One of the coolest, funkiest places in America is Madison, Wisconsin. I love the Mad Town. It’s where I did my post-graduate studies. The charming isthmus is home to the University of Wisconsin and is also the state capital so, as you can imagine, there’s always something interesting going on or about to go on. There are bars and music clubs and young people on the street at all hours in all weathers (which is pretty impressive when you consider Wisconsin winters are colder than a break-up text!)
Of course, even when I was there in the early ‘80’s, Madison was home to the homeless. If you walked down State Street or University Avenue, you’d certainly encounter some eccentric characters asking you for spare change or the price of a Big Mac. Occasionally, some of these individuals appeared to be both un-housed and un-hinged. I recall one very unkempt fellow in a dirty parka and a beard the guys in ZZ Top would envy bellowing “God is dead!” at the top of his voice one Sunday morning. There was also a bag lady who’d regularly be seen wheeling a shopping cart full of her possessions down University Ave. while viciously excoriating some ne’er-do-well who wasn’t actually there. Yup. Some of these folks were pretty scary.
But Jesus likes to go to the scary places, doesn’t he? Personally, I’m never comfortable around the deranged, but Jesus, in the gospel reading assigned in the RCL for Pentecost 2 (Luke 8:26-39), heads into foreign territory to do an intervention on a guy who’s got more evil spirits than a Stephen King novel. He’s naked and crazy and hangs out in the graveyard. What’s worse, his evil spirits have given him super-human strength, so there’s no way he can be controlled. I’d be scared of him—wouldn’t you? And yet there doesn’t seem to be anyone whom Jesus does not see as human. There’s no one beyond the Lord’s compassion.
What always strikes me about this story is the way the demon-possessed guy reacts when he encounters the man who can free him from his devils. He actually sees Jesus’ desire to heal him as a torment (v.28). This poor guy has become so used to be being crazy that he’s afraid to live sane. In a way, he’s just like all the rest of us with our demons. I recently heard a radio interview with a psychologist who noted the more severe the consequences of our bad choices, the more likely we are to double down on them. We hate being wrong so much we’re willing to be worse off rather than admit our screw-up.
Just for example: my wife often donates to a local shelter for homeless veterans. Most of the vets it serves prefer to bed down inside the building. There are a few, however, who, like the demoniac in our gospel lesson, just can’t manage to stay in the company of other human beings. Their demons—PTSD from witnessing the living nightmares of combat—chase them outdoors into unknown, solitary spots in the urban wilderness. Nothing can convince them this is a bad idea. Their past never dies, and they are living among the dead.
Clinging to our demons is like living among
the tombs. Something that is either dead or leads to death possesses us—guilt, resentment,
drug addiction, alcoholism, toxic relationships—you name it. Even our country’s
infatuation with firearms is a sort of death grip on death itself, a grip we
irrationally refuse to loosen lest we somehow lose a part of our identity.
And what happens when someone tries an
intervention? We’ll scream like the Gerasene, “Do not torment me!” We’ll push
back that we have chosen our demons and we’re fully capable of handling them. We
can quit at any time, we say. We’ll rail against those who try to chain us up with
logic or concern for our own safety. We’ll see their actions as a threat to our
self-image and prefer our self-destruction to their compassion. How dare
they try to control us?!!
For some, there will also be disappointment. When the crazy dude starts acting sane and responsible, we won’t be able to point at him and tell everyone he’s crazy anymore. Some folks don’t like to lose the person they so enjoyed looking down on. They’ll be watching closely, hoping to catch the former demoniac doing or saying something to validate the smug, arrogant opinions they held so comfortably in the past. Others will bemoan the economic cost of the healing. They’d rather let the possessed live in anguish than spare the cost of redemption.
One thing’s clear in this tale: Jesus’ work isn’t always welcomed or appreciated.
But the tale has a reasonably happy ending. The man who is now in his right mind is a living witness to God’s power to heal, comfort, and restore our crazy selves. Jesus sees a future for him. “Return to your home,” he tells the man, “and declare how much God has done for you.” (v.39) One witness is better than none at all. And who can tell the power this one’s testimony will have?
If you’ve ever come back from the land of the crazy, this story will mean a lot to you. If you’re still living among the tombs, someone wants to intervene. Let them.
God’s peace be with you.
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