Come, raise your voices…

Last Tuesday, in the early evening, fifty or so folks gathered on the front steps of the courthouse to listen to voices raised in solidarity and in mourning with and for victims of domestic violence.  It was a candle light vigil hosted by our local domestic violence shelter, The Hope Center.

            At points, the voices of the various speakers were raised loud enough to be heard, and at other points during the vigil, the sounds of traffic, cars coming and going, drowned out the vigil voices so that the speaker’s mouths moved but their voices were hushed and covered over by the ordinary sound of life going on all around us.

            During the reading of a poem written and delivered by a woman whose sister was a victim of domestic violence, a truck with a diesel engine stopped at a traffic light, right in front of the courthouse just next to the vigilers, and for a moment, the loud low rumble of the engine muted the voice of the poet. 

But such is the way of our noisy world.

Lately, Kristin and I have noticed that television commercials play at a volume several registers higher than the programs we watch.  When commercials come on, we reach for the remote to turn the volume down, so that we are not blasted by the grating noise of commercialism as it grinds in on us from across the airwaves.

            Such is the way of our noisy world. 

The atmosphere is filled to full with a cacophonous blend of millions of voices and sounds, all competing to be heard with each sound and voice seeking to raise itself above the rest.  The noise is no one’s fault.  Our world is just a noisy place, engines rumble, animals bark and bray, babies cry, men shout and women read poetry.  Our world is a noisy place -- it just is.

I think this morning’s gospel passage is like a voice raised, perhaps the voice of God, raised in the middle of our sound soaked world.

            Bartimaeus is as blind as blind can be.  He lives in a world of sound and darkness.  He sits on the side of the road that leads out of Jericho, and he raises his voice as best he can to everyone who passes by.

“Can you spare anything for a blind man?”  he says as people walk past him headed out of town.

            Every now and then someone tosses a coin onto the cloak that covers his lap.  And he makes out with what people pitch his way.  There was not much else a blind man could do in his day. 

Then, Jesus came through Jericho.  Bartimaeus didn’t see Jesus come or go, but he could feel his presence and he could hear; he could hear even above the sound of the crowd that surrounded Jesus as he walked, he could hear people buzzing with, Jesus this and Jesus that.

            Jesus talked as he walked away from Jericho, and Bartimaeus could hear the sweet sound of the voice of Christ pass by him, and he raised his own voice -- maybe he picked his spot where there was just a slight lull in the noise of the crowd gathered round, then he raised his voice, he shot it up like an arrow that arced over the crowd, he cried out, “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!”

            The sound of Bartimaeus’ voice laced through the air, rising like a firework racing through the atmosphere – maybe Jesus would hear him… but just as quickly as he shouted, the people heard him, and they rushed to crush his voice and silence him.

            “Hush Bartmaeus, don’t bother the teacher, be quiet blind man, go beg somewhere else, Jesus is too busy for you, don’t you know we’re headed to Jerusalem.”

            Bartimaeus is blind as blind can be, so he couldn’t see the crowd turning to face him and force him to be quiet, to lower his voice, but he felt the heat of their bodies coming close, he felt the heat of their hot breath, and he heard the anger in their voices as they bore down on him, so he screamed even louder, he really launched his voice this time, raising it as loud as he could“Jesus, have mercy on me!”

            This time, Bartimaeus’ voice pitched through the crowd and hit Jesus firmly.  And Jesus stopped.  He stopped, he stood still, and he turned around to face the voice.  The crowd parted like Old Testament waters, and Jesus pointed to the blind man and he said, “Call him here.”

            “Get up Bartimaeus, leave your beggars cloak there, come, Jesus wants to see you,” said the people.

            Bartimaeus jumped up like a child springing off a trampoline, he threw his cloak to the ground and ran to Jesus – he moved so swiftly and well, some forgot he was blind.

            Jesus said to him, “Go on then, raise your voice, what do you want to say to me?

Bartimaeus’ voice became even, smooth and sure with faith, “My teacher, let me see again.”

            Jesus said, “Go your faith has made you well.”

And light poured into the blind man’s eyes as his vision returned.  And all in the crowd raised their voices with shouts of Alleluia and praise and thanksgiving.  And Bartimaeus fell in step with Jesus and the throng as they moved on from Jericho making their way up to Jerusalem.

            At first glance, at least, this story seems to be a miracle story about vision, but I wonder if it’s not just as much a story about sound and the raising of voices.

            Jesus Christ is God’s voice raised in our world. 

Jesus’ death on Good Friday is God’s loud cry of lament at the distance and brokenness that lies between God and us, human creatures. 

The piercing quiet of Holy Saturday, is God’s roaring silence that covers over the noise of the world. 

And Jesus’ Resurrection on Easter Sunday, is God’s triumphant voice raised in song, the very melody of forgiveness, grace and love, a voice raised above all the crying groans of humanity.

            In Jesus Christ, God’s voice is raised above the noise of our world. 

God’s voice narrates a love program that is pitched higher than the commercials. 

God’s voice is raised in Jesus Christ for you and for me, and for all the world that we might hear for certain that we are loved beyond measure and welcomed in the salvation embrace, offered by the loud sound of resurrection.

            The Bartimaeus story pictures the raising of God’s salvific voice in Jesus when Jesus says, “Quiet now crowd, come here to me Bartimaeus, I will listen to you.”    And the voice raising doesn’t stop with Jesus -- he invites Bartimaeus to raise his own voice!

            So, God’s voice is raised in Jesus for us.  And we are invited, indeed I believe we are called, to raise our voices in the noisy world.  We are called to raise our voices in praise and thanksgiving, and we are also called to seek out other things to raise our voices for too.

            Why might we raise our voices? 

Some will raise their voices in compassion for the sick and the sorrowful. 

Some will raise their voices to tell a neighbor about how Jesus Christ has changed your life. 

Some will raise their voices against poverty and homelessness. 

Some will raise their voices against racism and prejudice of any kind. 

Some will raise their voices against war and violence. 

Some will raise their voices for peace.

            What will you raise your voice for? 

God is calling us to raise our voices. 

We are not necessarily all called to raise our voices for or against the same thing, but we, Christians, must raise our voices.

            You know, raising our voices doesn’t always involve speaking or even sound.  The loudest thing the folks at the candlelight vigil did was to walk silently around the courthouse, each holding a candle that burned bright against the fading daylight.

            The world was spinning with sound as we walked, but even so, nothing could quiet the loud lights of solidarity that burned on the candles we carried, and the loudest sound in all the world couldn’t silence the loud love lights that burned in our hearts as walked, voices raised, following after Jesus, following after the One who is God’s voice, raised in our world, the Risen One, the Christ.

            So, come on now, raise your voices.  Everyone, let’s raise our voices.

            Amen.