The Rev. Joseph Farnes
All Saints, Boise
Proper 7C
In his earthly ministry, Jesus did many things. He preached and taught. He forgave sins. He healed the sick. He fed the hungry. He called out hypocrisy. He raised the dead. And, most uncomfortably for us modern folks, he cast out demons.
That last one, exorcism, sits oddly for us. Some of us may be fully committed to a modern worldview wherein the idea of the demonic is silly superstition from a bygone era. When we hear the Gospel stories about exorcism, we may squirm a little, direct our attention to the bulletin or to what we’re going to have for dinner, or dismiss the whole idea of the demonic entirely.
Some of us, on the other hand, may feel strongly about the reality of the demonic. Maybe it’s from previous religious experience where “spiritual warfare” is practiced. Or maybe it’s from a personal experience with something malevolent beyond rational, earthly explanation. So some might feel right at home in the Gospel passage today.
Is the demonic an objective reality, or a metaphorical description of something else? Do we view the demonic as the ancient world’s explanation for mental illness and epilepsy, and Jesus as a healer whose charisma and compassion healed those in need? Or do we view the demonic as a present reality requiring prayerful vigilance?
I have my thoughts and experiences that form my response to those questions. And I also know how much of our modern understanding of the demonic is distorted and formed by “satanic panics” and scary movies from the 70s, 80s, and even today.
But what I do know most firmly is that so many people are bound by *something* that tears them down and alienates them and distracts them and dehumanizes them. That I see all the time.
It hurts people in all walks of life. People whose lives seem like outward successes, and people whose lives seem a history of painful failures. People who are powerful, people who are rich; people who are powerless, people who are poor. People who walk the halls of government, and the people who sleep on the streets outside. People who are our enemies, people who are our friends, people who are our family … and even us.
So many different things can cause such painful dehumanization, and it leads to even more pain. They strike out at others in violence and war, they amass more and more gold as if that would heal them inside, they beg and demand to be admired and lauded by others. So many wounded people.
What could be so powerful to bring such dehumanizing torment?
It could be a powerful memory of a traumatic experience that crashes in and disrupts daily life. It could be an internalized voice that says all day long how terrible and unlovable we are, and how much we’re just a failure in life. It could be an addiction to something that keeps us running from something we’re scared of. It could be a belief that our value as a human being is rooted in our work, our wealth and reputation, our family status or our body. It could be something we did long ago that plays over and over again in our brain to prove that we are monstrous sinners unworthy of any hope, and that if anyone else knew the full extent of our sins, then they could drive us out into the wilderness and despise us. Or many, many other different things that pop up, grab at our hearts, minds, and spirits with hooks to drag us down.
And we find ourselves scared of them. Scared that these thoughts, images, beliefs, or deeds will unmask us and undo the fragile façade that we have built to keep us safe. Yet we are then stuck – the thing that keeps us prisoner in our hearts is also the thing that tries to convince us that being their prisoner is the only thing that keeps us safe, that the cell we are kept in is the only safe place we can be.
And Jesus does not accept this for us.
Jesus comes and proclaims that we are beloved children of God, made in the divine image, of infinite and precious worth – all of us, all of you, each of you.
He shares his life in his ministry to set us on the right path and to set us free from the prisons that hold us. He pours out his life on the cross to wash us clean and give us a new birth in him. He brings us into his life in his resurrection to imprint his courage in us and to give us hope.
When Jesus is casting out the demons, this Legion of demons, the well-trained army of demons out of this man in the Gospel reading today, the man first begs to not be tormented. The man, who has already been tormented by these demons and tormented by alienation from others, he begs not to be tormented.
How many of us are terrified of being tormented by sitting with the thought, the belief, the memory that keeps us imprisoned? We grip it tightly. We do not want to be tormented, even if we are already being tormented. The prison we have is familiar, the mental anguish and spiritual pain we endure is too familiar and we are afraid of what it will be like to not have it.
In pastoral work and in counseling work, I see that happen so often. People will say, “I’m unlovable.” That thought is so strong they think it’s true. They’re afraid to even take a step back and say, “*I think* I’m unlovable.” That would make for a gap in the chains, a gap in the bars of the cell that we might start seeing our freedom. Maybe… what we think is wrong.
Maybe that voice, that thought, that belief is wrong, it’s inaccurate, it’s unhelpful.
Maybe the voice we need to be listening to is not *that* one, but rather the voice of Jesus.
The voice of Jesus wants to break our chains – will we let him?
The voice of Jesus wants to set us free from fear and self-loathing – will we let him?
The voice of Jesus wants to bring us into community – will we let him?
The voice of Jesus wants to send all those self-destructive thoughts and behaviors over the cliff and into the cleansing waters so that we may rejoice in being beloved children of God and proclaim God’s goodness near and far – will we let him? So what is it that torments you – and will you let Jesus set you free? He delights in setting you free. He is eager to set you free. He is ready to set you free. Let Jesus set you free. Amen.