The Rev Carol Wedell
October 18, 2009

I want to start this morning by asking each of you to take a deep breath - let it out, and, if you will close your eyes.  Take another deep breath and let it out.  Now listen.  You probably will be aware of the small sounds around you, but let those go.  Listen more intentionally.  Can you hear the crying? 

Do you hear the cry of a child dying from hunger - one every five seconds?   Do you hear the cry of Clevelanders - fully 22% of us, under 65 who have no health insurance?  Do you hear the crying of 314 million people worldwide who are visually impaired - 87% of them in developing countries, when about 85% of visual impairment are avoidable?  Can you hear the crying of more than 1 in 10 Americans living below the poverty level:  $22,000 for a family of four --- knowing that in Cleveland that percentage is significantly higher?  Can you hear the cry of the child whose parent becomes violent when drunk, who hides in the closet hoping to avoid his wrath?  Can you hear the crying of parents who are trying to take in the reality that their son or daughter has died - in Afghanistan, in Iraq, in a needless car accident or on the oncology unit? Can you hear the crying of the over 4300 men, women and children who are homeless in Cleveland today?

If I kept on going with such overwhelmingly depressing statistics, I'm guessing you would do one of two things:  Either tune me out entirely or in exasperation shout out, "Stop!  I don't want to hear any more!"  Between the television, newspaper, radio and internet we hear so much bad news, so many horror stories that many of us have reached a state of "compassion exhaustion," where we simply cannot take in one more bit of the world's pain. Yet the crying continues:  sometimes loud and piercing, at other moments almost a silent whimpering.

Our gospel lesson this morning is about another person who was crying - a blind man, whose only means of support was to sit by the gates of the city and beg.  The gospel of Mark even tells us his name, telling us how important this story was to the early church.  Bartimaeus has gotten wind that Jesus will be going through their town, and he is intent on being heard by him.  So he yells at the top of his voice, "Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!"  The crowd is tired of his yelling - many of them may hear him every day.  The disciples don't want one more interruption, one more irritation.  So all around him, people are giving him dirty looks and telling him to keep his mouth shut. But Bartimaeus has nothing to lose. So he keeps on yelling. Keeps on shouting out to Jesus, "Have mercy on me!"

Most often when we hear this story we put ourselves in the place of Bartimaeus.  We think of the many ways in which we need the healing word of Jesus, how desperately we need his mercy. There is no doubt that is true! 

But for a while I want you to place yourself in the crowd - those who have become entirely accustomed to the crying of the city's blind beggar.  Like that crowd we've grown a bit insensitive to the requests of those on the streets.  So, as people have done through the ages who see horrifying conditions every day, we, like the citizens of Jericho may cease to care. If Bartimaeus died of hunger, some of us would probably accuse him of lack of initiative.

The story of Bartimaeus reminds us that there are those among us who deal with human need by demanding that the needy one keep quiet.  We hear such voices in the response to the inconvenient cries of the homeless and mentally ill on our city streets.  Sometimes it's a more subtle or polite dismissal, "Please go away, Bartimaeus.  Can't you see we are busy with some very important things?"

Yet Jesus could still hear the crying over the noise of the crowds.  He could hear Bartimaeus shouting, "Have mercy on me!"  The crowd had tried their best to silence him, but Bartimaeus was nothing if not persistent.  And then for me come perhaps the two most powerful words of this story:  Jesus stopped.  He allowed his life to be interrupted. Jesus delayed his journey.  He put everything else on hold and dealt with the real human need that was right in front of him - even if the time or place was inconvenient.  He heard and saw Bartimaeus, saw a real person with real need, and stopped to care for him.

It's so basic, isn't it?  Compassion and care for those in need? Such essential components of the Christian faith, such necessary responses from those who follow Jesus. Yet we, like the disciples, are so easily distracted by our own issues that we operate with "selective hearing" and "selective seeing."  It is so easy, in the excitement of the enthusiastic crowd following Jesus (perhaps even in our churches) to miss the crying of those who are the Bartimaeuses in our midst:  the homeless, the undocumented, the ex-con, the mentally ill, the abused and neglected children, the addict.  How easy it is to tell them to be quiet, to leave us alone and not interrupt us.  After all we are on a faith journey!  We are seeking to grow closer to God!

We are all fairly adept at ignoring interruptions that come when we don't want them:  when there is a big play in the game, or the middle of a movie, when we're on the phone or plugged into our I-Pod.  Those of you with cats or dogs know the many creative ways in which our pets can get our attention - far beyond just meowing or barking.  Pushing their nose under our hand to be petted, coming right up to our face as we sleep or winding around our legs.

Too often our children also have to work to get our attention. A five year old girl was trying to gain the attention of her father, who was lounging in his favorite chair and reading the newspaper. She jumped onto his lap, put her hands to the sides of his face and turned him toward her saying, "Daddy, listen to me with both eyes."  Maybe it does take both eyes to hear the crying of those in need.

Once Jesus hears and heals Bartimaeus, Bartimaeus jumps up and without hesitation follows Jesus on the way. On the way, that is, to the cross.  He takes on the mantle of discipleship and now joins Jesus in stopping, hearing and responding to those in need.

The question remains:  how do we avoid compassion exhaustion?  How do we avoid being so overwhelmed by the world's needs that we fail to respond faithfully?  I would suggest two things that will keep our ears, eyes and hearts open to those whose cries too often go unheard.

First, we need to get close enough to see that these are real people - not numbers on a page.  This week I spoke with a colleague whose child has special needs.  All medical advice says that early intervention will give this child the best chance for living a reasonably normal life.  The intervention costs $70,000 a year.  That's more than my colleague's entire salary.  The Board of Pensions says that they are extending coverage for such situations this coming year, but it turns out they will only pay a fraction of that cost.  When my colleague asked what would happen in states like Wisconsin or New Jersey that mandate that those costs be covered, he was told that the insurance company would pay.  But he lives here in Ohio.  What is he supposed to do?

We need to sit with the man or woman who suffers from mental illness and remember that it is just that - an illness. We need to be there when they need someone to listen, or call them when that is more than they can manage.  We need to learn what is helpful and what is enabling, and walk that fine line.

Perhaps we should visit to New Life Community, a transitional housing facility for those who are homeless, and listen to the residents' stories.  Have you ever tried to get a job as an ex-con?  Or live on minimum wage?  In 2008 a person had to make $11.28 an hour to be able to afford a one bedroom apartment in Cleveland.   We would see the challenges that a person faces without much education, no professional clothes, few parenting skills, and even fewer life skills. 

Our youth had their ears opened to the situation of many Native Americans who struggle mightily with addiction issues and unbelievably high rates of unemployment.  Those are not numbers any more, but people they know. When we see real people, it is much harder to simply walk on by, to ignore their cries.

Secondly, we need to realize that those real people with real needs are actually no different than you or me. When we are able to see ourselves in them, the picture changes dramatically.  Bartimaeus isn't different from us.  The source of compassion lies in our willingness to identify with him, to see ourselves in him and to see him in us.  We are all more blind than seeing, more poor than rich in the things that matter. Only when we find Bartimaeus in ourselves, and come to see our own need for care, guidance, and healing, can we reach out as Jesus did, in compassion and healing.

Professor Walter Brueggemann has written "We are-all of us-blind beggars, with genuine hurts and handicaps. We are-all of us-part of the crowd, and we try to silence the groans of others because they are a threat to our position. All of us stammer for speech, and all of us wonder if we have the nerve to voice our hope in the Messiah."

When we understand that "they" is "us", that we truly are all in this together, then we know that we must hear the crying, see the pain and speak for the voiceless.  Undoubtedly many of you have heard what theologian Martin Niemoeller said in Germany when the Nazis came into power: "In Germany they came first for the communists, but I didn't speak up because I wasn't a communist. Then they came for the Jews, but I didn't speak up because I wasn't a Jew. Then they came for the trade unionists, but I didn't speak up because I wasn't a trade unionist. Then they came for the Catholics, but I didn't speak up because I was a Protestant. Then they came for me, but by that time no one was left to speak up."

So with the overwhelming human need that surrounds us and is found in every corner of the world, what are those of us who seek to follow Jesus to do? We'll need to start by stopping as Jesus did and listening to the cries of those in pain, whether those cries come as shouts or whispers.  Then, respond to those that most closely tug at your heart. Allow yourself to be drawn in.  Don't put up a protective barrier so that you don't have to see or feel the pain. For many of us we will most readily see and hear folks who are near by.  For a few, cries from across the world will most deeply resonate.  Regardless of where it is, put yourself in positions where you will see and hear the challenging realities of our sisters and brothers, here in Cleveland, across the United States and around the world.

For Olya in her Russian community of Smolensk, this means spending many hours in orphanages, teaching and loving children who have no one else to love them.  Maybe you will want to volunteer to tutor at Lyndhurst Community Presbyterian Church where the offer of free tutoring on Saturday mornings has been met with an overwhelming demand. Perhaps you will want to volunteer in one of the area food pantries, or at the Cleveland Food Bank.  Within Cleveland, you can volunteer to sit with dying patients, to visit those who are homebound, to read to those whose eye sight has failed, to deliver meals to those no longer able to cook for themselves, to help build low-cost homes through Habitat for Humanity, to offer your time and resources at New Life Community, or at an inner city school - the options are only as limited as your imagination.

If you are no longer able to respond physically, you are still in a position to offer tremendous help and support.  First of all, pray for those people who have crossed your path, for whom you are concerned.  Learn the facts and then speak up.  Let your concerns be known in the places where it will make a difference.  And if you have the means, contribute financially.

So what about "compassion fatigue?"  We find the energy to follow Jesus when we see our own spiritual blindness and don't try to answer all of the world's needs at once, or to think that we can do any of it without God's love to sustain and guide us.  Our true source of life is not in our social positions, but in our relationship with God through Jesus and by extension, the entire human family.

The question for us is this: are we just going to accept the world the way it is? Or are we willing to hear the crying?  Do you want to move beyond members of the crowd who get in the way, or join Bartimaeus in following Jesus? Do we really want to see?  Do we really want to hear? Bartimaeus shows us what it means to say "Yes." To see means to look beyond appearances into the depths of the way things really are. ...To see means to recognize God-the God before us, the God beside us, the God inside of us who calls us to a journey of wholeness. To see means to be finally free-free, like Bartimaeus, to choose to follow, to follow where God leads us, to serve, maybe even to suffer and to die for that which really matters. (Susan Andrews, What Do You Want?)