What do you want from life? What do you want from God? Imagine you are praying; you’re in your house, sitting quietly. You pray the Lord’s Prayer to yourself, slowly, quietly. When you are done you sit, you breathe, you listen. Imagine this is something you do almost everyday.
Except, this time, a voice speaks, and asks, “What would you like me to do for you?” How would you answer? For what would you pray?
If you’re having trouble coming up with a response, figuring out how you would answer that question, you’re in luck. Today we have two examples of that very question being answered in Mark’s Gospel. Twice, Jesus asks, “What would you like me to do for you?” Could you imagine if you were on the receiving end of that question from Jesus? What would you like him to do for you?
This question is asked twice, each instance a mere fifteen verses apart. Two different stories, two different people, two very different responses. The first response is from James and John, two of the chief disciples. Jesus is now days from Jerusalem, days from being crucified. He has told his disciples three times that his destiny was death. He has told his disciples that way to get to life is to let go of life, to let go of clinging. In that context, James and John go up to Jesus and say, “Jesus, we want you to do something for us.” Jesus asks the question, “What would you like me to do for you?”
James and John said, “Jesus, when you come into your glory and sit on your throne, can we sit on your right hand and your left? We want to share the glory with you.” Can you imagine? Jesus is on his way to be crucified; he has told them this. But they don’t get it at all; they are so dense. They think it’s all about the glory, and they want to sit on the throne of glory with Jesus and they ask, can we be the “chief glory people!”
It would be laughable, except for the fact that I have the very same desire in my own heart. When I first became a Christian, I was nineteen years old, and I took hold of this new religion with all the fervor that an idealistic nineteen-year-old would. I’m only willing to tell you this story because I can blame it on my age—I was just so young then. I remember that as a brand-new Christian, I was all excited about this religion, I was crazy about Jesus, and I remember praying. This wasn’t just a one-time prayer, but was a fantasy and a prayer that I nursed over a period of time. My prayer was that I receive the stigmata.
For those of you that don’t know, the stigmata are the wounds of Christ, and I wanted them. Now, I wish I could tell you that the reason I wanted them was because I loved Jesus so much I wanted to share in his suffering. But that’s not why I wanted the stigmata. I wanted the stigmata so everyone would see me with stigmata and say, “Man! He’s amazing! Brian Baker’s the greatest Christian I ever saw! He’s got the stigmata!” You know, St. Francis received the stigmata, so I should get it too, right?
I wanted the glory. I didn’t want to be just an average Christian with my fellow Christians; I wanted to be a superstar Christian, that everyone marveled at. “Jesus, when you come into your Kingdom, can I sit at your right hand or your left? You can choose, I’m not picky…”
The answer Jesus gave me was the same answer he gave the disciples—“I don’t think so.” If you want to be great, you have to be the greatest servant. The next thing that happens in Mark’s Gospel is that Jesus passes through Jericho, the last big city on his way to Jerusalem. On the other side of Jericho, he encounters a blind man.
This story is very important; it is not your run-of-the-mill Jesus-heals-a-blind-man kind of story. It is the last story that Mark tells before Jesus enters Jerusalem, the last story before the Passion narrative, and it is the only really positive example of someone finally getting it, of someone understanding what Jesus was about.
Jesus passes through Jericho. There is a blind man, Bartimaeus son of Timaeus, the only person healed in Mark’s Gospel who is given a name. Bartimaeus son of Timaeus hears that Jesus is passing by. He cries out, “Jesus son of David, have mercy on me!” Everyone around him tells him to be quiet. “Shut up! Don’t bother the teacher!” But that just makes Bartimaeus cry out more loudly.
“Jesus! Son of David! Have mercy on me!” There is a desire inside Bartimaeus that will not be denied. He won’t cease crying out. Jesus hears Bartimaeus, stops, calls him over. The desire leads to a call. Bartimaeus springs up, throws off his cloak. His cloak was his one necessary tool for begging; it lay across his lap and caught the coins that were tossed his way. He was blind, and would not be able to see the coins lying in the street. He throws his cloak away, even before going to Jesus. He springs up, throws his cloak away, goes to Jesus.
Jesus asks him the question: “What would you like me to do for you?” Bartimaeus says, “I want to see.” In this healing, unlike other healings, there is no touching, no incantation, no paste or mud put on his eyes; Jesus merely says, “Your faith has made you well. Go.”
He doesn’t go. Bartimaeus doesn’t run around and tell people about Jesus. This is the first time Mark says this about anyone—“He followed Jesus on the way.” The way is the path to the Cross. The way is the path of service, of losing your life to find your life. Of being great by being the greatest servant. Bartimaeus is the first person in Mark’s Gospel who gets it.
We have this contrast—the disciples who want the glory, and Bartimaeus who wants the kind of sight that leads to passionate service. He wants to see the world the way it really is. His heart is so hungry for this sight that it will not be denied. He cries out for it. Because of his desire that will not be denied, he receives a call. He answers that call, receives new sight, and follows Jesus on the way. The next thing that happens in Mark’s Gospel is that Jesus goes into Jerusalem.
Jesus asks, “What would you like me to do for you?” How would you answer?
I was twenty-nine years old when I started my first job as a priest. I served for three years as chaplain at Holy Nativity School and curate at Holy Nativity Church in Honolulu. It was similar to St. Michael’s, a church and school together, and I worked for both the church and the school. Andrea and I lived on the church property, and because of that one of my duties was to go around right before I went to bed and make sure the facility was all locked up. The other responsibility I had was that as I was going around making sure everything was locked up, I was supposed to shoo homeless people away.
I hated that part of my job. The reason I hated it was because we were a church, and I believed that a church should be a sanctuary, and a church should be a place where it’s fine for homeless people to sleep. But because we were also a school, the Headmaster of the school felt that parents might be reluctant to drop off their four-year-old children in an environment where homeless people were sleeping. So, since we were a school, I needed to shoo homeless people away.
I remember one night. It was a cold, blustery night, I was walking through the church, and I heard a sound from the columbarium. The columbarium at Holy Nativity was outside the church, and it was enclosed in a little courtyard, with a marble bench inside. Normally during my rounds I would walk past the mouth to the courtyard, without having to go inside it. As I was walking past this one evening, I heard a radio playing and some rustling noises. I peeked in and saw someone there, and I just did not have the heart to chase them away. So I walked on by, pretending that I didn’t hear anything. The next day, fortunately, whoever was there had gotten up and left before anyone had shown up at the school.
Periodically after that I would walk by and I would hear that radio, and I would just ignore this person. But after awhile, I figured that I had better introduce myself, and that was when I met Joseph Krum. Joseph looked pretty old, I’m not sure just how old he was, but he was old and thin and sinewy, sort of a salty kind of guy. Other than a few years when he was in the Navy, he had been homeless his whole life. He really didn’t like being around other people; he was pleasant enough, but he just didn’t have the social skills to be around others. Before he got sick, he would work off and on in construction, but he never chose to settle down in a place and buy a house, and he just lived homelessly. He was the kind of person that in an earlier time we would have called a hobo.
Now he was sick. His lungs weren’t working well, he had trouble breathing, was on disability, and he made just enough money to get food and periodically pay for a night in a hotel where he could get cleaned up. So I introduced myself to Joseph, learned a little bit about his story, and then we went on with our dance. Whenever I was locking up, it was late, I was tired, I really didn’t want to have another conversation, so I would try to tiptoe by the columbarium. But often he would hear me, and when he heard me, he would call out.
“Father! Is that you?” I’d sigh, and I’d go into the columbarium, and sit down and we’d have a chat, and I would be on my way. I remember a couple of specific encounters. One was Thanksgiving Day. Andrea and I had had some friends over for Thanksgiving dinner in the late afternoon. That night I started my rounds, locking up the facility, and I heard Joseph in the columbarium. I tiptoed by, but then my conscience started working on me. It’s Thanksgiving, and I just walked right past Joseph. So I go back, I find out that Joseph hasn’t had any dinner, I run home, get a tray, put a Thanksgiving meal on the tray, and take it to Joseph in the columbarium. The next morning when I returned, the dishes were scrubbed clean and sitting on the tray, on his marble bench.
I remember another time when I walked by the columbarium and I didn’t hear Joseph. I peeked in, and saw that he was laying on the ground. He wasn’t well. I called 911, the ambulance came, took him away. I was worried.
Joseph became a regular at Holy Nativity. Eventually he was given a key to a bathroom, and a shelf in the janitor’s closet where he could keep some of his belongings. When he was feeling up to it, and got to the church early enough, he would go around the facility and empty all the outdoor trashcans in order to help the custodians.
Not everyone appreciated Joseph being around. The reason was because this was a church, and in a church, whenever you decide to do something, there will be other people that think it’s a bad idea. That’s not a bad thing; it is because everyone has a sense of ownership around the church, and not everyone agrees with everything that goes on. So there were people who were reluctant for us to be condoning this person staying at Holy Nativity. But it all worked out fine, and there were no substantial reasons for us to doubt Joseph.
Until the day that Joseph took the hunger offering. This church was in Honolulu, and our coffee hour was held outside in this beautiful little courtyard. At coffee hour, on a table, was a coffee can with a little label that said “Hunger Offering” on it, and people would put coins in it, or a few dollars, and that money would be given to the food closet. Whoever was cleaning up after coffee hour would take that coffee can and put it in the office and lock it up.
One Monday, when Crystal, the church secretary, opened the office, the hunger offering wasn’t there. She thought that whoever was supposed to do the post-coffee-hour cleanup hadn’t brought the coffee can in, and it had been left outside. But it wasn’t outside. Everyone figured that Joseph was the one that took it, since the church didn’t get a whole lot of traffic after hours. Joseph would have been the only one to go through that part of the church late on Sunday afternoon or early evening. So by 8:15 a.m. everyone in the office knew that Joseph had taken it, and by noon everyone in the entire church knew that Joseph Krum, that homeless guy, had taken the hunger offering. I was heartsick, and I didn’t know what this was going to do with our relationship with Joseph. I worried all that day, and I didn’t know if I would see Joseph again.
Well, Monday at five o’clock, in walks Joseph. He has under his arm the missing coffee can. He comes up to me and says, “Someone left this out. I was worried about it. So I took it with me.” I had this image of Joseph all that night hanging on to this coffee can, and all the following day walking around Honolulu carrying the coffee can. To keep it safe for Holy Nativity.
The reason I tell you this story is because when Jesus asks me, “What do you want me to do for you?”, sometimes my weaker self speaks up, and wants glory and honor, or safety and security, or whatever. But there are other times, when my true self speaks up, and what I want is the sight to see Christ in everyone; and the heart to serve Christ in everyone. What embarrasses me about this lovely story of Joseph Krum is most of the time I didn’t want to be bothered with him. I didn’t want to take the five minutes necessary to have a conversation with him; I wanted to tiptoe by, because I had a T.V. show to watch, that I’m sure was very important then, though I can’t remember which program it was now.
What I want is the ability to see Christ in everyone, and the heart to serve Christ in everyone. And what I want is for that desire to well up in me so strongly that it won’t be denied. I want the sight to see and the heart to know how to serve. I want the heart to know, and the sight to see, all of the hungry people all around us, around this Cathedral, around this community. I want the desire to well up so strongly in my heart that I can’t help but run out, follow Jesus on the way, and serve. I want that desire. I want that heart.
If Jesus asks, “What do you want me to do for you?”, how would you answer?