In the name of the Father who gives us eyes; the Son who gives us sight; and the Holy Spirit who shows us what to see. Amen.

This morning I want to talk about eyes that see, faith that builds, and courage to be transformed into a people we never dreamed we could be. And, yes, I want to talk about building a new Cathedral, but I want to talk about way, way more than that.

This morning we hear this extraordinary story in the Gospel of Mark, the story of the blind beggar, Bartimaeus, son of Timaeus. Jesus and his disciples have come to Jericho, and the disciples are arguing, wrapped up in debate about who is the most important among them, who is the most pure, who will sit on which side of Jesus.

This squabbling, unruly crowd with Jesus comes to Jericho, and in their self-absorption, they don’t notice Bartimaeus, the blind beggar, sitting beside the road. If any notice Bartimaeus at all, you can fairly well guess they think the road is full of blind beggars. We have much more important things to talk about—and, incidentally, if you think the arguments in the Episcopal Church about who should be a bishop are something new, you need look no further than the gospel this morning. Christians have been arguing among themselves since Day One.

And so, here are the disciples and they are squabbling away, and they come upon this blind man Bartimaeus. They see only a beggar—and they try to ignore him.

But this beggar will not be ignored. Bartimaeus is blind but he sees Jesus—and he shouts to be heard. He asks for mercy—for life. When the crowd tries to shush Bartimaeus, he shouts louder. He is on the margins of acceptable society, he is an outcast, and he has had enough of it. He shouts and Jesus hears.

Who is the blind one? The crowd or Bartimaeus?

There is a wonderful word play that is lost in English Bibles. In the original Greek of the gospel, the word “tuflos” means both physically blind and spiritually blind. Mark is telling us about a blindness so deep that it penetrates the soul.

The disciples see only a blind beggar when Jesus sees a human being. The disciples do not fully trust God; they see God as having power only in the next age or in the next life—somewhere down the road, over there. Certainly not here, that would just be naive. They cannot get past their very human ways of doing things, their very human ways of analyzing the human economy.

But Bartimaeus sees Jesus for who he is now. He sees Jesus, the Son of the Living God, walking as a human here on earth. How does Bartimaeus “see” Jesus? He sees Jesus through faith; he sees that which others with physically functional eyes cannot see. He sees God’s economy. Bartimaeus can see the power of God present in Jesus, standing right beside him on the road; And he can see it right in front of him with the eyes of his soul. His faith sets him free to see what others cannot, or will not, see.

Who is blind? The crowd or Bartimaeus?

The disciples cannot quite see all this because they want to keep Jesus to themselves, put limits on who can be with Jesus. He is theirs, they found him first, so Jesus, tell Bartimaeus to be quiet. There are limits here, not everyone is as worthy as we are. By being so intent on protecting Jesus from outsiders, they cannot quite see who Jesus really is. They’ve made it in the door with Jesus and they want to shut the door behind them as quick as they can. It’s a little like saying now that I am here, the church is big enough, thank you, and we don’t need to grow anymore, so shut the door. We’ll just keep arguing among ourselves about who should be a bishop.

Who is blind? The crowd or Bartimaeus?

Without realizing it, the disciples are becoming like those religious authorities who have kept them excluded from the Temple. But Jesus sees Bartimaeus, and summons him, and Bartimaeus gets up. His eyesight is restored and he follows Jesus and the disciples on the road to Jerusalem. He follows all the way to the Cross and beyond.

But before we get too down on the hapless disciples, don’t forget something important: Jesus recruited these disciples, just as he recruited us. Jesus sees something in them they don’t even see in themselves. Everyone in this gospel story is blind—everyone except Jesus. And by the end of the story, everyone will see—the disciples, Bartimaeus, you and me. No one gets left behind, even if some are a little slower than others. It is almost as if the folks with the two good eyes—the ones who have everything and have seen everything and have learned everything—they have a tougher time seeing Jesus than the blind man beside the road.

Jesus recruits the disciples, he gives them sight, and they go with them, not knowing exactly where they are going, not seeing very well. They go anyway, imperfections and all. Jesus makes them into faithful disciples—and notice I say it is Jesus who makes them. Jesus is doing the heavy lifting. He shapes them through experience and prayer, gives them eyes to see and ears to hear. He is doing the same for us, shaping us—and telling us to look—to look closely at the world around us. He is telling us to see each other, and even more deeply, to open our eyes to God and what God can do in our lives—each and everyone of us.

Let me ask you this: In what ways are we still blind? Are we trying to put limits on God by our all-too human desire to put limits on who can be in the church? We think we are inclusive, but how inclusive are we really? Who is outside and cannot get inside? Are we so comfortable we cannot see them?

This is not cause for despair, because like the disciples, Jesus recruited us, too. He invites us to see what is right before our eyes—the rule of God, and wonderful new possibilities—but it is hard to see with our all too human eyes. We catch glimpses of these new possibilities—and we are called to act on those possibilities. We are called to be Building With Faith, each and every one of us.

How?

We can start by looking outside ourselves, beyond our comfort zone. I believe part of looking beyond ourselves is by building a new Cathedral—but I want to be very very clear here. As awesome as that task is, it is only a small part. There is no reason at all to build anything if this is about building a monument to ourselves, or even to make ourselves more comfortable. This is not about air conditioning however desirable that certainly is. This cannot be about us and our comfort.

The hard part is building this new Cathedral for people who we don’t even know—we haven’t met them yet, they aren’t even born. We are called to build a Cathedral and give it away.

We are called to Build with Faith a new cathedral that will invite others to be here, that will lift their spirits and give them a place to see God—a place where lives will be transformed just as the life of blind Bartimaeus was transformed. Building With Faith is about finding the blind in the world who need their sight restored. And like those who came before us and built this building, we are called to build a Cathedral that others after us will enjoy. It is about those who come after us, and not really about ourselves. It is about a Cathedral that will empower many many more people for Christ’s service in the world, and to provide a place for those on the physical and spiritual margins to be healed and have their sight restored in the deepest sense of the word.

Make no mistake: This requires courage. In the gospel story, Bartimaeus is told to “take heart.” The word in Greek is “tharsee”—and it means “to have courage, be unafraid, be cheerful.” That kind of courage can take many forms—courage in battle, courage in sickness and adversity, and for us, courage to building a cathedral in the face of an awesome challenge and a great deal of physical discomfort and dislocation in the days ahead.

I am not minimizing the discomfort. I think it takes a great deal of courage for us to part with our comfort. And that means not just construction dust, but something even more personal—parting with our money, because money buys us personal comfort—homes, cars, and vacation trips. We don’t even like to talk about money in church—it makes us squirm, it doesn’t sound very “spiritual.” But let me tell you, money transforms lives right here in this Cathedral every single day through the many ministries we fund, and there is nothing more spiritual than that. This Cathedral is funded entirely by the generosity of its friends and members and without you, the candles literally will blow out. We do not receive any financial support from the Diocese—none—and in fact, Trinity Cathedral is the largest single donor to the Diocese of Northern California.

I’ll venture that your life has been transformed by being here, and for most of us here, someone else’s money long ago that made it possible for us to sit here today. And it is your money in the coming year that will provide for everything we do—Stephen Ministers, Sunday School, Adult Education, music and a myriad of other programs.

What would it mean if each of us did something more as well? What if we gave up some of our personal comfort over the next three years—a miniscule period of time, really—and gave a significant share of our money so that others’ lives could be transformed? What would that look like for you? I’m not talking about a specific dollar amount—the issue is what are you willing to give up so that others may see? What would be significant for you?

Only you can answer that—only you and God. Bring it to prayer. Wait for an answer, and have ears to hear and eyes to see. Who is waiting by the road, blind, hoping Jesus and this crowd here today will come walking by? Will we see them? Will we tell them to be quiet, or will we tell them to “Take heart, get up,” come inside? Will we have room for them? What will we tell them by our actions and our giving? What will our answer be? Amen.