A Homily for Quinquagesima Sunday

+ “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!” the blind man cries out in this morning’s Holy Gospel. And when those who were near him rebuked him, telling him to be silent he cried out all the more: “Son of David, have mercy on me!”

On this Quinquagesima Sunday, but days before we commence the Great Fast of Lent, Our Holy Mother the Church places before us the impertinent faith of this blind man as an example and as an encouragement. But let us attend to the Gospel carefully, for this blind man is not like the nine ungrateful lepers who, once healed, never returned to give thanks (cf. Lk 17:11-19). Rather, his response to his healing is most instructive.

Let us first consider his “impertinent faith.” Who was this blind man to demand, indeed, to insist, that Our Lord heal him? It may be that those around him who sought to silence his presumptuous cries knew him, and in knowing him were embarrassed that he should dare so to cry out. He does not even seem to have the humility to say “…have mercy on me a sinner,” as did the tax collector earlier in the same chapter of St Luke’s Gospel (18: 13).

Yet this does not perturb our Lord. A relatively straightforward dialogue takes place, and the man receives that for which he has asked. Now he can see. “Your faith has made you well,” Our Lord tells him.

Not only impertinence, but impertinent faith seems to be the recipe required here. Indeed, without faith impertinence is simply rudeness. Yet with faith, this audacity becomes a virtue: one which we may well—indeed which, at times, we must—imitate.

For how often do we become discouraged in respect of the graces we need? How often are frustrated by falling into the same sins time after time again? For how many years and years do our vices blind us to the mercy and healing that Our Lord came to bring?

Let us ponder this carefully as we make our immediate preparations for Lent. For Lent is the time above all for us to cry out “Jesus…have mercy on me!” with impertinent faith. It is the season in which, if we have remained sitting by the wayside blinded by our sins, we should dare to ask once again to see—even if the voices around us (or within us) would urge us to be silent, not even to dare even to try.

Of course, our cry cannot consist of mere words. Our actions must correspond to the faith they express. Again, Lent is the God-given “acceptable time” in which to (re-)align our thoughts, words and deeds by making firm resolutions and engaging the ascetic disciplines necessary to sustain them. There is little point in resolving to confront one vice whilst continuing to engage in several others! A certain, if not brutal, realism on our part is necessary. Our Lord’s mercy and healing are available, and rightly should we ask for them, but we too must do our part through that prayer, fasting and almsgiving are the traditional weapons we take up in Lent, as well, of course, as making the good and humble confession of our sins in order to prepare for worthily making our Easter Communion that is required by the precepts of the Church.

The blind man who received his sight responded by immediately following Our Lord and glorifying God. This is, as it were, as it should be, is it not? Certainly. But we know from the Gospel itself (with nine out of the ten healed lepers) that in reality, this is not always the case.

We would be wise, then to prepare ourselves for this requirement of the reception of God’s mercy. For His healing and mercy is not simply a one-off medication about which we can forget. No. It is, rather, something which establishes (or reestablishes) a relationship that, whilst sustaining me, requires of me a life of thanksgiving and of preparedness to follow Our Lord in faith wherever it is that He calls me to go.

​The fruit of impertinent faith is not self-contented pride: it is audacious discipleship. By daring to demand to be able to see, by having the courage to pray the Collect of this Holy Mass, “Lord…release us from the bonds of sin and guard us from all adversity,” we are asking to enter into a relationship that will give us more than that for which ever we could have hoped, certainly. But it is one which will also make demands the likes of which we may never have imagined. May our Lenten disciplines prepare us for them well! +