Pentecost 2C
(Proper 7)
June 23, 2019
Luke 8:26-39
INTRODUCTION
Now that we are
in the season of Pentecost, we will hear a lot of stories about Jesus’ life and
ministry. They are roughly in order, but we will miss some parts, so I will use
this time to make sure you are aware of where we are in the story, focusing mostly
on the Gospel and letting the other readings enhance those themes for us each
week.
At this point
in Luke, Jesus has called the disciples, and done quite a bit of teaching and
preaching, and a lot of healing. In his very first public sermon, back in chapter
4, he preached on Isaiah, saying that he was called, among other things, to
proclaim release to the captives, sight to the blind, and forgiveness of debt,
and he has begun to show everyone what that looks like. All of his work so far
has been in the region of Galilee, a largely Jewish area, but now, for the
first time, he ventures across the sea into the land of Gentiles. He ends up in
the land of the Gerasenes, where Jesus will be approached by a man with a
legion of demons. A Roman legion is about 5000 troops – a lot of demons!
In all of these
stories we will hear over the summer and fall, we are tasked with seeing them
not just as stories that occurred 2000 years ago, but as stories that still
play out today, albeit in more contemporary ways. So, as you listen, consider
where you see yourself in the story. With which character do you resonate?
Whose plight tugs at your heart strings? And, what word of hope is Jesus
offering you in that? Let’s listen.
[READ]
Grace to you and peace from God our
Father and our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.
My kids love
books. One of my favorite things about reading to especially 3-year-old Grace,
is that she always finds herself in the story. Literally! “That’s me,” she
says, pointing to one of the characters that has struck her – no matter the
color or age of the person – “and that’s Isaac,” she adds, never to leave her
best friend and brother behind. We read the story, she with rapt interest, and
then she hops up, finds herself a costume, and proceeds to act out the story.
She makes the story her own, and in doing so, learns more about people, about
adventure, about language, and about empathy.
It strikes me
that this is precisely how we should be reading the Bible: to look at a story
and say, “That’s me. That’s my story.” We often talk in Bible studies about how
the Bible relates to our lives, but I
prefer to think about how this biblical story IS our story. Because I believe
this book is full of truth, even though I don’t necessarily believe that everything
happened just exactly as it is written here (sometimes a story is sometimes
made more true by using literary devices, which sometimes fudge facts). I think
the Bible is a record of people telling their own story and experience with God,
in a way that allows future generations, like us, to find their own experience
in this timeless story, if not in the details, then at least in the themes and
emotions and our shared human condition.
Today’s Gospel
story is really bizarre, but also a wonderfully rich story in which to find
ourselves, so that is what we are going to do today. There are lots of entry
points: maybe you are the fearful observer of when God does a mighty thing and
you’re just not quite sure you can believe it. Maybe you are the swineherd, who
feels like someone else’s freedom and good fortune has been to your detriment,
and resulted in your loss. (Those poor pigs!) But I’d like today for you to
think especially about the centerpiece of our story: the man with the legion of
demons.
Picture with me
for a moment, what his life must have been. He used to be somebody – someone
with a name and a purpose. But all that has been long past gone. Now, his
community has defined him only by his ailment, and treated him thusly. He is
the man with all the demons, the demons that swirl about his awareness, at
times so much in his consciousness that he cannot see anything else around him
without looking first through the dastardly lens they provide. He is the man
who has longed for years to experience the human connection he used to enjoy,
but now there is no more connection – his condition prevents that. And without
that connection, his humanity and his dignity have gone, too. He is ostracized,
pushed away, shackled on the outskirts of town. He tries to return to the city,
seeking that connection he knows will give him back a hint of that humanity and
worthiness he used to enjoy, but no one has the time or energy for that. He is
pushed away, again and again, until he no longer believes he is worthy anymore
of being in a meaningful relationship with another human being. His demons have
won. They have beaten his identity out of him, and convinced him that he is
not, in fact, worthy of love. Because of all those demons with which he lives,
he is not enough. He has come to believe that he belongs in the tombs, that
place of death, because he no longer experiences life.
Anyone ever
feel something like that? Like a legion of metaphorical demons surround you and
affect how you see yourself and how you see the world? Some of us deal with
addictions – to alcohol, our phones, wealth, or the hope of an ideal body. Some
of us have been abused, physically, emotionally, or both. Some of us can’t break
out of a cycle of deceit, or bitterness, or self-righteousness. Some of us find
our skin color, our sexuality, our faith, our gender, to be magnets for hateful
words from others. Some of us live daily with depression and anxiety, and
arrive at the end of each day exhausted from the mere act of living. Some of us
process information differently from most, and so we get labeled as “weird” or
worse, and we are dismissed or ignored by our peers. Some of us have children
or parents or siblings who refuse to speak to us. Some of us know just what St.
Paul meant when he said, “I don’t do the thing I want, but I do the very thing
I hate.” Not all of these are demons that need to be sent away – indeed some
are a part of the beautiful people God created when he created each of us. But
the emotional impact of them can still sometimes keep us from experiencing the
abundant life God wants for us. We all have things like this that we carry with
us each day. They make us doubt ourselves. They make us doubt we are worthy of
love. They fill us with shame, and make us believe we are not enough.
Back to the man
with the legion of demons. There he is, living in the tombs, when this fellow,
Jesus, arrives on the shore. Instinctively he runs out to greet him – not
because he wanted Jesus there but in order to reject him, to push Jesus away as
he himself had been pushed away by his own community. Perhaps if he could do
the same, it might restore a sense of purpose for him. He is naked as he runs –
is it because he no longer cares, or because he is so desperate to be close to
someone that he has stripped anything that might get in the way? He falls at
Jesus’ feet, and Jesus immediately tries to help him, but the demons won’t have
it. They talk back to Jesus, taunting him, and begging him to mind his own
business. “We’re in control here, Jesus,” they say. “You stay out of it.”
And then this
remarkable moment: Jesus asks his name. It is the most basic form of
connection, to ask someone’s name. The man’s heart leaps at the opportunity,
but before he can answer, the demons do: “We are Legion.” They have so taken
over the man that even his proper name has been swallowed up. Yet their
quickness to answer backfires, for once the demons have been named, they can be
managed. Jesus swiftly sends them into a nearby herd of pigs, who carry that
legion of demons off into the sea to be drown forever.
The man has his life back. He is once
again himself, and, sitting at the feet of Jesus, he has found the connection
he has craved for so long. And now, Jesus gives him also a purpose: to become
the first missionary to this Gentile land, telling everyone about how much
Jesus has done for him, proclaiming how his relationship with Jesus has changed
his life.
I listed
earlier some of the metaphorical demons we may deal with today. Maybe some of
them you experienced in your past, maybe some currently surround your
awareness. Maybe some affect someone you love. As we seek to find ourselves in
this story, I wonder, has Jesus shown up on the shore for you? Has Jesus come
and found you, living in the tombs or self-doubt and unworthiness? Maybe Jesus
came in the form of the counselor you needed just then, or a breakthrough in a
difficult conversation with a loved one. Maybe Jesus came in the kind act of a friend
of stranger, or a prayer offered on your behalf. Maybe Jesus arrived on your
shore in worship, in receiving those words of forgiveness, or that morsel of
bread and the words, “given for you.”
Maybe Jesus came and you didn’t know
to call it Jesus, but now, in retrospect, you can see that this is exactly who
it was, because that was the thing that brought you from death back to life,
the thing that gave you hope once again, that helped you name what was plaguing
you so that it could be managed, even sent away to a place where it no longer
stole from you the abiding truth and knowledge that you are loved, you are
worthy of love, and in God’s eyes, you are absolutely enough. Because that is
the business of Jesus, after all: to show us and tell us in many and various
ways that we are beloved by God, and
no matter who we are, what we do, what we experience or live with every day,
whatever death or loss or ending we may experience – nothing can ever change
how much God loves us, and God will always work to bring us from the place of
death, back toward life. This is our
story, you see – it is a story of God seeking us out, connecting with us,
restoring to us our given name, “child of God,” and granting us life.
There’s one more place to find our
story in this story. It’s that bit at the end – where Jesus gives the man a new
purpose with his new life: go and declare how much God has done for you. Tell
you friends your story, about how our God of life did not or does not leave you
hanging out there by the tombs, shackled and disconnected. Tell your story,
about how God has brought or is bringing life out of your death, and hope out
of your despair. Proclaim to all how Jesus has changed your life, and how much
Jesus has done for you.
This story is our story. So let’s go
out and live like it!
Let us pray… Life-giving
God, we all live with stuff and baggage and challenges that keep us from living
a life of joy in your gospel. Help us to seek your presence in our lives, and
to be ever aware of the ways you are calling our stuff by its name, and working
to send it away so that we might once again have life. Embolden us, then, to
tell our story, your story, to those who need to hear it. In the name of the
Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.
