Sermon for Palm/Passion Sunday, March 29, 2015

B Palm/Passion BFC 2015

Mark 11:1-11

March 29, 2015

Bartimaeus gathered just enough bread and wine for the afternoon into his pack and tried to hurry out the door before his brother, Silas, might take notice.  There had never been a time when Bartimaeus had shown a straight back before his brother.  He had always been a little bit afraid, a little bit off balance before him.  He hoped to escape, but Silas caught him just as Bartimaeus lifted the latch.

“Where are you for the day?” Silas asked.

Bartimaeus paused, just long enough to let Silas know something was to be noticed.

“I,” he stammered “I . . . I am gone for the day.”

“Right.  Where are you for the day?” Silas repeated.

“Oh, well, if you must know. I am for the east side of the city.”

“It’s not that I must know,” Silas said with a wry smile.  He grabbed a fig from the table, turned it from side to side, and then chewed off a small piece, “It’s just that you seem a little flustered by a simple question.”

Bartimaeus turned to face Silas.  “So there is an entrance on the east side of the city.  My teacher, the one from Galilee, the one who healed me.  I just thought I would go to see him.” 

“Hmmmmm, an entrance.”  Silas lost his grin.  “You mean a demonstration.”

“I am not trying to cause trouble, Silas.  I am going to see my teacher.” 

“He . . . is.”

“What?”

“He is.  Your teacher.  He is trying to cause trouble.  It is the time for Passover.  The time when our people celebrate our deliverance from Egypt and from Syria.  Simon Maccabeus once rode into Jerusalem with palm branches spread before him with shouts of ‘Hosanna!’ to be hailed as liberator and Messiah.”[1]

“He is not Simon.  He is a healer and teacher.”

“Very well.  He is a healer and a teacher.  But your healer and teacher also knows what is going on at the entrance of the west side of Jerusalem this same time of year.  As do you, my brother.”

Bartimaeus tried to move toward the latch on the door again.  “I will not be going to Pilate’s entrance this year, Silas.  It is not in me.”

Silas stopped him by moving closer toward him, angrier and insistent that Bartimaeus acknowledge his words, “Of course you won’t.  That’s the point.”

“What?”

“That’s . . . the . . . point!”  Silas said, baring his teeth.  “Pilate will enter from the west.  Foot soldiers with the best of weapons.  In their leather armor and helmets.  Cavalry on horses.  Banners in full color.  Golden eagles mounted on poles.  The sun will glint off the metal and gold.  It is the best

Rome has to offer with the sounds of marching feet, the creaking of leather, the clinking of bridles, the beating of drums, the swirling of dust.  Rome’s power, wealth, and culture will remind us of our obeisance.  Our family has done well by that obeisance.  We have done well by that obeisance.  Pilate has favored our family.  You live in a home created by that obeisance.”[2]

Bartimaeus began to straighten and hold Silas’ gaze.  “I . . . do . . . not.  I do not.  When I was blind and begging alongside the road, you, my brother, left me for dead.  You would have nothing to do with me.  Maybe I have suckled too much of your teat by staying with you during this time of Passover in Jerusalem.  Maybe I have.”

“Yes, maybe you have stayed too long.” Silas retorted, refusing to retreat.

“Yes, maybe so.”

Silas, a little surprised that his brother did not back down, tried to reel in his words.  “Bartimaeus, I should not . . .”

Bartimaeus held up his hand, straightening further.  “No.  Wait. You said obeisance.  That almost sounds like worship.  You are a Jew, right?”  Bartimaeus waxed up his courage.  “Right?  You are a Jew.  This teacher healed me.  He healed me.  I can now see because God’s power worked through him to return my sight.  I was stranded . . . alongside the road.  And he sent me to the priests of Moses so that people like you would not scoff at what he has done.  He set me on the road with him.  I intend to be on that road . . . with him.  I should thank Pilate?  I should thank Rome? Is this now what sits on the throne?  Pilate and Rome?  Have you seen the plight of all our people outside of this home?  The suffering and death that exists just outside these walls?”

“You talk in theory and impracticality, Bartimaeus.  I go to the west side of Jerusalem making myself known so that Pilate, who rules this land with an iron hand, will see me.  Pilate and Caesar do indeed sit on the throne.  That is the procession I will attend.”

Bartimaeus shook his head.  “It is Passover.  You, you are a Jew.  Why do you think Pilate comes in his full military consort?  Does he fashion himself a Pharaoh?”

Silas screamed, “I lose all this if I am spotted at your procession.  Is that what you want?”

“Silas, listen to yourself.  What does your worship of Pilate and Rome do for all our people?”

“So you think your teacher has an answer for stopping the violence and the savagery that happens every day?  You’ve got nothing.  You have nothing, Bartimaeus.  Pilate would crucify your healer and teacher and everybody you know and you would be left talking about who sits on the throne and what procession you might attend next year.  Pilate affords you peace and protection and security and civilization and law and order over and against this crazy world.  And you thumb your nose.  How do you think this ends?”[3]

“I have this.  I have the story of our people.  I have my own healing.  I pray that I have others who share my story.  When does it end, Silas?  When does it end?  I go to a procession that invites all Jews to walk the road.  You stand alongside the road and hope magisterial power might catch a glimpse of you.  This is not peace.  Come with me, Silas.  Risk something entirely different.  Imagine that God has something different for us, Silas, as this teacher and healer held out something different for me.”

Bartimaeus lifted the latch and waited for his brother. 

Silas shook his head in disgust, “This teacher and healer, if he is all you say he is, by coming to Jerusalem, he will be dead soon.  Certainly you know that.  Don’t threaten this house.”

The reality of Silas’ statement caught Bartimaeus by surprise.  It sunk into his skin.  He nodded his head, and began to pull the door open, and head out for the east side of the city.  For he had promised himself and his God, after he had been healed, that he would never be found alongside the road again.  He would walk the road as God had given it to him. 

“You have nothing.  Rome will make you theirs.”

Remembering that there might be others at the procession in need, Bartimaeus held the hard gaze of Silas, stepped back into the house, and broke off more bread at the table and finally lifted the latch for good. He turned back to Silas, nodded again, and softly said, “Goodbye, brother.  This is the road I must walk.  Outside this door.  Enjoy this home while you have it.  I cannot imagine that Pilate has an eye for you as my teacher did for me.  I will miss you.  I pray that your back might be straight before Rome.”

And with that, Bartimaeus walked out for good and closed the door behind him.  He had some bread, some wine, the story of his people, his own healing, and, hopefully, others who shared in the processional on the east side of Jerusalem--the hard road.

Silas knew the time.  The procession on the west side would begin soon.  He prayed that Pilate might see him, in perfect obeisance.  Amen.

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     [1] 1 Macc. 13:51; Zecharaiah 9:9-10

[2] John Dominic Crossan and Marcus J. Borg, The Last Week:  A Day-by-Day Account of Jesus’s Final Week in Jerusalem (San Francisco:  HarperSanFrancisco, 2006), audiobook.

[3] “Interview with Jim Wallis and Kate Gould on The O’Reilly Factor,” FOX News, February 19, 2015.  http://www.foxnews.com/on-air/oreilly/index.html#/v/4070724114001.