Imagine a virtual reality machine offering a perfect, personalized dream life. Imagine, however, entering means never leaving. The preaching questions whether one would choose this permanent virtual existence, suggesting a fundamental human desire for truth, even in an imperfect world. The biblical character of Bartimaeus exemplifies this desire for truth.
I want you to imagine for a moment that there exists a machine that could let you experience whatever you want. Once you are inside this machine, you could live in the virtual reality of your dreams. You could have your grandma’s homemade spaghetti and meatballs every night of the week if you want. With the flick of a switch, the scenery around you could change so that suddenly you could be in an exotic destination. Like Maui or Manhattan or Marrakesh… whatever floats your boat. It would allow you to experience what it’d be like to have box seat tickets on the 50 yard line for all your favorite football team’s games. In this machine, you could have long lingering conversations with famous characters from history…. and the barista would never close up shop.
Now, none of this would be real. It’d all be virtual. But it would feel real. In fact, we could even arrange it so that once you were inside the machine, you wouldn’t even remember that you were only inside a machine. You wouldn’t remember ever having any other life outside this dream one. That’d be pretty amazing, eh?
But here’s the catch: Once you go inside the machine, you can never come out. You have to stay within this virtual life for the remainder of your life. Would you do it?
Well, would you?
My guess is that—even as the burgeoning reality industry makes such an option more and more possible—most of us, if we sat with the idea long enough, would still say “no.” There is something wired into the human spirit that wants to be in contact with what is real.
Now, the “real” is not the only thing that we want as humans. We have other conflicting desires: the desire to be accepted, the desire to be comfortable, the desire for excitement.
And in any given moment, we might favor a temporary virtual illusion that meets one of those other desires rather than staring into reality... which, let’s face it, can sometimes be unaccepting, uncomfortable, and unexciting. But, over the long haul, given the choice between being loved by a virtual person or being loved by a real person, I think most of us would pick a real person. And, over the long haul, we’d rather know what the real person who loves us really thinks of us rather than hold a fictitious view of what they think of us.
The desire for the real is deeply twisted into our DNA.
That desire lies at the heart of our Gospel account today. In this account, we meet a character named Bartimaeus who is blind but goes to Jesus with a deep longing to see. It is the one thing he wants more than anything else in the world. In the Gospel, Jesus praises Bartimaeus’ faith—Bartimaeus’ capacity to lean into his longing with hope. And Jesus sees to it that Bartimaeus’ request for vision is granted.
At an initial glance, this might look like a story of physical healing alone, but throughout Christian history, the blindness and sight talked about in this story have been understood as a metaphor for something deeper.
We get a clue into this deeper meaning from the name “Bartimaeus.”
If you think about it, most of those whom Jesus heals don’t have a name, and Bartimaeus is a strange name. It is comprised of the Hebrew word “bar”—which means “son of”—and the Greek name “Timaeus.” An unusual cross-cultural combination. Some scripture scholars suggest that when we hear the name, we are meant to remember another ancient character named “Timaeus” from the philosopher Plato’s “Dialogues.” Timaeus is the character who tries to understand all that was known about the creation of the world and the elements that make up the universe. And, intriguingly, Timaeus is the character who describes sight as the beginning of knowledge.
The Biblical Bartimaeus – “son of Timaeus”—turns to Jesus desiring physical sight, yes, but more than that, he represents the profound longing within each of us to know the world as it really is. He desires what we might call in the broader philosophical tradition “truth.” And, the point of this Gospel passage is that, for the one who is willing to lean into that longing, for the one who doesn’t back away from mystery but continues to live in hope, Jesus opens the door and makes understanding possible. Jesus can put you in contact with reality.
We live in a time that questions the value of truth—that questions the value of seeing things as they really are. We live in a time that wonders whether being accepted or being comfortable or being entertained is really as much as one should hope for in life. A time that even goes so far to suggest that a virtual life—an imaginary life—would be a more desirable way of being in the world. That all of life could be constructed as a show. And there is pressure to remain silent and satisfied to live in such times. After all, there are coins coming into our cups each day, aren’t there? As we are reminded on the news regularly, the economy is generally good. It’s not a bad life, is it?
But, knowing you…even just the little bit I do, I suspect you’d tell me it’s not enough. Deep down, there’s a Son of Timaeus in you and a Son of Timaeus in me. There is someone who wants to try to understand the world and the elements that make up the universe. Cup of coins be damned. There is someone who wants to know what’s real and to be in contact with what’s real. And from way down inside, there is a voice that wells up in each of us gathered in this church tonight and cries out, “Jesus, Son of David, have pity on me. I want to see! Do you hear me, Jesus? More than anything I want to see!”
If you have found that longing, that deepest of human longings, within you—take courage. Jesus has heard you. Indeed, he’s calling for you. You, Bartimaeus, are the kind of person that he has come for. He can’t promise you acceptance; he can’t promise you comfort; he can’t even promise you endless excitement. But seeing, well, that he can do. That longing twisted into your DNA has been placed there from the beginning of time for this moment in time, that it might bring you face to face with Him. That longing is for the sake of your salvation. And you are now standing in the space where miracles can happen. Indeed, you should expect nothing less.
[i] The opening of this preaching closely parallels the dilemma posed by Michael P. Lynch. True to Life: Why Truth Matters. (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2004): 15
