Sermon:
July 26, 1998

Scripture:
Luke 8:26-39

"This is a strange story," declares J.M. Creed. "Fantastic and grotesque," adds Joseph Fitzmyer. "Unsophisticated, with enough preposterous material to invite the scorn of the skeptic," concludes J. Pesch. These men are all esteemed New Testament scholars. Their statements refer to the story I just read (Luke 8:26-39). If you want a more local opinion, take it from the lady who edits the church page. In response to hearing the title of this morning's sermon, she simply said: "Yuk."

But it is a good story. A rich story. Three out of four gospels retell it. One suspects that, in its day, it was quite popular. I suppose it could be called the story of a healing. But what it really is, is the story of an exorcism. Which nudges it toward the fringe of respectability. But since you and I have never considered it, let's take a run at it together.

Let me suggest that we view the story from four perspectives. In order to keep things straight in your head, allow me to guide you through this little exercise by using four words that begin with the letter "c." I will begin by saying a few words about the country, followed by related comments on the crazies, the cure and the crowd.

The Country. The location of this story is important. We read that Jesus came to the region of the Gerasenes. This is pagan country. Gerasa is a pagan town. Today, it is called Jerash and is located in the kingdom of Jordan. In Jesus' day, Gerasa was to be found in the mountains of Gilead in a region known as Transjordania. This puts Gerasa well east of the Jordan River. Look for it about 32 miles from Lake Gennasaret. If my face is the Middle East, put the Sea of Galilee in the middle of my forehead. Put the Dead Sea where my mouth is. Now, run a blue line from my forehead to my mouth. That blue line is the Jordan River. Anything on the west side of my face is Israel. Anything on the east side of my face is Transjordania. Watch my face in the Middle East and you'll never get lost.

Jesus goes into pagan territory. If we didn't know, as a result of reading a map, that Gerasa is nestled in a pagan land, we would know it from the presence of pigs. No self-respecting Jew would keep 2,000 head of pigs. Pigs are unclean animals. A Jew doesn't eat pigs ... keep pigs ... or have anything else to do with pigs. Therefore, if there are pigs in a story written for Jews, you are in a pagan country. Trust me.

Luke thinks this story happened in Gerasa. So does Mark. Matthew moves the story to Gadara, which is located 27 miles closer to Lake Gennasaret. That distance will become a big deal later on. But don't worry about it now. Stick with Mark and Luke. Assume the story takes place in Gerasa.

In both Mark and Luke, this story follows the famous account of Jesus calming a storm. It is as if both writers want to say: "Not only can he calm wild waves, he can even calm wild men." But concerning which body of water Jesus calmed, the writers cannot agree. Mark suggests it was the Sea of Galilee. Luke thinks it was Lake Gennasaret. There is good reason to believe Luke on this one. Go with Lake Gennasaret. So now you know where you are. You are in a pagan land near Lake Gennasaret, somewhere to the east of my nose.

The Crazies. Jesus encounters a man with an unclean spirit. The man is demon-possessed. He cannot be bound, even with a chain. The chains he wrenches apart, and the fetters he breaks in pieces. In other words, you are supposed to picture a "wild and crazy guy." Mark tells us that by day and by night, this man is constantly crying aloud and bruising himself with stones. In other words, he is self-destructive. He is the kind of person for whom we pad the walls. Luke adds that he neither wears clothes nor lives in a house. He loiters among the tombs. And since pagan tombs are places of ritual uncleanness for a Jew, we are talking about a man with an "unclean spirit," who also dwells in an "unclean place." Friends, we are talking "untouchable" here.

Jesus apparently accepts at face value the idea that the man is possessed. The writers would have us believe that his pitiable condition ... along with his wild and crazy ways ... are the direct result of one or more demons having taken possession of his body. Therefore, Jesus says: "Come out of the man, you unclean spirit." Or ... "Demon, take a hike."

Ironically, the demon (or demons) do exactly as they are told. He (or they) seem to grasp who is speaking to them. For he (they) says: "What do you want with me, Jesus, Son of the Most High God? Do not torment me."

Which is a fascinating little sidelight. For, elsewhere in the Gospels, nobody seems to know who Jesus is. The disciples are never quite sure. Neither are the Pharisees. Even the members of Jesus' family can't get things straightened out in their heads. But a foreign demon knows him immediately. And since names are important, Jesus wants to be on equal footing with the demon. "Look," Jesus says, "you seem to know my name. What's yours?" To which the unclean spirit says: "My name is legion ... for we are many."

Which I can understand. Sometimes my name is legion ... for I am many. Consider the root of the reference. The text is inviting us to visualize an entire Roman legion, consisting of 6,000 foot soldiers. If all 6,000 are marching in the same direction, one gazes upon a marvelous display of integration and power. But if the 6,000 soldiers are going every which way, they can tear one apart. To suggest that "my name is legion" is to suggest that I am many ... multiple ... more than one. It is also to suggest that I am split ... divided ... torn ... perhaps even schizoid. Some people feel that way, you know. Some people hear conflicting voices crying for their attention. Some people experience multiple personalities living inside their skin. Some people feel as if a civil war is being fought internally.

A quiet businessman, reacting to a career's worth of slights and overlooked injustices, suddenly attacks his colleague with a verbal rage that catches everyone by surprise, including himself. His name is legion.

A fed-up mother says to her teenage daughter: "How hostile and mean you are. Every word that comes out of your mouth is spiteful. How do they stand you at school?" To which her daughter replies: "It would probably surprise you to learn that I am quite a different person in school." Her name is legion.

A crusading preacher mobilizes an entire community to enact an anti-pornography ordinance, which is why no one is prepared for his arrest on charges of photographing young boys in compromising positions. His name? Rev. Legion.

Robert Raines, a marvelous preacher (turned retreat leader), writes: "Remember the medieval method of torture known as `quartering,' wherein a man's arms and legs were tied to four different horses, with each horse commanded to gallop in a different direction." There are times when I feel like that. My name is legion.

"What is your name?" Jesus asks. And the answer comes back from the crazy man: "My name is legion, for we are many." A psychologist is talking with his counselee. "Does everybody in your house get along?" he asks. To which his client answers: "I live alone ... no, we don't." His name is legion.

The Cure. Jesus commands the demons to vacate the man's body. They recognize that Jesus has power over them (which is a key element in the story). Therefore, they offer no resistance to Jesus. They concede his dominion. Instead, they bargain for the best deal they can get. "Do not ship us out of the country," they say. For, according to ancient legends, a demon without a body to inhabit must wander the earth, seeking a dwelling place in desert regions, watery bogs or tombs. Spotting the pigs, they say: "Send us into the swine" (which number about 2,000, according to Mark). So Jesus complies. Following which the pigs rush down the steep bank and are drowned in the sea.

It is here that the story unravels just a bit. From a geographic standpoint, the story is hard to comprehend. If it really takes place anywhere near Gerasa, the pigs have to run 32 miles to water. Even if you allow Matthew's change of locale to Gadara, you are left with pigs needing to make a six mile run. This may well be the most energetic herd in history. Which explains why Origen, a theologian of the early church, suggested that the village was really Gergesa. But there is absolutely nothing to confirm that correction. Still, Origen's attempt, undertaken around 150 AD, suggests that the story was still very much in the process of formation at a relatively late date.

Then there is the problem posed by the demise of the pigs. After all, they must have belonged to somebody. Two thousand pigs aren't just standing around for the fun of it. One has to consider the possibility of an angry swine herder whose entire business was wiped out in one brief afternoon. The late George Buttrick once preached a sermon from the viewpoint of the man owning the pigs. The sermon was entitled, "My God, My Pigs." After all, the loss of 2,000 porkers ... whether by demonic possession or drowning ... would have been reasonable grounds for a lawsuit. Or government relief.

I think the pigs are a part of an old folk legend, stitched onto the story for the purpose of adding to its drama. The presence of slaughtered swine would certainly appeal to a Jewish mindset. Since Jews viewed pigs as unclean, they would cheer their demise.

Or, as long as we are speculating, consider Emery Percell's observation that Luke's readers would have understood the word "swine" to be a euphemism for "Roman soldiers" ... in much the same way that the SDS protestors in Chicago (circa 1968) referred to the Chicago riot police as "pigs." Meaning that a Jewish readership would have snickered over the image of legions of demons entering legions of soldiers, thus confirming a widely held belief that Romans were not only insane, but would one day tumble (perhaps even by self-destruction). I know that's a stretch for the text. But it's well within the spirit of the times.

What do I think of the cure? Well, that's a difficult question. I believe that the man was healed. Of precisely what, I do not know. Exactly how, I do not know either. By nature, I am not inclined to believe in demonic possession. Hence, I am skeptical about exorcisms. Never having done one, I wouldn't know how to proceed. Never having seen one, I wouldn't know how to describe. As concerns craziness and wild behavior, I tend toward traditional definitions of mental illness in my search for understanding. As concerns how people get healed from craziness, I look toward more traditional therapies, ranging from intercessory prayer to psychoanalysis.

That's simply my bias. I don't apologize for it. It's just that I have no practical frame of reference that would help me understand either demonic possession or exorcism. The closest I ever came to exorcism was watching the movie The Exorcist. I was both fascinated and repulsed by it (what with all that green slime spewing out of that little girl's mouth). Critics tell me the movie was highly sensationalized ... having little in common with classical exorcism. But how would I know that, given that I know nothing about classical exorcism?

But Scott Peck does. Or so he claims. Scott Peck is greatly esteemed in both the Christian and psychotherapeutic worlds. He is the author of The Road Less Traveled and its sequel, Further Along the Road Less Traveled. He is also the author of a little book on the subject of evil, bearing the intriguing title, People of the Lie. It is hard going, but worth the effort. In its pages, Peck sets out to study subjects of demonic possession. Peck believes it is possible to be possessed. Rare ... but possible. He suggests that demonic possession ... if it occurs at all ... is the culmination of a long, slow process. It also involves, to some degree, the cooperation of the victim. "I doubt very much," Peck writes, "that somebody can go walking down the street and have a demon jump from behind a bush and penetrate him or her. Rather, possession appears to be a gradual process ... one in which the person possessed repeatedly sells out to evil." And listen to what Peck says next: "In the few cases of demonic possession I have been able to document, the primary reason for selling out appeared to be loneliness, wherein the demon became something of an imaginary companion."

Some of which makes sense to me. I don't know about his "loneliness" theory, but I do buy into his use of the word "gradual." For I have seen people who start by making simple compromises with one kind of evil or another. During this initial period of compromise, the individual retains a measure of control. But there comes a point where the evil takes over ... assuming a life of its own. And if that is not possession, it certainly looks like possession.

What is addiction, for example, if not possession? In the beginning, the addict has a choice. But gradually ... over time ... choice is surrendered. Until there is no choice. Which is why addicts eventually use words like "helpless" and "powerless."

But whereas some become possessed by an evil substance, others appear to be possessed by an evil posture ... or an evil attitude. I have met people who seem to be possessed by hatred. I suppose they start out entertaining hateful feelings, only to become those feelings. Over a period of time, they go from being hate-filled people to hateful people. And I, for one, am quite willing to call them demonic.

Over the years, I have accumulated a small list ... very small, really ... of people I would consider demonic. Not disagreeable. Not dislikable. Not even disgusting. But demonic. These people appear to be possessed by something that ... whatever its origin ... has gradually taken on a life and power of its own.

Scott Peck suggests that whenever you meet such people, conventional therapies will simply not work. It requires something like exorcism. By way of definition, Peck defines exorcism as "psychotherapy by massive assault" ... in which the healer becomes far more confrontational than a traditional therapist ever would. Exorcism is therapy that is neither afraid of power, nor unwilling to use it. Conventional therapy begins by saying: "We are going to try and understand what is going on within you." Exorcism begins by saying: "We are going to do battle with this thing that has become you."

I think Peck is saying that while some "craziness" is defeatable, once it is understood, other "craziness" cannot be defeated until it is opposed. It is of crucial importance to realize that Jesus ... in his dealings with various forms of craziness ... is customarily understanding, but occasionally confrontational. The same Jesus who understands, also opposes. Which is why he shouts: "Come out of that man, you unclean spirit. You do not belong there." And the spirit comes out ... and goes God knows where.

The Crowd. About this group, I will say next to nothing. For my time is up ... and the crowd is not all that admirable. When word of the healing spread, people gathered. When they saw the "wild and crazy guy" sitting beside Jesus, fully clothed and of sound mind, they were afraid. And Luke adds: "The entire populace of the Gerasene countryside begged Jesus to leave." Which he did. How frightening it can be when healing power is displayed. How unsettling it can be when the sick get well. How accustomed we become to the status quo, even when the status quo is "madness." One is left to conclude that the people of Gerasa feared insanity less than they feared sanity. Unfortunately, they are not alone.