John 11:32-44

When Mary came to Jesus and saw him she said to him, “Lord, if you had been here my brother would not have died.” When Jesus saw her weeping and the other Jews with her also weeping, he was greatly disturbed in spirit and deeply moved. He said to them, “Where have you laid him?” They said to him, “Come and see.” Jesus began to weep. So the Jews said, “See how he loved him!” But some of them said, “Could not the one who opened the eyes of the blind man have kept this man from dying?”

Then Jesus came to the tomb. It was a cave with a stone lying against it. Jesus said to them, “Take away the stone.” But Martha, the sister of the dead man, said to him, “Lord, already there is a stench because he has been dead four days.” Jesus said to her, “Did I not tell you that if you believed, you would see the glory of God?” So they took away the stone.

And Jesus looked upward and said, “Father, I thank you for having heard me. I know that you always hear me, but I’ve said this for the sake of those standing here, so that they may believe that you sent me.” When he had said this, he cried out with a loud voice, “Lazarus, come out!” The dead man came out, his hands and feet bound with strips of cloth, and his face wrapped in a cloth. Jesus said to them, “Unbind him, and let him go.”

A few years ago, I preached one of my favorite sermons on All Saints Sunday. It was for my friend, Peggy. Peggy had died over the summer, some of you might remember, and though she was a dear friend of our family’s, we didn’t find out about her death until a few weeks after the fact, when one of the sermons I mailed her every Monday, was “Returned to Sender.” Peggy lived alone. Her mother and sister had both died already. She had given a child up for adoption years before. And so on and so on. The short of the long is she didn’t want a funeral for lots of reasons. So on that All Saints Sunday after learning of Peggy’s death, I preached a funeral sermon for a funeral that never was.

Many of you know Cross of Grace added a new saint to our list just two weeks ago. Don Campbell died alone in his home on October 20th. Like Peggy, Don was without parents or children to celebrate his life on this side of heaven. His lovely wife of 58 years, Charlotte, died about 5 years ago. Like Peggy, Don was very clear about not wanting a funeral service of any kind. I’m not sure about all of his reasons, but I wasn’t surprised by that news. Don was as frugal as he was humble and unassuming. So I’m guessing he just didn’t want to spend the money or receive the attention a typical funeral service requires or assumes.

And I don’t mean to make a habit of this – preaching funeral sermons for or about those who don’t want funeral services, I mean – but since we were all going to gather anyway, and since I would have had to preach something this morning, I don’t think Don would mind. And, more importantly, I think there’s something to learn about “all the saints” thanks to the life and likes of Don Campbell, on this All Saints Sunday.

You might not know it – and I wouldn’t have guessed it – but Don served in the US Army during the Korean War as a staff sergeant in Psychological Warfare. How cool is that?

One of his greatest joys in recent years was the trip he took as part of one of those Honor Flights, to Washington D.C., to visit the memorials there for military veterans.

Don was a CPA who served the state of Indiana, private clients, larger firms and hospitals. And he used all of that wisdom, experience, and expertise, to volunteer for a variety of the Lutheran churches he and Charlotte were a part of over the years, too.

Don worshiped with us every week at Cross of Grace. He sat in the back – right about “there,” most of the time. And, even though he was 90 years old, he gladly learned to join us for worship, online, via Zoom and YouTube, without complaint when the COVID-19 pandemic demanded we keep our distance.

In addition to learning that new technology, Don wasn’t afraid to make new friends, either. Not only did he follow many of his pals from Greenfield to this new congregation at Cross of Grace several years ago, but he was charmed by the Blachly family and he became buddies with Linda Duff, too, after joining our ranks. Joining new churches and making new friends isn’t nothing when you’re 90 years old, I’m guessing.

And, of course, there was Charlotte. I visited her often in the nursing home over in Greenfield before she died. She was in the Alzheimer’s unit there. And I can’t think of a time when I showed up, unannounced, that I didn’t see Don already there, too. Sitting with her. Reading the paper. Helping her eat. Or just asleep in a chair. He was a steadfast, patient, loving presence for her, even though she didn’t remember who he was or why he was there a lot of the time.

So, cheers to Don Campbell, our most recently minted “saint” on this All Saints Sunday.

We talked about “saints” and “sinners” last Sunday in our Faith Formation class, with the Junior High kids… about that very Lutheran/Reformation notion that we are – each of us – at the same time on any given day, both “saint” and “sinner.” (“Simul Justus et Peccator,” for those who remember the Latin or who had stricter Lutheran Confirmation teachers than me.) It means we’re both broken and redeemed. Both sinful and forgiven. Both lost and found. Both dead to our sin and promised new life again, in spite of it.

And as part of that discussion with the kids, I rattled off the names of some saints – the ones who’ve garnered some notoriety over the years, who have festival days named and claimed for them in the life of the Church, and whatnot – people like St. Francis of Assisi, Mother Teresa – or St. Joseph who some believe is great for real estate sales.

But the thing about Luther’s understanding about “saints” and “sinners” is the holy reminder that we all are … each of us is … a saint in the eyes and by the grace of God. And we are “saints” in the eyes of God, precisely because we were created in love and created for love and created by the love of our Creator.

Don Campbell was and is a saint, not because he served our country, or because he volunteered in the Church, or because he loved his wife well. Don was – and is – a saint because the love and grace and mercy of God created him as such and declared him to be so, in baptism. And Don lived a saintly life in response to the truth and promise of that Good News.

Likewise, we are, each of us, “saints,” not because we gathered for worship this morning, or because we did a good deed yesterday, or because we voted this way or that, gave this much money to so many churches or charities, or whatever. We are – and will be – saints, you and I, in the eyes of God because God wants it to be so. And we are called to live our lives in righteous, faithful, saintly ways on this side of the grave, until we realize the fullness of God’s promised grace on the other side of heaven – whatever and wherever and however that comes to pass, I don’t pretend to know the details of that.

When I think about Don Campbell, and my friend Peggy, and every one of those “saints” whose names we spoke just moments ago… (take a minute to be mindful, again, of the saints who have blessed your own life and times) …those faces as you remember them… those lives for which we are grateful.

And give thanks for their memory, for the blessings they shared with this world, for the source of the love they were and are, and for the way that love surrounds us, still, and calls us to live with joy and hope, with purpose and peace, in their honor, for their sake, and in the name of Jesus, who does for us what he did for Martha and the crowd outside of Lazarus’ tomb: he calls us to believe in this kind of surprising, unmitigated, amazing grace. And he promises that we will see the glory of God – on this side of heaven and the next – when we do.

Amen

Mark 10:46-52

They came to Jericho. As [Jesus] and his disciples and a large crowd were leaving Jericho, Bartimaeus the son of Timaeus, a blind beggar was sitting by the roadside. When he heard that it was Jesus of Nazareth, he began to shout, “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!” Many sternly ordered him to be quiet, but he shouted even more, “Son of David, have mercy on me!” When Jesus heard him he stood still and said, “Call him here.” So they said to the blind man, “Take heart. Get up. He’s calling to you.” Throwing off his cloak, the blind man sprang up and came to Jesus. Jesus said to him, “What is it you want me to do for you?” He said to him, “My teacher, let me see again.” And Jesus said to him, “Go. Your faith has made you well.” And immediately, he regained his sight and followed him on the way.

I want to think about the miracle of Bartimaeus differently this time around than I ever have before. And I want to start by wondering a pretty simple thing. What if there wasn’t anything “WRONG” with Bartimaeus? Think about that for a minute. What if there wasn’t anything “WRONG” with Bartimaeus? Yes, he’s blind. Sure, he wanted to see again. Yes, Jesus gives him what he asks for. But what if it doesn’t have nearly as much to do with what Bartimaeus needed as with what everyone else who was there to witness this miracle back in the day – needed to see, in the end? (And you and I, too, of course.)

What I mean is – and some of you have heard me talk about this in the context of other healing miracles before – the First Century world view, the limited scientific understanding, the lack of medical wisdom of the day led people to view anyone with a physical difference or illness or so-called “disability” as sinful in some way; broken somehow; under judgement, even, by the God they supposedly offended in some way.

And as silly as that seems to us now – to assume that a person who is blind or deaf or sick is being judged and punished by their lack of a sense or by some kind of illness – as silly as that sounds, I wonder if we don’t still manage to approach this story with that same mentality when we presume there’s something wrong with Bartimaeus; or at least that he’s lacking something – that he’s less than – because he can’t see with his eyes. We able-bodied people … you and I with typical abilities and intact faculties and all of our modern-day wisdom, scientific understanding and medical insight … still might be failing to really see the point of this miracle and the challenge for us in this story.

You and I, so wrapped up in and blind to our own privilege as part of the majority – people who can see with our eyes, in this case, anyway – make all kinds of assumptions about Bartimaeus’ desire to regain his sight. We make some pretty self-centered presumptions about the source of his longing. Like, that his life is less than… that he’s missing out on so much that we enjoy. What a pity. How sad. What a shame it is not to be able to see. “What a shame it is not to be able to see.” Do you notice how close that notion is to the ancient worldview and limited understanding that connects SIN and SHAME to differing abilities, so-called “disabilities,” and even illness. “What a shame…” Really?

And there’s a word for this in the 21st Century. It’s called ableism and it’s the discrimination of and prejudice against people with different abililities based on the belief that typical, majority-type abilities are superior. Ableism implies that people with differing abilities (notice I’m trying really hard not to call them “disabilities”) require “fixing” – or healing, if you will – and it often defines people and limits their status and potential as a result. In other words, they are “less than,” “inferior,” “other,” unless or until they find a way to be more like the rest of us. And praise be to God when that happens!

But, again, what if there’s nothing WRONG with Bartimaeus, just because he’s blind?

I ask this with the writing of Helen Keller in mind. Helen Keller, most of us know, lost her hearing and her sight when she was just 19 months old but eventually learned to read, write, and even speak thanks to the patient, faithful, wise, work of her teacher and friend, Anne Sullivan. (Among other things, Helen Keller published 12 books, was awarded the Presidential Medal of Freedom, and was elected to the National Women’s Hall of Fame.)

Anyway, I dug up a piece Helen Keller wrote in 1933 for The Atlantic, where she mused about how much we seeing people don’t see, don’t understand, or don’t appreciate about the world around us.

Simply put, Helen Keller wrote this, “…Recently I was visited by a very good friend who had just returned from a long walk in the woods, and I asked her what she had observed. ‘Nothing in particular,’ she replied. I might have been incredulous had I not been accustomed to such responses, for long ago I became convinced that the seeing see little.

“How was it possible, I asked myself, to walk for an hour through the woods and see nothing worthy of note? I who cannot see find hundreds of things to interest me through mere touch. I feel the delicate symmetry of a leaf. I pass my hands lovingly about the smooth skin of a silver birch, or the rough, shaggy bark of a pine. In spring I touch the branches of trees hopefully in search of a bud, the first sign of awakening Nature after her winter's sleep. I feel the delightful, velvety texture of a flower, and discover its remarkable convolutions; and something of the miracle of Nature is revealed to me. Occasionally, if I am very fortunate, I place my hand gently on a small tree and feel the happy quiver of a bird in full song. I am delighted to have the cool waters of a brook rush through my open fingers. To me a lush carpet of pine needles or spongy grass is more welcome than the most luxurious Persian rug. To me the pageant of seasons is a thrilling and unending drama, the action of which streams through my fingertips.”

Bartimaeus was like Helen Keller in this way. See, blind Bartimaeus already saw and knew, he perceived and understood things the world around him was so very blind to. It matters that he so loudly and clearly and defiantly cried out to Jesus by name, calling him “Son of David.” This is the first and only time in all of Mark’s Gospel that anyone identifies Jesus by this title that carries with it so much weight, and history, and power and faithfulness. Bartimaeus identifies Jesus as the promised Messiah, The Son of God, The Savior of the world, and all the rest. Even without his eyes, Bartimaeus could see and know, understand and appreciate just exactly who Jesus was.

In other words, there was absolutely nothing WRONG with Bartimaeus. Bartimaeus isn’t the one who needed to see differently. It was everyone else who was blind to what mattered – to who Jesus was – to what God was up to in and for the sake of the world.

So, I can’t help but wonder if Bartimaeus didn’t want to see again – not because he missed his vision – but because he was treated so differently because of what he lacked by the world’s estimation. He was relegated to begging by the roadside after all, very likely alongside the other outcasts of his day – the widows, people who were crippled, deaf, sick with leprosy, mentally ill, and more. And who wouldn’t want to be liberated from that kind of exclusion; that sort of discrimination; that measure of unmitigated, unmerited, unbearable shame?

So, I imagine his plea to Jesus, “My teacher, let me see again,” was as much – or more – about being freed from his oppression, liberated from his “otherness,” plucked out of his poverty, as it was about simply, physically seeing. I suspect what was more powerful and appealing to Bartimaeus than being able to lay eyes upon the ugliness of the knuckleheads who treated him so poorly, was the prospect of being seen, himself, as a whole and worthy, valuable and loved child of God.

There was nothing WRONG with Bartimaeus. He was just different … a minority in a culture that refused to see, to accommodate, to make room for, and to love him – not in spite of his differences – but because of them, which is what Jesus did.

All of which is to suggest that this story isn’t just a story of hope for blind people, but a challenge for those who were silencing Bartimaeus that day when he got loud, shouting after Jesus for help. What if it’s more for the disciples who were just fine, following after Jesus on their way out of Jericho and on to the next town, but not paying attention to the likes of Bartimaeus, along the way. What if it’s for those who deemed Bartimaeus and the other blind guys, lepers, widows and lame ones outcasts or outsiders or worse. What if the ones who really need the miracle – who need to learn to see again and differently with the loving eyes of faith – are you and me?

What if we’re called to marvel, not that Bartimaeus became more like us? That seems kind of arrogant and privileged and simple, really. So what if we were to wonder – more humbly – what it would take for us to become more like him? What if we are called to marvel at the miracle of what he could see all along – even without his sight – and which we miss so much of the time, in spite of our own?:

…That you don’t need eyes to recognize love. That you don’t need sight to see God. That even when we have eyes and vision, we can miss what’s right in front of us. Even when we see, we don’t always pay attention. Even when we look, we miss what matters most a lot of the time.

What if we looked to and listened for what the “others” and the “outcasts” in our world were searching for – the blind, the brown, the Black; the poor, the imprisoned, the unpopular, the lost? And what if we wondered why? And what if we helped them find it? I think we might find ourselves along the way, behind the likes of Bartimaeus, and always following Jesus.

Amen

For All the Saints and Don Campbell

The Blind Leading The Way