When I came out the back door of the church, I immediately saw him. I stood their watching him for a moment before he noticed me. When he did notice me standing there, he did not acknowledge my presence. Instead, he tried to act as if he had not seen me or I him. But I knew that he had seen me because he picked up the pace of his activity. He hurriedly tossed his last bag of trash into the church’s dumpster, hopped in his car and sped away. In broad daylight, he had just stolen space in our dumpster for his trash.
Why did that guy feel the need to use our dumpster? Maybe he does not have the money to pay to have his garbage picked up curbside. Perhaps he did not have time to go all the way over to Oak Ridge highway to the convenience center where there are dumpsters with ample space provided by Knox County for residence of Knox County.
He was not the first person to toss their garbage into our dumpster and he will not be the last. Every time I see someone doing it, I remember a night long ago in inner-city Louisville, Kentucky. Patti and I were in seminary. We had not been married long, less than year I believe. We lived in a small, two room apartment on the third floor of the Jefferson Street Baptist Chapel. I was taking the trash out to the dumpster and as I stepped out of the back door of the building, I heard something move in the dumpster. The sound frightened me significantly. I went back in the building. The trash could wait until morning. I did watch from a window as a man climbed out the dumpster and made his way into the night.
Which brings us to Bartimaeus, the blind beggar on the side of the road as Jesus and his disciples are leaving Jericho. The dumpsters make me think of Bartimaeus because he is beggar. He stays alive by collecting what others toss his way, what they can do without. He stays alive with a coin here and scrap there tossed his way. What is the purpose? So that he can do it all over again the next day? What kind of existence is that? It is the kind that is not well thought of by most of us. At best we pity people like Bartimaeus, at worse we have scorn for them and their willingness to live off the efforts of others, not willing to work for their on bread like the rest of us.
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What we almost always fail to see when we see people like Bartimaeus is what they might reveal to us of ourselves. Why the pity? Why the scorn? Why do we find their plight so heart-breaking, so repulsive, so moving or so frightening? We think we are asking questions about the beggar, but if we listen a little deeper, we hear the beggar answers questions, not about himself, but about us.
Amazingly, if we pay attention to Bartimaeus, we discover that he understands something way ahead of the rest of us. Bartimaeus gets it. He cries out to Jesus and calls him the Son of David bestowing on him the Messianic title as Jesus and his disciples leave Jericho and make their way to Jerusalem, the City of David. How is it that a blind beggar sitting on the side of the road can see what no one else can see before anyone else can see it? For all we know Bartimaeus might have climbed out of his own dumpster that morning. How can he possibly know that the King is coming, that Jesus is the one. Have mercy indeed.
There are many like Bartimaeus who in their own way sit beside the roadways of our lives. What would they say to us if we listened? If we responded to them with something other than pity or scorn, what might we learn about ourselves and God’s calling on our lives?