Then they arrived at the country of the Gerasenes, which is opposite Galilee. As he stepped out on land, a man of the city who had demons met him. For a long time he had worn no clothes, and he did not live in a house but in the tombs. When he saw Jesus, he fell down before him and shouted at the top of his voice, “What have you to do with me, Jesus, Son of the Most High God? I beg you, do not torment me”— for Jesus had commanded the unclean spirit to come out of the man. (For many times it had seized him; he was kept under guard and bound with chains and shackles, but he would break the bonds and be driven by the demon into the wilds.) Jesus then asked him, “What is your name?” He said, “Legion”; for many demons had entered him. They begged him not to order them to go back into the abyss. Now there on the hillside a large herd of swine was feeding; and the demons begged Jesus to let them enter these. So he gave them permission. Then the demons came out of the man and entered the swine, and the herd rushed down the steep bank into the lake and was drowned. When the swineherds saw what had happened, they ran off and told it in the city and in the country. Then people came out to see what had happened, and when they came to Jesus, they found the man from whom the demons had gone sitting at the feet of Jesus, clothed and in his right mind. And they were afraid. Those who had seen it told them how the one who had been possessed by demons had been healed. Then all the people of the surrounding country of the Gerasenes asked Jesus to leave them; for they were seized with great fear. So he got into the boat and returned. The man from whom the demons had gone begged that he might be with him; but Jesus sent him away, saying, “Return to your home, and declare how much God has done for you.” So he went away, proclaiming throughout the city how much Jesus had done for him.
It’s not every day in Cleckheaton that we come across a naked demon-possessed man living in the graveyard or in the crypt. It might be interesting to speculate what our reactions would be, but Jesus does not seem to be disturbed or afraid of this man, with or without clothes. Actually, he attracts these kinds of people to himself—not the people who seem to have it together, but those whose lives may be torn apart.
I’m sure of told you before that as a general principle I try
to imagine my way into Gospel stories. I try to see myself as an anonymous
member of the crowd as I try to walk through the story. Who do I most identify
with? Who do I sympathise with? Who irritates me? What if I stood here or over
by him? What if I couldn’t hear properly because of the crowd? What if I didn’t
actually trust this man Jesus? What if I was a disciple? What if I was a woman?
What if I was a Pharisee?
I have to do this because I am almost always disappointed by
the brevity of the gospel stories and their lack of background detail: they
seem so clinical and succinct. I’d like to know some of the extraneous detail
that brings the story alive more: what was the weather like? Were there
children playing nearby? Were there cooking smells? And so on. I have this
fantasy that there should be a runaway donkey somewhere in the mix.
Anyway, on this occasion I’m an ordinary bloke who just happens
to see Jesus’ boat put into shore and, knowing that they’ve just survived a
particularly bad storm, I go to investigate and to see if I can offer some
help, but I’m not the first to arrive: a “local character” has beaten me to it
and, as another local, I feel huge sympathy for these strangers that they’ve
gone through this traumatic experience and now have to contend with the local
scary-man.
Of course, to what extent can someone like me, a product of
my own times truly enter into the experience, the sights, the sounds, the
smells and, most importantly, the theological and social conventions of the
first century? And this incident in the life of Jesus is a case in point. This
is a difficult passage: what am I to make of this? Demon possession?
Really?
Demon possession: I don’t know about you but the rational me
struggles with the idea. I remember hearing a sermon on “Powers and
Principalities” from Ephesians and the preacher spoke with a real conviction of
the realities of spiritual warfare. For
our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against
the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual
forces of evil in the heavenly realms he quoted. There was a lot of
shuffling in the congregation as he developed his sermon: a congregation who
were not only unused to this line of theological thinking but were made deeply
uncomfortable by hearing it. Spiritual warfare?
I don’t often think about spiritual forces of evil. Evil,
yes, absolutely but I don’t tend to tie that in with a concept of war in the
spiritual realm. My understanding of evil sits fairly and squarely within the
doctrine of free will. Evil is what we do to each other and we don’t need any
help with that from outside forces. Demons? It’s the stuff of Hammer Horror.
I’m not prepared to dismiss it out of hand but it’s outside my experience and I
need to look into it more - but the Jews of that day believed, without
reservation, that human beings could be possessed by demons.
There is, of course, a body of thought which argues that
there was no medical understanding of mental illness in the first century: no
understanding of epilepsy, autism or a range of psychological disorders and I
find that a very compelling argument. What modern medicine diagnoses fairly
easily, the first century could only account for as demon possession and I
don’t doubt that that’s true to a greater extent. But the point is: healing is
healing. The man was healed. Does it really matter what his condition was? We
know that it was acute and we know that Jesus healed him and maybe that’s the
key element of this incident in the life of Jesus. However we understand exorcisms,
those reported from the ancient world or from present day cultures unlike our
own, something real is happening. People are being set free. Physical
contortions and hugely dramatic moments will occur in many different therapies,
whether the frame of thought is demonology or psychotherapy.
You may remember the TV series Rev. – a wonderfully affirming
series about the struggles of an inner city vicar dealing with the rough end of
ministry and a sometimes seemingly less than helpful diocesan structure.
I’ve thought a lot about Rev. this week and the poignant
episode where Adam - and his rather more reluctant wife, Alex - almost succeed
in getting Mick clean before he is overwhelmed again. Once again Adam, against
all the advice of others tries to do the “right” thing by Mick and offer that
unconditional love and support that might eventually lead Mick to healing, and
those of us watching are rooting for Adam while probably secretly agreeing with
the Archdeacon that Adam’s actions are probably not that wise. We want Adam to
succeed because Adam is our Jesus in that situation dealing with his own
domestic demoniac.
It was Jesus’s choice to go to the other side in the boat and
by doing so he knows that he’s crossing boundaries—geographical, ethnic, and
religious. He was entering foreign territory, the borderlands, the other side
of the religious tracks; yet the scene is familiar to him because it is another
storm and he knows how to handle those.
So, the first person Jesus meets when he reaches “the other
side of the lake,” is the demoniac. What
have you to do with me, Jesus, Son of the Most High God? I beg you, do not
torment me.
Well, as I stand there I now know who the leader of the group
is: Jesus – and I’ve heard of him, even here in the middle of this
Greek-speaking, Gentile area, news of this man has spread and now I am really
interested in what’s going on.
The reaction to Jesus’ visit is swift and intense. The demons
- and it turns out there are many, not one - realize immediately that they are
in the presence of a power greater than their own. A storm rages in this man’s life. He lives in
the tombs; he’s a dead man walking, possessed by demons that drive him into the
wilds. He’s a wild, howling thing who breaks physical chains, yet in a moment
of clarity, this man recognises about Jesus what the disciples on the boat had
not yet recognised: You are “Jesus, Son of the Most High God.” This naked,
homeless, deeply troubled, foreign, outsider sees clearly who Jesus is. Yet,
he’s unable to recognize his own sickness. Ironically, he begs Jesus not to
torment him, when in fact he’s already tormented! He knew no other reality but
tragedy. His demonic storm was his norm so much so that he didn’t want to be
free or know what freedom is.
I find this really
interesting. How many people do we know today who live lives of chaos and
trauma who really seem not to want to change? However dreadful the reality of
their lives it is nevertheless their reality: they know it, it is familiar and
change is threatening. The fear is real: can they cope with a changed life or
will they, like Mick in Rev. slip back to old ways? Is it fear of failure or
lack of self-esteem? “Can I do it? Am I strong enough? Will I let people down?”
What we know often seems “safer” than the unknown.
So the healing, the calm, comes with a cost—a fear of a new
reality. In Jesus’ presence we may see ourselves for who we really are which is
why we want him to leave us alone. Without his calm healing, we can still hide
behind the chaos which is our norm.
Maybe that’s why the others who witnessed this healing were afraid and
asked Jesus to leave: the people can’t handle this new reality, this new
creation - and the changes that have been made to the man - because it also
impacts them. Healing has made them lose their sense of order while God is in
the process of re-ordering it. In the presence of Christ, we may recognize the
ways in which we are not well. The truth is costly. Some don’t want God in their lives because
that means they will have to change. We don’t want the way we live to be
disrupted. Healing and salvation are scary because they mean a different way of
life, a new order, a new reality, a new creation has arrived. Healing will cost
us the way life is, so there are those who prefer for things to stay the same:
not everyone wants to change or to be changed. Not everyone wants to be healed.
It’s too costly.
But, of course, it isn’t just about healing of individuals:
it’s about healing of societies too. Just in the last week we’ve seen dreadful
acts at home and abroad. We saw the homophobic killing of fifty people in
Orlando: in terms of healing and wholeness, a radical rethink is needed both in
relation to gun laws and homophobia. Does that society wish to be healed? It
remains to be seen whether this incident leads to radical change or business as
usual.
And at home our own MP, Jo Cox, was brutally murdered in the
street as she went about her constituency business. What are the issues we need
to address here in order to show a desire for the healing of this community and
wider British society? Do we need to consider the rhetoric of our referendum
campaign? The public perception that MPs are a bunch of out-of-touch
freeloaders? The paucity of our mental health provision? The fractured and
divided nature of a society not at ease with itself? The echo-chamber of vitriol which characterises much of our tabloid newspapers and social media? The belief that if I
disagree with someone it’s within my right to do what I like to diminish and
dismiss them – even to the point of violence?
As with America, only time will tell.
I like the end of the healing story today. The man who was
severely sick was healed and at the conclusion of the story, he was sitting at
the feet of Jesus, clothed and in his right mind.
As Jesus was getting into the boat and was about to leave,
the healed man approached him. The healed man wanted to get into the boat and
go with Jesus, his healer. But Jesus said, “Go back to your home and tell
others how God has healed you.” And the man did. Luke’s Gospel tells us that he
went home to family and friends, proclaiming the good news of his inner healing
to all.
There is still power today when we go back home to our family
and friends and tell how Jesus has been the source of healing in our lives. We
share our story of God’s healing powers in our own lives, healing our
anxieties, healing our depressions, healing our relationships, healing our
inner despair, healing our low self-esteem, healing our addictions. There is
power when we tell the story of God’s healing in our own lives or the lives of
our families.
At the heart of the story for today is its conclusion: a
healed man shared with his friends and neighbours that Jesus had healed him. I
don’t believe that the healed man knew how Jesus healed him – or cared much.
That was not the issue. The issue is that a man believed that the Lord had been
the source of his healing and he shared his deeply held conviction with others.
The witness of the Church is most powerful when people
personally share with their family, friends and neighbours their deeply held
conviction that God is the source of their inner healing.
So, as someone who placed himself in the centre of the action
to better understand the story, I must do that too. It seems to me that this is
a responsibility that we all share, particularly at this time in our traumatised
community.