Sermon for Quinquagesima, 2026
- 5 days ago
- 2 min read
Jesus had to go up to Jerusalem, because this was written in advance. All things written by the prophets concerning the Son of Man were about to be accomplished. For generations upon generations, it was written down in many forms, in figures and images and direct prophecies, that these things must finally come to pass in the fullness of time.
And the blind man knew it. All he was told was that Jesus of Nazareth was passing by, nothing more. And yet he knew, at once, who this was. He not only called Him by name; he called Him the Son of David. That title bears so much meaning. There would have been no King David had not God allowed a rebellious people to have their way when they requested a king. Samuel advised against it, yet God gave them one anyway. And in fact, God turned their rebellion to His saving purpose better than one could imagine. They needed a king. They needed a kingdom. They needed kings, one after the other, to be set before their eyes as tokens, as images, some greater, some lesser, of the coming final Son of David, the Messiah, the promised One, the Anointed. Every one of those kings disqualified himself in some way from being that One. All knew the Messiah had not yet come, sometimes more clearly than others. Those who believed, who were faithful—the remnant, the few—knew that there would yet come a Son of David who would be the perfect One, who would save His people from their sins.
And behold, the blind man gets it! “Son of David,” he cries out boldly against the crowd, “have mercy on me!” That, Beloved, is our cry. This was written for our learning, that we might make it our cry all the days of our lives. That is why we say every time we gather together, “Lord, have mercy. Christ, have mercy. Lord, have mercy.” We are crying out, echoing Bartimaeus’s cry.
Readings:
Old Testament: Isaiah 35:3-7
Epistle: 1 Corinthians 13:1-13
Holy Gospel: Luke 18:31-43
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