Mark 10:46-42; Hebrews 7:26-28; October 27, 2024
“For it was fitting that we should have such a high priest, holy, blameless, undefiled, separated from sinners, and exalted above the heavens. Unlike the other high priests, he has no need to offer sacrifices day after day, first for his own sins, and then for those of the people; this he did once for all when he offered himself. For the law appoints as high priests those who are subject to weakness, but the word of the oath, which came later than the law, appoints a Son who has been made perfect forever.” — Hebrews 7:26-28
Made perfect.
“Isn’t he perfect?” — This was the first question my wife asked me after our son was born.
“Isn’t he perfect?” I did a double take and thought, what is she seeing that I am not?
(show picture of baby Seth).
For what I see is a cone-shaped, grumpy-looking, purplish boy, who perhaps doesn’t want to be seen by the world yet. Let alone by one of his parents. Lord, have mercy upon me…
You see, this event that you see in movies where the baby is all perfectly clean and everyone is all smiles wasn’t my immediate reality (or, likely, anyone else’s). Especially when the doctor asks amidst your shaking hands if you want to cut the umbilical cord. What was he, crazy?
I had dressed up in a three-piece suit (legit) excited to soon meet my son, expecting that nothing would be asked of me outside of sitting in a corner, offering a comforting word here and there. Instead, for the next 25 hours I was cooped up in a small hospital room, famished and tired, helping a solitary nurse count between my wife’s contractions. And while I grew disgruntled at my sad state, Anya was the one who was actually in labor! Again, Lord have mercy upon me!
Less than perfect, the birth of our son was exhausting and scary, especially when we were told that he wasn’t going to fit. That we risked brain damage if Anya kept pushing. And that they were going to have to wheel her over for an emergency C-section — where we weren’t going to be able to see what was happening, except for whatever we could make out from behind a giant tarp that was between us and the doctors.
None of it, my friends, was pretty or perfect. But that was my first lesson as a father. That nothing in life ever is.
And as cute and great as Seth now is, and who he became just hours after delivery (show second picture of baby Seth – it’s amazing how quickly their features change); and as truly wonderful as all our little children presently are, none of them are ever perfect. Not one. Neither have they ever been, and nor will they ever be.
Well, save for one child.
One child in particular who was born in a manger a couple thousand years ago. Who was blameless, undefiled, and indeed perfect. And, who sees us perfectly — weak, slimy, and exposed as we are — and yet still loves us, heals us, and offers himself for us anyway.
—–
We are told a story from Mark today, a tale that is draped in wonderful word play. Of a man who wants to see again.
In between shouts of, “Jesus, son of David, have mercy on me!” this man is sternly ordered to be quiet by the majority who surround him.
But he would not, would he? No. For he was determined.
Our friend, Erik Dreisback, adeptly pointed out in Bible Study this week that his cry becomes, “Teacher, let me see, again.” Again. Implying that he once was able, but now couldn’t. …He wasn’t born blind then, Erik noted. He once could see. Perhaps even perfectly. But then something happened.
And in his culture, if you weren’t able to see, then you were basically unable to be seen. For you were labeled an outcast. And that something was wrong with you. And that you must have done something to deserve it, some unknown sin. And so, you were told to just shut up and stay in your place, quiet in the corner of your suffering.
But this man, again, would not. Not now that Jesus was in sight. And so twice he shouts, “have mercy on me!”
So desperately wanting to be healed by the great high doctor, he realizes that the only way he would be restored was if he was also bold. As real and authentic as possible. Subjecting himself to incredible weakness, to the insults of others, to be so vulnerable that he would literally bare it all by shedding his cloak, approaching Jesus without any sort of tarp between them both. Fully exposed, purplish, and naked.
“So, throwing off his cloak, he sprang up and came to Jesus. “Then Jesus said to him, ‘What do you want me to do for you?’ The blind man said to him, ‘My teacher, let me see again.’ Jesus said to him, ‘Go; your faith has made you well.’ Immediately he regained his sight and followed him on the way.” – Mark 10:50-52
Pay attention to the order of events. It’s only after he throws off his cloak that he is seen by Jesus, and subsequently healed.
His faith then, which made him well, was not only trusting in Jesus and what Christ was capable of, but having faith that Jesus would also see him for who he was — weak, blind, slimy and all — and yet wouldn’t reject him as had others.
And what a lesson that is for all of us to hear today. Especially in this world where we are told to pretend otherwise. And to pretend always. Where we are encouraged to continuously fake it. In person and on Instagram, and that if we can’t, then we should just be quiet and stay out of sight, for no one would find us attractive or worthy of their time.
And we are all guilty of this, aren’t we? Of pretending to be strong. Pretending to have it together. Putting a filter on anything so to remove any and all blemishes and signs of imperfection. Fooling ourselves into thinking that perfection is actually attainable, or that it is found in our stars, when it’s literally, from birth, entirely impossible, no matter who you are.
Well, impossible, save for one. … The one who sees us as we are, and who also sees us better when we finally give up the act and drop the cloak.
—-
My friends, I truly pray that you hear today that it is okay to say, “I’m not okay.” That it’s okay to say, if not twice, “have mercy on me, for I am weak.” That it’s okay to not listen to others, subjecting ourselves to the weaknesses of their bravado and toxicity.
Instead, I pray that we all become subject to a different sort of weakness, one which aims to become more authentic in each other’s company. If not vulnerable.
For that’s how we grow in the end. That’s how we heal. That’s how we are seen.
As great as last week’s Bible Study was for all of its profound insight, I think I’ll most remember the 40 minutes afterward when my friend, and frequent visitor, Alex Rivera stayed after and just talked with me. Pouring out his life story. His family’s. And where they are today. It’s what the Church is all about. But also what this scripture is all about. Laying bare before each other who we are, so that we might have faith that the person listening might see us, and maybe even catch us if we need catching.
And I get that’s not always so easy. That it can be scary. That’s it’s rarely going to be as it is in the movies, for sometimes being weak in each other’s company will only invite further insult.
But I promise, even risking that is surely better than just remaining quiet, unseen in corner, in a three-piece suit, daydreaming about a reality that doesn’t exist, and questions of what if.
So, let us today endeavor to be real with each other, my friends.
So that we can begin to see each other as God already sees us — as subjects of weakness who will never be perfect, who are often way too slimy, grumpy-looking and downright cone-headed… but who are yet deserving of respect and understanding, hearing and seeing, of love even, and perhaps, some mercy too.
Thanks be to God.
Amen.
