What is your demon?
thumbnail image by Judith Meyer from Pixabay
Clare L. Hickman
St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Ferndale
June 19, 2022—Proper 7C
Galatians 3:23-29; Luke 8:26-39
Tell me what your demon is.
Those essentially, are the first words we hear from Jesus in this story, after his first, unsuccessful attempt to heal this wild, chained man. As he does so often in the gospels, Jesus asks the demon its name.
Because if something needs to be healed, we need to know what it is. After all, things are not always as they seem. There are things that we fear that we do not need to fear. Or we might fear them for the wrong reason.
Let’s take a closer look at this story. All in all, it’s a very dramatic tale, with its echoes of the graveyard and rattling chains, howling demons and suicidal pigs. Frankly, it’s straight out of a Hollywood script, and Jesus very well cast as the calm, controlled healer around whom the whole scene swirls. There is no pea soup or head spinning, but there is that herd of pigs streaking over the cliff, and you have to admit, that was a nice touch.
Even without the colorful detail, there is a powerful message at the center of this story: the power of God, the presence of the Living God, can cast out demons. If we allow it, Christ can free us from the things that torment and imprison us, can unbind us, can shine a light inside us and dispel those hidden, twisted places. Christ has that power, and we can invite that power into our lives!
But it might not go precisely as we expect. As I’d mentioned, things are not always as we think they are. We might not have as clear a handle on what our own demons are as we’d like to believe.
Once again, take today’s story. It’s different from most other exorcisms Jesus performs. There are more details; it’s a bigger story and likely enough, there’s a reason for that. There’s something MORE going on here than relieving one person from his torment. Take a look. It begins normally enough, with Jesus asking the demon its name. This is standard practice for summoning or dispelling a demon, but here is where it gets interesting: the demons reply, “Legion.” Legion … which, as you might well know, isn’t just a generic term for “a bunch of something.” It is, unquestionably, a Roman military term. So here we have a story in which this “Legion” is tormenting a local man so that he must be shackled, living a half-life amongst the tombs. Jesus commands Legion to depart, and Legion begs him to leave them alone. Instead, Jesus casts them out, and sends them into a herd of swine, which promptly throw themselves off a cliff and are drowned.
And certainly, the story still works as the tale of one individual who is possessed by a demon of some kind, an individual who suffers and who is a danger to those around him. That person is healed; freed by Jesus to live a whole new life in the community.
But we’ve missed something if we don’t also hear that satirical swipe at Roman military power—a demonic Legion is transformed into a herd of unclean swine and then swallowed up in the sea. And when we hear of an army being swallowed up in the sea, where are we taken? We are swept back to the shores of the Red Sea! We remember God triumphing over the imperial forces of Egypt. And so we cannot help but hear Jesus proclaiming victory over Roman imperialism.”[1]
No wonder the townspeople are so frightened they pretty much run him out of town! This raises dangerous hopes. This invites threatening attention. And this calls an occupied people to account for the ways in which they might have allied themselves with powers that oppose the laws of God.
Suddenly, the question of who is possessed by a demon stops being about someone over there. And the identity of the demon—of what it is that enslaves us, torments us, cuts us off from ourselves and each other—is no longer clear either. Which is frightening … but that realization is also the beginning of liberation, of healing, of new life. Because let’s face it: being afraid of the wrong thing, on guard against an enemy that is not really the enemy, does no-one any good.
Our fears do not always tell us the truth. We are not always aware of what demons dwell within others or ourselves: chaining us, isolating us, making us a danger to our self and to others. And in some ways we might like it that way. It is easier to continue to be fearful at the sight of a young black man walking down the street than to confront the racism that produced the fear in the first place. It’s more comfortable to focus on this thing over here (or that thing that someone else is doing over there!) and pretend that our gossiping, our addictions, our consumption, our ignorance aren’t really hurting anyone else.
I could go on… but I don’t know what your demons are. Heck, I don’t have a total handle on what MINE are. That’s the point. We are told today, in this story, that Jesus can free us (as individuals and as a society) of what enslaves and tortures us. But we are also reminded to question our assumptions about what that might be.
We might do well to stop and listen for the voice of God. Like the prophet Elijah, who went up Mount Horeb to confront God, we might need to wait through the roaring winds, the breaking rocks, the quaking earth and the bright fire, all those things that come to distract us. But then, at last, we just might come to the silence …….. Might open ourselves, and still ourselves to hear the voice of God ……... Letting the noise of our assumptions die down, so that we can hear Jesus ask our demon its name.
Hearing that name might well be terrifying. But know this. KNOW this: if you have had the courage to come this far, to open your life and heart and secret places to the Living God … then the power and presence of Christ will protect you. Will free you. Will restore you. Maybe not in the way you expected. Perhaps not in the way that you WANTED, for you will likely be broken in some way. But you will also be healed. You will be healed.
Peace be with you, and may it be so. Amen.
[1] William O'Brien, “Dare to Preach This Gospel” in Sojourners Magazine, January-February 2000