Break My Bones To Cure My Limp

One of my favorite novel series' is Gilbert and Lynn Morris's Cheney Duvall, M.D. -- which is essentially, for y'all around my age -- Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman from back in the day. It follows the beginning and career of Cheney Duvall, a New York City socialite who has just graduated from the University of Pennsylvania as a doctor of medicine (in a heavily male-dominated career field). This is during the Reconstruction period immediately following the Civil War, and she teams up with a male nurse (again, flipping the script) as they pursue their joint medical adventures.

Anyway, this isn't a book review, but I came back to one part of the story this morning as I was reading through Mark 10:46-52. 

Cheney and her nurse, Shiloh, are preparing to do surgery. They're in the backwoods of Arkansas with the rudimentary equipment for the surgery, but little else. The girl on whom they are getting ready to operate is a teenager who broke her leg badly as a child, and who had never healed properly, so she had a crooked shin and walked with a heavy limp. For years, the girl was told that there was no hope, that she would simply have to adjust to life as a cripple. There was no doctor in this area, only a medicine woman, and "medicine" largely consisted of superstition.

Cheney, however, saw the source of the problem -- a bad bone-set -- and the remedy: A re-break of the bone, and a re-set.

So she and Shiloh operated. They "re-broke" the bone at the bad set, Cheney shaved the calcified bone that had formed its own joint. She took off what needed to be gotten rid of and "re-set" the bone, properly this time, before stitching the girl back up.

Obviously, I do not have my doctorate, I've been known to swab "ouchies" with alcohol pads, so no one wants me near them if they have any kind of medical need. Consider your source; I'm probably sabotaging medical terminology -- apologies to all my readers in the medical field. 

But here's the point the Lord spoke to my heart this morning: We're broken, church. And some of us have "healed" in the wrong direction. We need a re-break in order to re-set.

Re-breaking... hurts. It's a process to get back to the basics. It's sometimes a long and extremely painful journey to go back to the starting point, because it involves shaving. Stripping. Taking off parts that have grown on and calcified and hardened.

In Mark 10:46-52, there's the story of a re-break. Let's read it; it's not long. "Then they came to Jericho. As Jesus and His disciples, together with a large crowd, were leaving the city, a blind man, Bartimaeus (that is, the son of Timaeus), was sitting by the roadside begging. When he heard that it was Jesus of Nazareth, he began to shout, 'Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!'

"Many rebuked him and told him to be quiet, but he shouted all the more, 'Son of David, have mercy on me!'

"Jesus stopped and said, 'Call him.'

"So they called to the blind man, 'Cheer up! On your feet! He's calling you.' Throwing his cloak aside, he jumped to his feet and came to Jesus.

"'What do you want Me to do for you?' Jesus asked him.

"The blind man said, 'Rabbi, I want to see.'

"'Go,' said Jesus, 'your faith has healed you.' Immediately he received his sight and followed Jesus along the road."

I've read this story a thousand times. I remember hearing about "Blind Bartimaeus" in my earliest memories of Sunday School when we used to watch our teacher spread flannelgraph images on the large rectangle resting on the easel. (To note: I miss flannelgraphs; they were so. cool. What is it about spreading cloth pictures on a cloth board that's so soothing?)

This morning, the Holy Spirit spoke to my heart in a new way through this old, old story, and the tears overflowed. 

Bartimaeus has reached desperation pitch. Blind, blind, blind. Either he's never seen at all, or he'll never see again. Either way, darkness is his lot in life. Until he hears about this Man, Jesus, the only hope there ever has been. "Jesus! Son of David! Have mercy on me!" 

Picture this with me as you put yourself in his place.

It's dark. It's been dark for a long time, for what feels like eternity, plus some. It's been dark for so long, you've nearly forgotten what light looks like. Maybe it's been dark forever. Maybe you were born this way. Maybe you've been tempted to blame God for the darkness. Maybe you don't deserve light. Maybe you don't deserve to call out His name. Why would He pay attention to you?

But in your extremely sensitive hearing, the gradually increasing noise of a crowd burgeons. You hear a Name, spoken by an overly loud speaker: Jesus.

Jesus? You've heard of Him. He's the One Who heals. He's done miracles all over Galilee and in Judea and Samaria and as far away as Tyre and Sidon. He's given sight to blind people before.

Jesus. 

This is your one chance. It's your only hope. There's nothing left. Darkness as far back as you can remember, darkness as far forward as you can anticipate. Jesus is the only agent of change.

And so the words rip from your throat, in spite of every circumstance that says: It'll never happen.

"Jesus! Son of David! Have mercy on me!" 

It's embarrassing, calling out like that.

"Hush!" someone says. "Don't bother him!" He's important. He's got places to go, things to do. He's famous. There's a billion demands on His attention. Their words burrow into your doubts.

Who are you, Bartimaeus, to ask for a moment of mercy?

But dignity is long gone. You've had to beg for a living for forever. You've got nothing to lose, no other hope. 

"Son of David!" You throw aside the vestiges of embarrassment, half-hearted cries, or a half-whispered plea. You dive in. SON OF DAVID!!! The roar leaves your throat in desperation. HAVE MERCY ON ME!!! 

Your heart breaks. What if He moves on? What if He doesn't hear you? Tears surge to your tear ducts, stinging as they overflow and trace down the side of your nose. He might leave, and your hope is gone. The thought devastates you.

The noisy crowd seems to pause. It settles for a moment. You hear one voice above the others. He doesn't speak more loudly, but you hear Him, because... it's for you. "Call him," says the voice.

"Cheer up," grunts a person from beside you. "Get on your feet; He's calling for you." He's calling for you. He's. Calling. For. You!!

You feel hands gripping your arms, lifting you to your feet. Anticipation stirs in your stomach, wild hope. Could it be that your condition will change? If He gave sight to others, perhaps He will give sight to you?

What if He doesn't? What if you don't believe strongly enough?

Stop. There's nothing, literally nothing, to lose. There's nothing left... but Him. Nothing in the past that you regret leaving behind. Nothing in the future to look forward to without Him. Break me.

"What do you want me to do for you?" He asks. As if He doesn't know, but He does. He simply wants to hear it from you. He wants the acknowledgment. Here I am. I've got nothing left, but You.

"Rabbi, I. want. to. see!" Not: I can't see. Not: Can You make me see? You have to want it. You have to want it. 

I WANT to see!

Light. It's nearly blinding, ironically, after the eternal darkness. 

Light. 

Can you imagine?! The first and only thing that imprints itself on your retina after a lifetime of darkness... is His face. His gaze, fixed on you. 

They're kind, those deep brown eyes. They're honest. They pierce your soul. They strip away the calcification of doubt, and fear, and cynicism. They call to you.

Of course you're going to follow Him. How could you do anything else?

"Go," He says. Not back to the gate. Not back to begging. Not back to blindness. Not back to defeat. You have a new life now. Don't sit in your blindness again. Don't accept it as your lot in life. Don't think that God made you this way. You've been freed. Now walk in it.

Go, because I've made you well. Go, because I've made you see. 

"Your faith has healed you." The want came out of your mouth. You want to see, so He lets you see.

He brought you to the point of the re-break. He broke you. And now you follow Him along the road. He's re-set you along the path. 

Y'all... I want to see. More than anything, I want His face to be my first sight. EVERY day and night. ALL day and night. 

Think about the other followers of Jesus, walking next to No-Longer-Blind-Bartimaeus. Jesus was leading a diverse group of followers. Many of them were His disciples. Many were curious. Some were cynics. All had seen Bartimaeus receive his sight, but only some had experienced a re-break.

Out of that crowd of followers, who were the world-changers? Who were the dynamic revival starters? Who were the ones who had been so broken that they were able to be set straight?

Bartimaeus was one.

I want to be one. Do you want to be one?

Lord, send revival, but in the sending, re-break us so we can be set straight. Shave away our calcifications, Lord, the places where we've grown wrong, where we walk with a limp, the places where we've settled and solidified in our errors and our blindness, and where we've wrapped that blindness around us like a shield.

Do we want to see? Church, do we want to see?!

Bring us back to the heart of the matter, that is, You, Jesus! Bring us back to the crux where we can say: I once was blind... but now I see.

Because of You. Because of You!