Scripture: Mark 5:1-20
They came to the other side of the lake, to the country of the
Gerasenes. And when he had stepped out of the boat, immediately a man out of
the tombs with an unclean spirit met him. He
lived among the tombs; and no one could restrain him any more, even with a
chain; for he had often been
restrained with shackles and chains, but the chains he wrenched apart, and the
shackles he broke in pieces; and no one had the strength to subdue him. Night and day among the tombs and on
the mountains he was always howling and bruising himself with stones. When he saw Jesus from a distance, he
ran and bowed down before him; and
he shouted at the top of his voice, ‘What have you to do with me, Jesus, Son of
the Most High God? I adjure you by God, do not torment me.’ For he had said to him, ‘Come out of
the man, you unclean spirit!’ Then
Jesus asked him, ‘What is your
name?’ He replied, ‘My name is Legion; for we are many.’ He begged him earnestly not to send
them out of the country. Now
there on the hillside a great herd of swine was feeding; and the unclean
spirits begged him, ‘Send us into
the swine; let us enter them.’ So
he gave them permission. And the unclean spirits came out and entered the
swine; and the herd, numbering about two thousand, rushed down the steep bank
into the lake, and were drowned in the lake.
The swineherds ran off and told it in the city and in the
country. Then people came to see what it was that had happened. They came to Jesus and saw the
demoniac sitting there, clothed and in his right mind, the very man who had had
the legion; and they were afraid. Those
who had seen what had happened to the demoniac and to the swine reported it.
Then they began to beg Jesus to
leave their neighborhood. As he
was getting into the boat, the man who had been possessed by demons begged him
that he might be with him. But
Jesus refused, and said to him,
‘Go home to your friends, and tell them how much the Lord has done for you, and
what mercy he has shown you.’ And
he went away and began to proclaim in the Decapolis how much Jesus had done for
him; and everyone was amazed.
Years ago my younger sister visited me in Chicago during her
college break. She flew into Midway,
tried her hand at our ‘El’, successfully mastering the orange line to meet
me. What ensued from there has become
one of my favorite stories to tell about Chicago. We got onto a crowded, Friday
night rush hour Red Line, luckily grabbing seats against the wall. The first oddity we met was Jesus, in the
flesh, dressed in sheets and sandals and carrying a life-sized cross with
dramatic pause through the train car.
(As we watched, we were amused to see him uncharacteristically sprint
the distance between train cars to catch the next open doors.) That was interesting. But in fact, perhaps it was a premonition – a
sign of what was to come.
In the midst of our chatting about the sudden Incarnation of
Jesus, I noticed a guy offer the person next to him a paper hat folded out of
newsprint. This was not a small paper
hat like you might see a chef wear – it was a tall, cuffed, wizard-like hood of
newsprint that could in no way be mistook for fashion. The woman next him declined, and I saw him
refocus on the stack of newsprint on his lap.
Next time I looked up, the two kids across the aisle from him were both
wearing these paper hats. His seatmate
was reluctantly putting one on, while laughing, and he was hard at work folding
the next one. He had my full attention
now. A hat got passed back to us, and I
tried to get my sister put it on but – cool college junior as she was – she
wouldn’t do it. So I did.
There was something hilarious in having that ridiculous hat on
my head. I found it hard to stop smiling
out of chagrin for how uncool I must have looked. In a train car where everyone
does their best to mind their own business, avoid eye contact, and assume an
unoffensive stare out the window or at the overhead ads…I was breaking the
unspoken code of nonchalance and anonymity.
But the thing is, I wasn’t alone. The hats had spread like wildfire throughout
the train car. Newcomers on the train started asking me where I got my hat, and
how they could get one. Even my sister
put one on, eventually.
I leaned over to ask the man what was behind his making of the paper hats – but his seatmate told me that he wouldn’t talk. She had also asked, but he had written down for her that he was unable to speak.
In the meantime, the entire atmosphere in the train car was
transformed. The normally stone-faced
strangers were laughing, initiating conversation, snapping pictures and
swapping numbers. We were all fully
amused at ourselves – and perhaps doubly amused at how easy it was to become
amused rather than recalcitrant and aloof during our train ride. It was one of those moments when you feel
wholly and totally at home and comfortable with the entire human race – and it
was manufactured by a single man making paper hats without explanation. …,
inviting people to participate in silliness.
That sister, Kassi, now lives in a suburb outside of Boston,
with my other sister and her family. Last year during my visit, we went to
watch a leg of the Boston Marathon. As I marveled at the runners pushing their
bodies to the very brink of exhaustion, my 6 year old niece Elliot held a sign
that said, “Keep Going”.
The surprise for me, in this last public tragedy, was that my
overarching emotion wasn’t heartbreak or sadness, but anger. Is nothing sacred? Is no human endeavor safe? The ego of someone – or someones – choose
this event, this celebration of the human spirit of endurance and health – how
dare they pollute this event with blood spilled, trauma, and fear
incarnate? How dare they rob people of
this memory…how dare they rob a woman athlete of her legs. It just made me so angry.
Jesus’s cure of the Demoniac at Gerasene has always conjured
ideas for me of addiction and mental illness.
But last week it held entirely new meaning. With all the rage I was feeling…I was the
Demonaic. This raging lunatic lived in
the cemetery – not willing, I suddenly imagined, to leave the graveside of his
stolen loved ones. He is heard day and
night, howling at the stars about these deaths.
He is strong enough to break through chains and shatter the shackles, but
only known to bruise him self with stones. “My name is Legion,” he says, “for
we are many.” And all I could think of
was, how many deaths? How many people are
similarly robbed of their loved ones, and rage all day and all night with the
pain and grief of that injustice? Of
course it wasn’t confined to Boston. Palestinians
jumped to mind. Afganis and Iraqis. The
parents in Newtown, CT, and the parents on the Southside of Chicago. How many of
these people rage into the night, wanting only to retreat to the graveside of
the person they miss so much?
The 26th mile of the Boston Marathon this year was
dedicated to the 26 families of Newtown, CT.
Many of them were in attendance.
Their faces were fresh in my mind, as just recently I watched the 60
Minutes episode featuring their struggle to grieve and channel their pain into
something productive. So many of them
related how they were only emerging from the fog of loss, and fighting for gun
legislation gave them purpose so they didn’t retreat into despair.
My mind flashes to my niece Elliot and her sign saying, “Keep
Going.”
I know most of us wanted to retreat this last week. From life and limb lost at the Marathon, to
political failure in Washington, to then, worries about Islamophobia, and the
inevitable struggle against scapegoating, so clearly on display during the
Boston manhunt, I really just wanted to head into the tombs, howl, and beat my
head against the stones.
“What do you want with me, Jesus, Son of the Most High God? By
God, do not torment me. Leave me alone
in my misery. Do not make me do more.”
But Jesus whispers, “Keep Going”.
Sometimes, you can run towards healing and yet pull back. The Demonaic runs to Jesus, flaunts his pain
and rage, but then asks to stay in his misery.
Man, do I know how that feels. I
know how it feels to deliver that behavior, and I know how it feels to receive
it. That friend who shows you how much
hurting underlies their attitude, but when you try offering a hand, your friend
retreats back into the tombs with the chains and the howling and the bitterness
and the self-punishment. They are not able, or not ready, to lean into the hope
of a new dawn. Yet, somehow, we need to
give them the rope to trust that they can ‘keep going’.
I was so moved by Dr. Laurel Schneider’s admission the other
day, during our Anti-Racism Colloquium, that she needed to learn to face anger
in order to be a good friend to Dr. Butler.
I found so much truth in that statement – because I, too, am
uncomfortable with conflict and confrontation, but also because if we can’t
endure someone else’s emotions – what are we really doing here? True, it’s hard. When you feel that hot breath of anger or raw
hurt, the human condition is to retreat. Back away from the fire. Stop causing upset to someone. This kind of pain - the raw grief of Newtown, the shock of
Boston, the rage of the Demoniac - this kind of pain is scary.
But Jesus doesn’t retreat from the demons, nor let the demoniac
live in his misery. Jesus ‘leans in’ to
the situation, demanding, what is your name?
And then he breaks through their hold on the man from Gerasene. What will it take for us to break through our
desire to retreat with our demons? How
do we lean in to someone’s hurt – or worse yet, or own – to succeed in evicting
the demons?
I often think about that newspaper-paper-hat-maker on the
train. I am convinced, almost
completely, that it was a stunt designed by a sociology or psychology grad student,
to time how long it would take average people to break out of their routine
anonymity. And I wonder if this was the
first time he tried the paper hat trick, or if he had to work up the courage to
do it. Had he prepared himself for those
first few paper-hat deniers? Was he
certain that he was going to keep going with his plan, searching for willing
takers regardless of how many suspicious looks he received?
You see, because he did something amazing. He changed that day, and maybe that week, for
all of us on that train. He changed our
understanding of ourselves, and our capacity to have joy with complete
strangers. The Marathon bombers, the
tragedy and the manhunt brought out the demons that we already know are there –
the demons that we always retreat to.
Blame. Anger. Suspicion.
Rage. They also brought out the hero of
the human spirit, and that one-ness of purpose so common after a tragedy. But the paper-hat maker – he caused us to
surprise ourselves. He was able to bring
about that spontaneous public joviality – the kind that we see during holidays,
or certain elections, or yes, when the bombing suspect was captured alive. But he did it with hats.
At the end of the story, the villagers beg Jesus to leave,
fearful of his power, fearful of hope – but the demoniac begs to stay with
Jesus. He wants to remain where hope is
incarnate, and spontaneous displays of love and joy are not looked at
suspiciously. But Jesus refuses,
commanding him to return to his friends and attest to his transformation, to
bring this miracle into the heart of his community. He must keep going , re-enter his community,
with testimony to this in-breaking of the divine, this joy. I think Jesus is saying, don’t retreat. If you just keep going, you will find a way
out of the tombs. And we will be here to
weather your grief and your rage, and help you find joy…perhaps with silliness. I’m ready to keep going, but sometimes I’d just
like a paper hat.
In Boston yesterday, someone decided to give away
free hugs. The newspaper said, “After
a week of terror, confusion and sorrow, people in the Boston area needed a hug. At 10 a.m. on April 21, a group of people
wearing shirts asking “Do you need a hug?” and “I (heart) Boston” gathered at
the Public Garden, offering hugs to any and all who wanted comfort. Davis Square
resident Zachary Sciuto said, “I just
held my arms open and looked at people and said ‘Do you want a hug?’ And they
just came gave me a hug,” he recalled. “It didn’t feel weird or anything, I
don’t know how to explain it. It just felt natural, it felt really good.”
