Sermon 25 October 2015 Mark 10:46-52 Proper 25 Year B

          A few years ago I saw a sign outside one of the local greenhouses. I had been thinking about today’s scripture and the idea that Bartimaeus threw off his cloak to go to Jesus and then followed Jesus on the way. And, as often happens when I’m thinking about a particular scripture, things I read or hear or see seem to highlight in odd and unusual ways what the Gospel might have to say.

The sign on the local greenhouse, or so I thought, read, “Free-fall seminar.” Now I realized what they meant was a free fall seminar, probably about autumn gardening, or what to plant in the fall, or some such subject.

What it meant to me at that moment though, was “free-fall.” Free-fall is when a parachutist pushes him or herself out of an airplane. Once out of the plane, to get safely away, the parachutist has to wait to open the parachute. The time is not all that long, but first-timer parachutists say it feels like an eternity. An eternity during which you count the seconds – calmly or frantically – and then finally pull the ripcord to inflate the parachute. This is what is called free-fall.

It’s something I have difficulty imagining without feeling slightly ill or at least disoriented, because yes, I’m scared of heights. I once looked at a church’s website where I was scheduled to interview as an interim. After I saw the location of their pulpit I was incredibly grateful I never made it past the first interview. It was one of those high pulpits with stairs up to it so the preacher towered above the congregation. I remember thinking not only did it separate you from the congregation but, it was also enough to give me vertigo just getting there!

So, to the parachutists of this world, I salute you, one and all. Because to be a successful parachutist, and most importantly, to stay alive as one, you have to be willing to free-fall.

What occurred to me that day, when I say the sign at the greenhouse, was that free falling is the earth-bound thing that Bartimaeus did when he leapt forward as Jesus called him. In effect, Bartimaeus was willing to free-fall without his most valuable possession to receive healing.

Bartimaeus’ cloak, you see, would have been his most valuable possession. The thing he needed to survive as a beggar. It sheltered him. It kept him warm. It may even have been his bank deposit drawer since beggars spread out their cloaks to catch the alms people threw to them.

         And yet, when our Lord called, Bartimaeus threw aside his shelter, his warmth, his way of making a living, and darted out toward Jesus.

Did you notice the next thing Jesus asked Bartimaeus? “What do you want me to do for you?” What a question. Of course Bartimaeus wants to see. And sure enough, Bartimaeus tells Jesus, “My teacher, let me see again.” Jesus replies, “Go; your faith has made you well.” Yet Bartimaeus appears not to have made a declaration of faith. Does Jesus just know this stuff about the people he meets? Maybe, maybe not.

Here’s what I know after the day I saw the free-fall seminar sign. When we agree to follow Jesus we need to expect we will experience free-fall. We need to know that following Jesus demands much of us. We need to know that Jesus teaches us with those free-fall moments that seem like forever when we hang there, waiting for the parachute to catch us.

I think that’s how we need to hold everyone in prayer that was injured yesterday or was related to anyone or saw or helped anyone at Oklahoma State University. To hold them in prayer knowing they will be free-falling and it will seem like an eternity rather than just the short time it took the tragedy to unfold.

Because, my dear friends in Christ, I ache for those people and for the first responders and I know you do too. And yet, and yet, Christ calls us to enter that free-fall with him so we can reach out to others until their parachutes will one day spring open with light of Christ.

The hardest and yet the most joyous thing our Lord Jesus Christ calls us to do is to enter free-fall with him. It is so hard. We grieve; we get angry; we want to hate and rage. We clutch at our own comforts in an effort to comfort our own pain. And yet yesterday, here, in this house of God, people were doing something to assuage the pain of the world and to show the light of Christ. You are cradled in that joy today if you look around at these colourful pillowcases that will go to children whose parents are incarcerated.[1] So even while those horrible events unfolded, people here kept sewing, kept praying, kept laughing, and kept free-falling with Jesus Christ. Like Bartimaeus they cast off their cloaks of security and comfort and followed Jesus. AMEN.    

The Rev Nicolette Papanek

©2015

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[1] For those readers of my blog who may not be familiar with what I mean about pillowcases, Church of the Resurrection participates in an annual project for prison ministry called, “Angel Tree.” Children whose parent or parents are incarcerated send in their wishes for what they would like to give their children for Christmas. We purchase the gifts, wrap them, and they are given from the parents with loving messages the parents have written. In addition, we make pillowcases and each child gets a handmade pillowcase of lovely fabric selected with their age and personality in mind, and a new pillow goes in the pillowcase. We also deliver a turkey to the household where the child currently resides, thus helping the caregiver create a Merry Christmas despite the absence of a parent. The same day we were making pillowcases, there was a tragic accident at one of the universities in Oklahoma during a homecoming parade.

On All Saints Sunday, the clergy and congregation processed to the back of the church after the exchange of the peace. We blessed the pillowcases, the children to whom they would be given (in absentia), and the people who made them. I danced back up the aisle when our dear organist launched into "When the Saints Go Marchin' In." For some photos of the pillowcase making day, but none of me dancing, see the parish website www.resurrectionokc.org.