Sermon: Throwing Off the Cloak
Texts: Jeremiah 31:7-9; Mark 10:46-52
Date: October 25, 2009
Rev. Dee Eisenhauer, Eagle Harbor Congregational Church
It’s ironic, isn’t it, that the blind man in this story is the one who can see Jesus? He alone in this crowd is the one that can see him as the Messiah—the one anointed by God to heal and teach. He alone sees him as the deep well of mercy strolling down the avenue in human form. He sees Jesus because he also sees himself as one in need of help.
He puts his need out there in such a blatant way that the people in the crowd are embarrassed. Embarrassed for him—couldn’t he see what a public nuisance he was making of himself with his screaming for mercy? And embarrassed about him—members of the local downtown association wouldn’t have wanted this filthy beggar to be seen by celebrities passing through. Plus, everyone with any social graces knows that the most polite thing to do with one’s problems and shortcomings is, well, cover them up. At least among strangers. And certainly among those we look up to and want to impress.
Years ago as a student at the Claremont School of Theology I had the extreme good fortune of having one of the leading theologians in the world, John Cobb, as one of two faculty advisers on my Doctor of Ministry project. I had taken a couple of classes that he taught earlier. He is truly a brilliant man, and unlike some intellectuals, he is as kind and compassionate and down-to-earth as he can be. I was in awe of him as a young adult in graduate school. I was in such awe that I tried desperately to avoid asking him any questions. I didn’t want him to think I was stupid. Even my private meetings with him on my written project were short because I was reluctant to ask for advice. From this viewpoint, 25 years later, I can see what a fool I was to work so hard at not being revealed as a fool that I bypassed an opportunity to really learn something.
I don’t think I am alone in this tendency to want to cover up my soft underbelly. I believe there are an awful lot of us who would like to hide whatever is wounded, imperfect, awkward and needy under some kind of invisibility cloak. If you read any of the Harry Potter novels, you may know that one of Harry’s assets as a wizard was his invisibility cloak. It was a lightweight cloak that he could throw over his head which caused him to vanish as far as the eye of the observer was concerned. He used it to great advantage in his many adventures.
Being able to become completely invisible is a time-honored fantasy among humans. Imagine being able to sneak into any room without being seen—sounds like it could be great fun! When you get right down to it, though, most of us don’t crave total invisibility—we’d settle for throwing a cloak over the parts of ourselves we don’t like and don’t want other people to know about. Let the good-looking and impressive parts be seen. All we really need is partial invisibility.
Harry Potter inherited his invisibility cloak from his father, receiving it as a gift from Dumbledore, who had been keeping it for him until he got old enough to use it. I believe that a lot of us inherit our yen to keep aspects of ourselves covered up and invisible from our ancestors. A person who can’t bring herself to ask for assistance, for instance, may have learned that at the knee of her fiercely independent grandfather who firmly believed that the motto “God helps those who help themselves” was biblical. A man who might have terrible difficulty uttering those three little words men find so hard to say….(“I don’t know”)…may have learned that pattern from his dad. A woman who allows herself to be publically berated by her partner may have been trained to hide her true feelings behind a constant smile by her own people-pleasing mother. We learn what we are supposed to hide from our families of origin, and from our cultural indoctrination. Without even being fully conscious of what we are doing, we cover up our woundedness and may even participate in shushing others who aren’t so skilled at covering up what ails them.
So, many of us go through life with a cloak thrown over parts of ourselves, quietly enduring the troubles we are fervently hiding. What might we learn from the blind man who sees? One detail of the story in Mark is that when Jesus stops for him, he throws off his cloak as he is informed that Jesus is calling him. The story says he flings off his cloak and springs up to his feet, eager to receive the help he has been shouting for. What does that feature of the story teach us? Some scholars suggest that the cloak was a tool of the begging trade—Bartimaeus would sit on it and it would be the place where people would throw coins, like the guitar case of the Pike Place Market busker. If he was leaving it behind, he must have had confidence that his begging life was behind him—if he thought about it that long. Hal Luccock says we can admire Bartimaeus as a model of the “headlong response.” Bartimaeus did not fold his garment carefully and neatly and say to a bystander, “Please look after this a minute. I’ll be back.” He threw it away and leaped to his feet.
Lots of us lack that “headlong response” to the message, “Jesus is calling you.” As Luccock points out, we are a little too careful about springing, so cautious about going all out. We like to look before we leap. And so frequently, after a look, we do not leap at all. We are not often caught up in great hope and great trust as Bartimaeus was at that moment. We are more apt to cling to the methods we have used to cloak or cover up our wounds and our needs. Not sure we can trust even Jesus with what ails us, not to mention all the curious bystanders.
Why is that? Is the habit of covering up our frailty so deeply ingrained that we cannot imagine dropping those invisibility cloaks in the dust and presenting ourselves, uncovered and vulnerable? Not even to the tender mercy of Christ? Is it something as trivial as embarrassment that holds us back?
Is it a lack of faith that anything could be done with our illnesses, wounds, and flaws? Is it that we would hesitate to ask for what we need lest we be disappointed?
I think that’s a legitimate concern. We have all known of people who have prayed for healing of one kind or another and not received what they so desperately wanted. Then they are not only sick, but heart-sick. Too many question the depth of their own faith or the benevolence of God after suffering a disappointment. I can see why a person might decide not expose himself or herself to that risk.
Yet healing does occur in so many souls, and bodies too, when people ask for what they need. Prayer is not magic. The form healing takes is sometimes very different from what the broken person initially hoped for. Even so, healing happens. Healing is a great mystery; even so, we should not be so mystified, so stymied by its unpredictability that we won’t seek it.
Sometimes I wonder if we won’t seek healing for our sin-sick souls because deep down we may not actually want to be healed. I have known some folks who seem to thrive on their weakness or illness. They wouldn’t know what to do with themselves if they were entirely well. There’s a bit in Monty Python’s film Life of Brian involving a beggar who skips along begging from Brian, lowering his request for money every few steps.
Ex-Leper: Okay, sir, my final offer: half a shekel for an old ex-leper?
Brian: Did you say "ex-leper"?
Ex-Leper: That's right, sir, 16 years behind a veil and proud of it, sir.
Brian: Well, what happened?
Ex-Leper: Oh, cured, sir.
Brian: Cured?
Ex-Leper: Yes sir, bloody miracle, sir. Bless you!
Brian: Who cured you?
Ex-Leper: Jesus did, sir. I was hopping along, minding my own business, all of a sudden, up he comes, cures me! One minute I'm a leper with a trade, next minute my livelihood's gone. Not so much as a by-your-leave! "You're cured, mate." Bloody do-gooder. Brian: Well, why don't you go and tell him you want to be a leper again?
Ex-Leper: Uh, I could do that sir, yeah. Yeah, I could do that I suppose. What I was thinking was I was going to ask him if he could make me a bit lame in one leg during the middle of the week. You know, something beggable, but not leprosy, which is a pain in the [you-know-what] to be blunt and excuse my French, sir.
I don’t personally know anyone who is a professional beggar like the ex-leper who lost his livelihood through being cured. However, I have known folks who seem stuck in some kind of problem—physical or emotional—who seem so identified with the problem that they wouldn’t quite know who they were without it. If such a person was suddenly whole and healthy, would they be looking for what the ex-leper was—make me a bit lame in one leg in the middle of the week, something “beggable”? An excuse for limping through life, in other words?
I suppose that sounds a bit harsh. I don’t want to be judgmental about people with real illnesses and difficult problems. I just think there might be some of us who allow ourselves to be sidelined by troubles that might be alleviated if we were to a) admit them and b) seek healing from the Holy One who wants us all to be restored to health and joy.
Are you an incorrigible gossip? Are you addicted to drugs, alcohol, or pornography? Are you burdened by sadness that keeps you imprisoned in darkness? Are you so preoccupied with worries that you can hardly step out the door for fear of what might happen out there? Do you suffer pain that overwhelms your soul? Is there a broken relationship in your life that has become an ulcer on your psyche? Are you holding a two-ton grudge that is weighing you down because you have been unable to forgive?
I am convinced that God yearns to help us with all such difficulties. Since most of us won’t have the opportunity Bartimeaus had to meet Jesus in the flesh, we seek healing from God’s numerous healing agents: counselors, friends, doctors, nurses, ministers, compassionate family members, spiritual disciplines, 12 step groups, companions on the faith journey, and so forth. And we go directly to God in prayer, boldly asking for what we need. We understand that prayer is not magic, but at the same time we give God the opportunity to work in us and with us when we ask for what we need.
Is there some aspect of your life that cries out for healing? Christ is calling you. Christ is calling you to wholeness. Do you have the strength to leap up and step toward the fountain of mercy? Leave your invisibility cloak behind; the Holy One already knows what is beneath it anyway. Jesus the Christ says to each of us: “What do you want me to do for you?”