This essay first appeared in our weekly Scripture reflection newsletter on October 26, 2024.
I’ve been thinking a lot about this reading over the last few weeks and was delighted to find it as this week’s Sunday Gospel reading. It’s been one of my favorite Gospel stories ever since I was a Jesuit novice and participated in my first “Bible study” group with patients in Youville Hospital, a hospital and home for the seriously ill in Cambridge, Mass., where a hospital chaplain led us in a conversation about the story of Bartimaeus (pronounced Bah-Timaeus in her Boston accent). It was the first time I saw how a deep dive into a familiar Gospel story with fellow believers could open it up in surprising new ways.
During that Bible study we focused on how the crowd tried to, as the hospital chaplain said, “shush” Bartimaeus. Maybe they are embarrassed at the man’s shouting, “Son of David, have pity on me!” as the famous Jesus of Nazareth passes by. Maybe they think it’s useless for him to ask for healing. Or maybe, they want Jesus to pay attention to them instead. Overall, the impression is “Don’t make such a fool of yourself.”
Bartimaeus, though, is desperate, and continues to cry out. Then something remarkable happens: Jesus asks him to come forward. As the Sacra Pagina commentary notes, “Jesus shows his authority by having those who were trying to silence Bartimaeus (perhaps his own disciples) now serve as his messengers.”
Jesus doesn’t impose himself on Bartimaeus; rather, he gives him agency and the dignity of asking what he wants.
Then Jesus asks him one of the most important questions in the spiritual life, one often used by spiritual directors at the beginning of a retreat: “What do you want me to do for you?” Notice that Jesus doesn’t presume what he needs—as a blind man during a time when blindness could mean penury, his need probably seemed obvious. But Jesus doesn’t impose himself on Bartimaeus; rather, he gives him agency and the dignity of asking what he wants. At Youville, the hospital chaplains told me never to presume what someone wanted—the light turned on, their wastepaper basket emptied, their food tray taken away—without asking first.
The reason I’ve been thinking about this passage is the Synod on Synodality, which I’ve been participating in, and which will be, by the time you read this, finishing its discernment. One of the groups that we have been speaking about repeatedly is “the excluded.” And who are excluded in society? First of all, those who are, like Bartimaeus, poor. The millions whose voices we never hear. Migrants and refugees. Or people like the patients at Youville Hospital all those years ago, some with serious brain injuries who were literally unable to speak and whose families visited them rarely. These people are not only excluded but voiceless.
Who are the “excluded” in our church? Well, women are still too often excluded from positions of power, authority and leadership in our church. And then there are LGBTQ people, who often find that they have no voice in church matters at all. (For my part, I’ve tried to be something of a voice for them at the Synod when I could.)
Perhaps one of these heartfelt desires is simply to be seen, to be heard, to be understood—in society and the church.
Often these people are shushed. “Stop talking about women in the church.” “Enough about LGBTQ issues.” People are tired of hearing about it, or embarrassed that things have not changed, or perhaps misogynistic or homophobic. But Jesus asks each of us, as he did to Bartimaeus, to ponder what our deepest desires are. And perhaps one of these heartfelt desires is simply to be seen, to be heard, to be understood—in society and the church. For all those who feel excluded, listen to Jesus, who, as he did for Bartimaeus, calls you forth, asks you what you want, and desires to help you to see a future filled with light.
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