The movement of the priesthood of Christ

(Mk 10:46-52)

The encyclical Fratelli Tutti invites a perspective gaze, one that does not adapt.

Pope Francis proposes visions that provoke decision and action: new, energetic, visionary eyes, filled with "passage" and Hope.

It "speaks to us of a reality that is rooted in the depths of the human being, regardless of the concrete circumstances and historical conditioning in which he lives. It speaks to us of a thirst, of an aspiration, of a yearning for fullness, for a fulfilled life, of a measuring oneself with what is great, with what fills the heart and lifts the spirit towards great things, such as truth, goodness and beauty, justice and love. [...] Hope is bold, it knows how to look beyond personal comfort, the small securities and compensations that narrow the horizon, to open up to great ideals that make life more beautiful and dignified" (n.55) [quoted from a greeting to young people in Havana, September 2015].

Distressed, Paul VI admitted:

"Yes, there are many mediocre Christians; and not only because they are weak or lack formation, but because they want to be mediocre and because they have their so called good reasons of the right middle, of ne quid nimis, almost as if the Gospel were a school of moral indolence, or almost as if it authorised them to serve conformity. Is this not hypocrisy? Incoherence? Relativism according to the wind that blows?" [passim].

It looks like a portrait of Bartimaeus' shabby, blind life: 'nothing too much', 'never the excessive'.

A sort of Don Abbondio-like existence, in contrast to which Manzoni delineates the icon of the man of Faith - who precisely stands out over the mediocre devotee - in the solemn and decisive figure of Cardinal Federigo.

A prelate who instead "had to fight with the gentlemen of ne quid nimis, who, in everything, would have wanted him to stay within the limits, that is, within their limits".

Not the reassured qualunquism of a pious coward and situationalist, who pretends not to see, is content with his half-assed niche; he sits in the shabby threshing-floor of the minimum wage, he muddles along and does not expose himself.

The passage in Mark is the agile fruit of the interweaving of a catechesis explaining the immediately preceding passage [the Apostles' aims] and the teaching on the very first forms of baptismal liturgy reserved for the new believers, called 'photismòi-illuminati' [those who from the darkness of pagan life finally opened their eyes to the Light].

The passage illustrates what happens to a person when he meets Christ and receives his existential orientation: he abandons established but not personally reworked positions and becomes a critical witness.

The narrative is set on the comparison between downward material gazes (such as those of pagans or arrogant followers) and open gazes, capable of lifting man's eye from the fetters of appearance, habit, and destructive external or internal powers.

Comparison brings to the surface what counts in life, what has weight and is not swept away by the impediments of an empty spirituality, enraptured or attracted by epidermic cravings; harnessed to the trappings of social roles or cultural and spiritual conformisms - by customs inherited but not sifted.

In short: the Lord wants us to understand that conformity to the environment and empty devotion inculcate a swampy, lifeless, irrelevant understanding.

What, then, is needed to 'see' with the perception of God, beyond appearances, and to lift oneself up from a grey life of almsgiving, literally to the ground? And how do we heal the view of those who do not get their bearings?

Even the 'neighbours' have more or less clear expectations of how to enter Christ's priesthood movement.

The disciples themselves are influenced by an often qualunquistic crowd around them that expects little but quiet, leisure and favours; and that presses to be 'within their limits'.

The crouching at the edge Bartimaeus [textually, the 'son of the prized one'] represents us: he is not a free man, capable of activism.

Rather, influenced by a hunger and thirst for prestige and recognition - hunger and thirst that have been passed on by his own family and a whole old mentality that has remained haughty.

The 'child of the honoured one' is not biologically blind (the Italian translation is uncertain) but one who adjusts at random.

He is unable to "look up" [the Greek key-verb in vv.51-52 is aná-blépein] because he does not cultivate ideals; he is content with what passes the outline, which anaesthetises him.

Conditioned by false masters and approximate spiritual guides, seduced by a whole civilisation of the outside world, he too is blocked by a spirit of lethargy - grandiose only in wishful thinking - that nevertheless points his existence downwards.

Spiritual consequence: the victims of an indolent ideology may confuse the Son of God who gives everything of himself and transmits vitality, with the son of David (vv.47-48) who does not give but takes away life.Jesus resembles and refers to the Father, not to an albeit prestigious ruler like David; an able and quick-witted man, a figure of a violent style of domination in constant revenge.

The misunderstanding has heavy consequences.

Initially, every seeker of God runs the risk of mistaking the Lord for a superman and phenomenal captain who blesses and favours his friends in their expectations of tranquillity, unconcern and mediocre stasis, or worldly glory and prestige.

A fine defect of vision, because one reverses the criteria of a wise and solid existence at all - risking sticking it in a puddle of illusions; at best, dragging it down to the ground.

If one finds oneself at this level of short-sightedness, it is better to 'lift one's gaze' bent on one's own navel, to petty petty petty petty petty.

Bartimaeus is a man of habit, he is accompanied to the same places every day by the same people.

He is standing still, 'sitting' (v.46) at the edge of a road where people are moving forward and not just surviving as he does, resignedly, unshaken.

[As I was writing this, one of my high school professors - a person of great faith and dynamism - sent me an Indian proverb: 'if you see everything grey in front of you, move the elephant'].

Bartimaeus types expect everything from the recognition of others; they live only by begging. All they do is repeat the same words and gestures over and over again.

Their horizon at hand does not allow him to enter the flow of the Way where people are busy building, evolving, expressing themselves, providing for their less fortunate brothers and sisters.

An existence dragged along the margins of any interest other than its own neglectful pouch.

Yet they are endowed with an old-fashioned religious sense; but for this very reason - lacking the leap of faith - they are centred on themselves and the ideas that have been transmitted.

They live on the movement of others; they live on petty benevolences and opinions bartered by those who pass by, out of listlessness never reviewed and made their own.

The Word of the Nazarene [in the language of the Gospels, the epithet "being from Nazareth" meant "revolutionary, hot-headed, subversive"] triggers the indolent.

His new attitude becomes rather that of the 'newborn'. In doing so, it engages in an industrious, creative, practical - futuristic model of living.

He resurrects dynamically, shedding the rags on which he expected others to lay down something in his favour.

The old dress ends up in the dust - thrown far away as in the ancient baptismal liturgies: at any age it undertakes, outclassing small-minded securities.

He changes his life, looks it in the face; even though he knows he is complicating it, making it challenging and countercultural.

Personal contact with Jesus has corrected his gaze, made him recover his ideal outlook.

Now he understands the primordial and regenerating - indeed, recreating - sense of the Newness of God.

The face-to-face encounter gave him a diametrically opposed model of a successful man; not submissive to tacticism.

In short, Jesus corrects the inert myopia of those who are fond of their mediocre place.

"The wind that blows" infuses us with a lethal poison: the renunciatory poison of the identify-as-we-are, which rhymes with surrender and growing old.

Healing from such blindness cannot be a... Miracle! Religiosity or personal faith: it is a diriment choice.

It means lazily adapting to fashions of circumstance or the old dress of already 'said' behaviour and usual friendships, just waiting for some solution-lightning that does not involve too much...

That is, to depart from there, to reinvent one's life, to abandon the 'cloak' [cf. Mk 10:50] on which common comments and oblations were gathered.

Opening the eyes and 'lifting them up', as an already divine man would do. Pocketing nothing but pearls of light, instead of handouts.

On muddy roads we may get dirty and be uncertain, but we can proceed with confidence: on the path that belongs to us; in the movement of the priesthood of Christ. With healthy perception.

In fact - as in this episode - the Gospels not infrequently insist on the (devoutly absurd) criterion that the enemy of God is not sin, but the 'average life' and passive of the 'honoured', now identified and placed.

To internalise and live the message:

Did the encounter with Christ remove like a veil from your eyes?

Have you seized the opportunity to be born as a new man, and lift up your gaze? Or do you remain myopic and inert?

The Passover Passage

One day Jesus, approaching the city of Jericho, performed the miracle of restoring sight to a blind man begging along the road (cf. Lk 18:35-43). Today we want to grasp the significance of this sign because it also touches us directly. The evangelist Luke says that the blind man was sitting by the roadside begging (cf. v. 35). A blind man in those days - but also until not so long ago - could only live on alms. The figure of this blind man represents so many people who, even today, find themselves marginalised because of physical or other disadvantage. He is separated from the crowd, he sits there while people pass by busy, absorbed in their own thoughts and many things... And the road, which can be a place of encounter, for him instead is a place of solitude. So many crowds passing by... And he is alone.

It is a sad image of an outcast, especially against the backdrop of the city of Jericho, the beautiful and lush oasis in the desert. We know that it was in Jericho that the people of Israel arrived at the end of the long exodus from Egypt: that city represents the gateway to the promised land. Let us recall the words that Moses spoke on that occasion: "If there be among thee any of thy brethren that are in need in any of thy cities in the land which the Lord thy God giveth thee, thou shalt not harden thine heart, neither shalt thou close thy hand before thy brother in need. Since the needy will never be lacking in the land, then I give you this command and say to you: Generously open your hand to your poor and needy brother in your land" (Deut 15:7, 11). The contrast between this recommendation of the Law of God and the situation described in the Gospel is jarring: while the blind man cries out for Jesus, the people rebuke him to keep quiet, as if he had no right to speak. They have no compassion for him; on the contrary, they are annoyed by his cries. How often do we, when we see so many people in the street - people who are in need, who are sick, who have nothing to eat - feel annoyed. How often, when we are faced with so many refugees and displaced persons, we feel discomfort. It is a temptation we all have. Everyone, me too! This is why the Word of God admonishes us, reminding us that indifference and hostility make us blind and deaf, prevent us from seeing our brothers and sisters and do not allow us to recognise the Lord in them. Indifference and hostility. And sometimes this indifference and hostility also becomes aggression and insult: "but throw them all out!", "put them somewhere else!". This aggression is what people used to do when the blind man shouted: 'but you go away, come on, don't speak, don't shout'.

Let us note an interesting detail. The Evangelist says that someone from the crowd explained to the blind man the reason for all that, saying: "Jesus, the Nazarene, is passing by!" (v. 37). The passage of Jesus is indicated with the same verb used in the book of Exodus to speak of the passage of the exterminating angel saving the Israelites in the land of Egypt (cf. Ex 12:23). It is the 'passage' of the Passover, the beginning of deliverance: when Jesus passes by, there is always deliverance, there is always salvation! To the blind man, therefore, it is as if his Passover were being announced. Without being intimidated, the blind man cries out several times to Jesus, recognising him as the Son of David, the awaited Messiah who, according to the prophet Isaiah, would open the eyes of the blind (cf. Is 35:5). Unlike the crowd, this blind man sees with the eyes of faith. Thanks to it, his supplication has a powerful efficacy. Indeed, on hearing this, "Jesus stopped and commanded them to bring him to him" (v. 40). In doing so, Jesus takes the blind man off the side of the road and places him in the centre of attention of his disciples and the crowd. Let us also think, when we have been in bad situations, even sinful situations, how it was Jesus himself who took us by the hand and took us off the side of the road and gave us salvation. A twofold passage is thus realised. First: the people had proclaimed good news to the blind man, but wanted nothing to do with him; now Jesus forces everyone to become aware that good news implies putting the one who was excluded at the centre of their path. Secondly, in turn, the blind man could not see, but his faith opened the way of salvation to him, and he found himself in the midst of those who had taken to the streets to see Jesus. Brothers and sisters, the passing of the Lord is an encounter of mercy that unites all around Him so that we can recognise those in need of help and consolation. Even in our lives Jesus passes by; and when Jesus passes by, and I notice it, it is an invitation to come closer to Him, to be better, to be a better Christian, to follow Jesus.

Jesus turns to the blind man and asks him: "What do you want me to do for you?" (v. 41). These words of Jesus are striking: the Son of God now stands before the blind man as a humble servant. He, Jesus, God, says: "But what do you want me to do to you? How do you want me to serve you?" God becomes the servant of sinful man. And the blind man answers Jesus no longer by calling him "Son of David", but "Lord", the title that the Church from the beginning applies to the Risen Jesus. The blind man asks to see again and his wish is granted: "Have sight again! Your faith has saved you" (v. 42). He showed his faith by calling on Jesus and absolutely wanting to meet him, and this brought him salvation as a gift. Thanks to faith, he can now see and, above all, feel loved by Jesus. That is why the account ends by reporting that the blind man "began to follow him glorifying God" (v. 43): he becomes a disciple. From beggar to disciple, this is also our way: we are beggars, all of us. We always need salvation. And all of us, every day, must take this step: from beggars to disciples. And so, the blind man sets out after the Lord, becoming part of his community. He who they wanted to silence, now testifies aloud his encounter with Jesus of Nazareth, and "all the people, seeing, gave praise to God" (v. 43). A second miracle occurs: what happened to the blind man makes people finally see too. The same light illuminates all, uniting them in the prayer of praise. Thus Jesus pours out his mercy on all those he encounters: he calls them, brings them to himself, gathers them, heals and enlightens them, creating a new people that celebrates the wonders of his merciful love. Let us also be called by Jesus, and let us be healed by Jesus, forgiven by Jesus, and go after Jesus praising God. So be it!

[Pope Francis, General Audience 15 June 2016]