“Just then there was in their synagogue a
man with an unclean spirit, and he cried out, ‘What have you to do with us,
Jesus of Nazareth? Have you come to destroy us? I know who you are, the Holy
One of God.’” (Mark 1:23-24)
Don’t you just hate it when this kind of
thing happens?
You go to your house of worship for a nice
Sabbath observance, you’re listening to the rabbi give a really unique and
interesting talk, and then the whole thing gets disrupted by some guy with an
unclean spirit. Man! That sucks. Why can’t people with unclean spirits just
stay home?
But sometime disruptions might not be such
bad things, as in our Gospel lesson for Epiphany 4, Year B (Mark 1:21-28).
Liturgical junkie that I am, I really love it when a mass is ritually perfect,
when no one drops an offering plate or a hymnal or has a sneezing fit in the
middle of my homily. I like to get through worship without anything catching on
fire or any other unwelcome interruption. All the same, sometimes the
interruptions are as important—or more important—than the ritual itself.
In our Gospel lesson Jesus is wowing the
crowds by his own authoritative interpretation of scripture, something this
congregation wasn’t all used to hearing. Then this guy with the unclean spirit
starts yelling at him. My natural wonky curiosity made me look up this passage
in my Greek Bible to see what exactly was meant by “Unclean.” It turns out that
the word used is akatharto (akaqartw
for
you Greek folks!) which comes from a root which actually means “dirty.” In
fact, it can mean “filthy,” (like covered in poop) “rotten,” “impure,” or
“defiling.” Any way you look at it, this spirit has nothing to do with God or
holiness. It’s just plain icky.
So here’s a guy in a house of worship who
has a spirit that has crawled out of a toilet. What does Jesus do? He tells the
spirit to shut the freak up and he orders it to come out of the man. Three
things stand out here.
First, the slimy spirit knows who Jesus
is. At some level, sin always knows it’s sin and always fears the judgment of
Christ’s righteousness. Folks say to me, “Pastor, I know I shouldn’t say this but...” and then they go on to say something
rather uncharitable. I want to tell them, “If you know you shouldn’t say it, don’t say it!” At some level, I think we
always recognize our dirty spirits and we always try to justify them. We don’t
really want Jesus to destroy them because we’ve gotten so comfortable with our
resentments or prejudices, or some other selfish desire.
Second, Jesus orders the spirit to be
silent. Some may consider this rather rude on the Savior’s part, but, in light
of recent events, I’m not sure every point of view has a right to be expressed.
Our news media bends over backwards to convince us that it’s fair and unbiased.
The result is, it gives coverage to individuals whose speech may actually be
defiling. You don’t have to listen to someone’s racism, homophobia, misogyny,
anti-immigrant bias, or religious intolerance. When we hear defiling speech we have
a right and a duty to rebuke the speaker. If we actually know the facts, we
should silence the gossip, the innuendo, and the suppositions.
Third, Jesus rebukes and silences the
spirit, but not the man. Our battle is with falsehood and hatred, but we won’t
win it with hatred of those with whom we disagree. Jesus rebukes with love and
healing. The disruption doesn’t have to mean the end of community. It should
lead to a strengthening of relationships.
There’s another examples of disruption in
the Epistle lesson for Epiphany 4 (1 Corinthians 8:1-13). The Corinthian church
is the Bible’s most dysfunctional family since the patriarchs of Genesis. These
guys are always bickering with each other, and they always want St. Paul to settle
things. In the case of 1 Corinthians 8, it’s the question of whether or not you
can eat food sacrificed to an idol. Some Corinthian Christians thought, “What
the heck? This is a false god, but a good steak. I’d hate to see it go to waste.”
Others were afraid that by eating such food they were participating in idolatrous
ritual and they’d go to Hell for it. Paul gives a wise, but not a straight,
answer.
He’s not going to end this disruption by
an up or down vote on eating idol food. He basically agrees with the folks who
don’t see the harm to their souls in eating this stuff, but he also recognizes
that some other Christians are really upset by this. He advises that the church
err on the side of protecting the weak in faith. That is, don’t serve that rack
of lamb sacrificed to Dionysius to a new Christian who feels it’s sinful. Ruin
your own lungs if you want to, but don’t blow smoke in your neighbor’s face.
Suck down that Pabst Blue Ribbon, but not in front of the guy who just started
going to AA meetings. Wear your face covering and don’t hold indoor worship
during a pandemic. The only rule is that we love and look out for each other,
even if it means we have to give something up ourselves.
Yes, we’re experiencing disruption, but let’s
learn from it and keep looking out for each other, okay?
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