Pope Benedict XVI, in the firs chapter of his
“Introduction to Christianity.” Written when he was still a
young priest professor in Bonn, describes the act of faith as
clinging to a cross that hangs over a churning abyss.
The believer holds on to the cross, not necessarily knowing
what keeps it stable, but knowing that it alone is secure as
the entire chaotic world swirls beneath.
While we know from our faith that the presence of God is the
most certain of all realities, and that God, as Vatican
1’s ”Dei Filius” teaches, “can be known with certainty
from the consideration of created things by the natural power
of human reason,” our own experience of reaching out to the
Lord can certainly feel sometimes like the image Pope Benedict
describes. We can feel lost, insignificant, dwarfed, and
pushed about by the currents of a world that we cannot
entirely comprehend, and the presence of God can be difficult
to see.
This is the state in which we find the blind man in our Gospel
this Sunday. Not only can he not see, but he is
impoverished, begging by the side of the road. What’s
more, even his name is eclipsed. He is called
Bartimaeus, but this is simply the Aramaic way of calling him
the “son of Timaeus”. He is covered over even further by
the dismissal of the crowds, who rebuke him when he cries to
Jesus, “Jesus, Son of David, have pity on me!” In this
moment, as the crowds try to quiet him; and push him again
into the background, Bartimaeus has to make a choice. He
must either believe that he is in fact insignificant to Jesus,
not worth his time, and fall silent, or believe that he does
matter to Jesu, and can trust that he will receive what he
needs if he just keeps crying out. He must choose
whether or not he will hope.
Of course, he does choose to hope, to believe that he matters
to the Lord, and for his belief, he receives his sight and, as
we are told, followed him on the way.”
We too have a choice. While we might not normally
consider ourselves to be without hope, and we might not at any
moment find life to be a great drama, suspended from the cross
over the chaotic abyss, still we must choose whether we will
reach out to Christ in our needs or not. The temptation
to give up hope can present itself in many ways. Perhaps we
tell ourselves that real holiness or freedom from habitual sin
is beyond us, and we should be content with what marginal
progress seems reasonable. Perhaps there is an unspoken
suspicion that the Lord has more important things to deal with
than our own little spiritual struggles.
Of course, the truth is that the outcome of our spiritual
lives is something of eternal import, and far more precious to
God than many 0thousands of cosmic eons. The world will
pass away, our souls will not. Christ saw fit to offer
his life for my soul, will he not care for it in exquisite
detail and work miracles of healing and growth if I call out
to him? Toi hope is to assert boldly
that I matter and will always matter to God. Bartimaeus
found in Jesus the courage to call out even when all the world
told him there was no point and received the ability to see
Jesus in exchange for his hope. What choice will we
make?