Human hopelessness allows God’s hope to take over | Lifestyle.INQ

OCTOBER 27, 2022

One spiritual writer and scripture scholar very aptly described the story of Bartimaeus in this Sunday’s Gospel as a story of a “desperate desire.” Not minding the crowd that accompanied Christ on his way to Jerusalem, his plea for Christ’s mercy rose above everything and everyone else’s efforts to catch Christ’s attention.

 

Bartimaeus’ persistence earns him the attention he was “fighting” for. Despite the discouragement thrown his way, he persisted. There was a crowd accompanying Christ, yet he called out for attention and mercy. People told him to be quiet, “but he kept calling out all the more.”

 

His boldness and persistence—his desperate desire—bless him with Christ’s attention. Let us reflect on our own desperate desire, and the persistence that is the fruit of the desire.

 

What makes for a desperate desire? Interesting enough, the synonyms for “desperate” are “hopeless” and “serious.”

 

Hopeless may not be so bad, after all. If I may paraphrase St. Augustine, my spirit and heart are hopeless until they hope in thee alone. Sometimes we need to hit rock bottom to appreciate the hope in our life.

 

In our third-year philosophy class, or Philosophy of Religion, we discussed the article of the great philosopher Gabriel Marcel on the phenomenology of hope. I remember the example highlighted by our professor, the likewise great Rayvi Sunico.

 

Rayvi said that the Christ on the cross is the example of pure, unadulterated hope—adjectives are mine, which I hope approximate how intense Rayvi described Christ’s hope on the cross. Being fully human, as Christ was dying on the cross he went through the despair and agony of “hopelessness.”

 

I was awestruck when Rayvi said that Christ being fully human struggled with the question, “Will God—my Father—raise me up from the dead?” Remember, as Rayvi put it, the Resurrection never ever happened until Christ was resurrected by his Father. (And remember, “nothing else follows”; no Resurrection until the second coming.)

 

Christ was “not sure.” It was his hope—and faith—that saw him through. We see how this pure and unadulterated hope were subjected to the crucible. In the Agony in the Garden, the night before his death, we read in the narratives that he begged God to “take this cup away from me.”

 

Rock bottom

 

The narrative says Christ started to sweat blood. A doctor friend years ago told me that medically it was possible for blood to come out of our pores when we are subjected to extreme, really extreme stress and pressure. This gives us the picture of Christ hitting “rock bottom,” so to speak.

 

We see this again on the cross when, in the moment of extreme anguish, Christ cries out, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

 

Yet in all these moments of seeming despair and hopelessness, we see the grace and power of hope shine through. “Father, if it is possible, take this cup away from me.” “Not my will, but thy will be done.” “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”  “Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.”

 

The human hopelessness allows the grace of hope that only God can give to shine through. Such is the grace of our desperate desires—human hopelessness allows God’s hope, our hope in God alone to take over.

 

As the song goes, “In him is our hope. In him alone are we justified. In him alone are we saved.” God alone is our hope.

 

This desperate desire of Bartimaeus reminds us that hopelessness and hope are not diametrically opposed. They are, in fact, two sides of the same phenomenon: the human hopelessness gives rise to divine hope, and the Cross makes possible the Resurrection.

 

The moment Bartimaeus allowed the divine hope to take over, we see the miracle.

 

When Bartimaeus was told, “Take courage; get up, Jesus is calling you.” The story tells us that he throws his cloak away, springs up and goes to Christ. The fruits of divine hope—Bartimaeus  symbolically strips himself of his “old life” of darkness and poverty by throwing away his cloak, and “new life” rises as he springs up.

 

Then the intimate, moving and heartwarming exchange between Christ and Bartimaeus. “What do you want me to do for you?”

 

And Bartimaeus poignantly says, “Master, I want to see.” And to this Christ says, “Go your way; your faith has saved you.”

 

This is the greatest part of the miracle. Yes, Bartimaeus received his sight, but more than this, he lived a life of gratitude from here on. He did not go his way, as Christ told him “go your way.” Rather, out of gratitude, Bartimaeus “followed him on the way.”

 

The man who begged and was blind most of his life out of gratitude now gives—he gives his entire life to Christ and follows him. He who was once poor and destitute now gave, and gave generously.

 

My spirit and heart are hopeless until they hope in thee alone. I invite you this Sunday to reflect on and be aware of your desperate desire—that area in your life where you seem to be hitting human hopelessness; in him alone is our hope. There is only one hope, the divine hope. God alone, God alone is our hope. As St. Teresa of Avila prays, “Dios solo basta—God alone suffices.”

 

 

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