Hebrew tradition, bearing the name of his human father, which would have resulted in him being called Barjoseph. He was Jesus, Son of David, or Bardavid, a messianic title that would refer to genetic lineage through David since Mary was a descendant of David’s son Nathan and even his adoptive father, Joseph, was a descendant of David’s son Solomon.
So, Bartimeus was the first person outside of Jesus’ disciples to recognize Jesus, Son of David, as the Messiah. In this way, Bartimeus plays a classic character who is chosen to represent an obvious example. God says, “Look, you guys. Here’s a perfect stranger, a literal blind man, who is able to recognize Jesus for who he is. Without the benefit of sight, he sees what those closest to Jesus, his family, some disciples and others do not.”
An hour later, the solitary individual in the surgical waiting room, a man’s wife, was done talking on the phone. Her husband’s unexpected surgery went well. He’s going to be fine. She’ll get to see him soon. Other family members in the ICU waiting room appeared equally appropriate, tired and anxious.
Though offered contact with a chaplain during previous shifts, they had declined to accept such service. But as the hour grew late, perhaps the offer of a pillow or blanket seemed less threatening than prayer or could possibly lead to it.
For in some ways, they were like the blind beggar sitting by the roadside. They were nearing exhaustion of personal resources, down on their luck, nearly desperate by circumstance. So perhaps they would seize a rare opportunity for specific mercies to be shown.
In the case of a young man who fell from a great height, his wife, in-laws and parents had already been praying and preaching to other families that God could be trusted. One son of a man who’d suffered a stroke after running out of his blood pressure medication agreed to prayer while another son of the gentleman who was my age, unconscious, on a ventilator with a poor prognosis, translated my words from English to Spanish.
Another daughter in another room along with her children, granddaughters, grand and great grandsons all began to cry as we commended their dear matriarch who was only in her seventies to the God of her belief. While many sternly ordered them to be quiet, they cried out even more loudly, “Son of David, have mercy on me!”
Jesus stood still and said, “Call him here.” And they called the blind man, saying to him, “Take heart; get up, he is calling you.” Reading the phrase, “Take heart; get up, he is calling you,” is helping to transform how I feel about waking up to the loud alert sound of a beeper in the middle of a volunteer overnight on-call shift.
Instead of hoping that my services won’t actually be required because no family is present or because the patient is otherwise engaged, perhaps I, like Bartimeus, might throw off my coverings, spring up and whole-heartedly come to Jesus. Precisely because we, you, I and Bartimaues can know that when we are summoned by God to physically appear and spiritually come forth that in that moment, we come before the very one upon whom we’ve sought compassion and/or pleaded for mercy.
In that very moment God, like the best of all chaplains, God will ask exactly what it is we hope for, what we wish for more than anything, for God himself, to do. And in asking for exactly what we want Jesus to do for us, our faith becomes adequate to the circumstance being made well.
Other verses to the old Baptist hymn read, “Sowing in the sunshine, sowing in the shadows, Fearing neither clouds nor winter’s chilling breeze; By and by the harvest, and the labor ended, We shall come rejoicing, bringing in the sheaves.”
“Bringing in the sheaves, bringing in the sheaves, We shall come rejoicing, bringing in the sheaves, Bringing in the sheaves, bringing in the sheaves,
We shall come rejoicing, bringing in the sheaves.”
In the hospital and all over the world, most people who gather would eventually recover. Though many, as the hymn says, will “Go forth weeping, sowing for the Master, sustained through a loss that their spirit often grieves.” Jesus, the Bible, and the lyrics of Knowles Shaw from 1874 assure us that, “When our weeping’s over, He will bid us welcome, We shall come rejoicing, bringing in the sheaves.” https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bringing_In_the_Sheaves
If Jesus said to you, “What do you want me to do for you?” How would you reply? One question. One answer. One wish granted. One outspoken prayer. What is your most pressing need? Don’t be embarrassed. Now’s the moment you’ve always dreamed of, the chance you’ve always wanted to tell Jesus, the Son of God, who long ago was predicted to come as the Messiah from the birth lineage of King David, what you want him to do for you.
How would you reply? One question. One answer. One wish granted. One outspoken prayer. I usually ask patients and families to address these things: the things they’re most afraid of, and the things they really hope for. Why? Because these are what Jesus most cares about and what God most wants to help us with.
The thing I struggle with the most is seeing people of faith answer that question honestly and witness the fact that they do not receive healing or are not delivered from death. Though in my heart, my mind and spirit, I know that by becoming human and through death on a cross that Jesus more than symbolically joined himself to the tragedies of human fate, I can only imagine how God grows weary at watching people suffer.
I appreciate that the writer of Hebrew speaks of Jesus as holding the role of high priest forever, of being holy, blameless, undefiled, separated from sinners, all descriptions of perfection, forever making intercession for and saving those who approach God through him as he sits exalted at the right hand of God above in the heavens.
What Jesus offers is no less than himself, his perfect self to those of us who are subject to weakness and death. I am convinced that there’s no lack of mercy or compassion even in death, though I cannot always see or speak to it. I know it’s there. I know that Jesus will not pass by without hearing the cries of those who beg for mercy. Let us pray.
Holy, holy, holy, pure and blameless Christ, we lay before you all for whom we pray. We come before you ourselves knowing all too well or perhaps not knowing well enough what about us or our lives is in need of your healing. Help us ask for your help with bold confidence, identifying you, among all others, as our best chance of becoming whole, happy and forever in God’s presence. In your holy name we pray, Amen.