After last Sunday’s Main Line Early Music concert here at Good Shepherd, I attended a fundraising event to support the concert series. During the evening, while enjoying delicious hors d’oeuvres, I found myself talking to one of the musicians. She told me how some time ago, I think even before the pandemic started, she lent one of her instruments to a student to use for practice. She did not want to charge the student for use of the instrument, because, as she put it, she believes in a circle of generosity.
It turns out that the same student, grateful for use of the instrument, decided to make a donation to her, which the teacher in turn gave to support the Main Line Early Music concert series. As this musician suggested to me, generosity breeds generosity.
I think this particular musician related this story to me because she was likening what she did to Good Shepherd’s support of Main Line Early Music. This concert series, sponsored by Good Shepherd, is an example of generosity, because we invite first-rate musicians to perform concerts in our beautiful church, free of charge, and ticket sales go to support the musicians and series.
The intention of Main Line Early Music is to engage in ministry by offering one of our resources—that is, space—for the benefit of others. We are supporting musicians, many of whom have struggled mightily through this pandemic because of restrictions on performance. These musicians are seeking to feed the world with beauty. We are working with them to offer this beauty to the world. We have space, they have beautiful music. It’s a wonderful relationship, and in turn, goodwill is built. Parish and musicians find themselves getting drawn into this circle of generosity. Because generosity breeds generosity. Imagine how quickly something lifegiving can spread when it moves from person to person. Generosity is the gift that keeps on giving.
You may be wondering what in the world a circle of generosity has to do with blind Bartimaeus. Wait, you say. It’s in two weeks that we get the story of the widow’s mite and hear of the generosity of a poor woman who put everything she had into the Temple treasury. But there is a method to my madness. I happen to believe that the story of blind Bartimaeus is all about generosity.
True, it’s about healing and about regaining sight, both physical and spiritual. But what undergirds all that happens in this transformative little story is a vast circle of generosity. Below the surface of this well-known account there is more than meets the eye, pun intended.
Take for instance, Bartimaeus himself. In one sense, Bartimaeus epitomizes what it means to be lacking. He is blind and therefore lacking in physical sight. He is presumably poor, for he is described as a beggar. He has no place in the crowd, because he is on the margins, by the side of the road. He is in need of healing, as he acknowledges through his plaintive cry to Jesus. This, of course, is juxtaposed with the fullness of the large crowd following Jesus on their way out of Jericho.
But underneath the clash of the more privileged crowd and one lonely beggar in need is stirring a great circle of generosity. And it starts, first, with Bartimaeus, and spreads so that what is revealed at its center is the healing work of Jesus himself.
Isn’t it often those we think have little reason to be hopeful, optimistic, and generous who actually show us how to be so? Isn’t it often those who hardly have a roof over their head who teach us that, in God’s gracious provision, there is always a measure of abundance?
This is what Bartimaeus does. He may be lacking in physical sight and material resources, but he is, above all, profoundly generous. Look at what he does. In spite of his marginalized position by the side of the road, he cries out for mercy from Jesus. In spite of cries to shut up, he cries even louder for mercy. In spite of having next to nothing, he leaves even his cloak to spring up and go to Jesus for healing. In spite of having every reason to sink deeper into despair and self-isolation, Bartimaeus assumes from the outset that Jesus will help him and that he will find community. In spite of lacking physical sight, he trusts that, with God’s help, he will see once again. In spite of what he seems to lack, Bartimaeus has a generous view of what is possible.
Bartimaeus triggers the circle of generosity in this story, and it’s infectious, and it spreads, so much so that Jesus stops dead in his tracks. And we then see the center of all this generosity in the person who is God’s ultimate gift to the world. Although Jesus is heading out of Jericho, he halts and embodies generosity. It is this generosity that fuels Bartimaeus’ own generosity, although he may not yet know it.
Jesus is not too busy to stop for Bartimaeus. Bartimaeus is a person in need, and Jesus is here to fill that need. It’s the crowd that proves to be stingy. They seemingly have everything they need: the presence of Jesus himself, physical sight, and a way forward with Jesus. And yet all they can do is hoard Jesus to themselves and silence Bartimaeus, because he is an annoyance along the way, and they have somewhere to go.
But Jesus does what he was called to do. He is the center of this large circle of generosity. Jesus does not heal Bartimaeus directly by ignoring the crowd. Jesus draws them into the circle. It is they who must call Bartimaeus to Jesus. It is they who must acknowledge that they can’t have Jesus without having Bartimaeus, too. And we see the circle of generosity expanding outward in concentric circles until the margins themselves are a part of that growing circle. And those margins include Bartimaeus and others who remain unnamed.
It’s so very easy to be stingy. Stinginess comes from both having too much and thinking it’s yours, and from not having enough while also being scared of never having enough. But both can be transformed into circles of generosity. When we lack what we think we need, chances are, God has given us something else to share. When we lack money, perhaps we have kindness, warmth, and a spare room or two to share. When we have too many things, maybe parting with a few of them will show us that our hearts have been expanded more by relinquishing than in accruing. This is how the circle of generosity works, and it can spread more rapidly than you could ever imagine.
But the circle of generosity ultimately says more about how we are in relationship with God. If you were to read Bartimaeus’ request to Jesus in the original Greek, he doesn’t command Jesus to restore his sight, although it sounds like this in our English version. Bartimaeus simply states his desire that he might see again. It’s not a bossy command. There’s no overly specific request that God do exactly what he wants and how he wants it. Bartimaeus knows what he wants, and that is to see again. But he is so generous that he trusts God enough to let him work it all out through Jesus.
And yet, how often do we throw our laundry list of requests at God? Give me that new job. Give me that pay raise. Take away my illness. Make my sister understand that she is throwing her life away. True, ask and ye shall find, knock and the door will be opened to you. But let God give what he wants for you. Let God open the door in the way that he knows is best. Because God does know what’s best.
And just when we think the story of Bartimaeus has plumbed the depths of generosity, we see one more astounding thing. Not even Jesus the healer himself takes credit for what happens to Bartimaeus. Bartimaeus, he says, your faith has made you well. Give the glory to God is the implied message. It’s God’s generosity that has made this possible.
Bartimaeus, this man who seemed to lack everything, offers a challenge to each of us, whether we are rich or poor. Are we willing to take time with those who can offer us nothing in return? Are we generous with our time, even and especially, when we don’t have enough time? Do we stash away all our material resources with the desperation of a squirrel putting away acorns for winter? Do we see others as objects to be used or as people to be honored? Do we see our resources and gifts as ways to make money or as gifts to help others find fullness of life? Do we believe that God will help us and make us whole?
These are the hard questions that Bartimaeus’ generosity puts before us. And how we answer them says everything about whether we trust in God’s abundance or are blinded to it. Generosity breeds generosity. It is a vast circle that will sweep the whole world into its sway if we let it. And at its center is the One who came to show us the infinite generosity of God, who is always capable of far more than we can ask or imagine.
Sermon by Father Kyle Babin
The Twenty-second Sunday after Pentecost
October 24, 2021