Tuesday, April 23, 2013

On Demons and Marathon Bombers

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.”



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