The Geresenes and Answers to Tragedy that Don't Work

Proper 7, Year C, 2016

1 Kings 19; Ps 42-43; Gal 3:23-29; Luke 8:26-39

Rev. Adam T. Trambley

June 19, 2016, St. John’s Sharon

From Psalm 42:

My tears have been my food day and night, * 
while all day long they say to me, 
"Where now is your God?”

I will say to the God of my strength, 
"Why have you forgotten me? * 

And the answer comes, repeated multiple times throughout Psalm 42 and 43:

Why are you so full of heaviness, O my soul? * 
and why are you so disquieted within me?

Put your trust in God; * 
for I will yet give thanks to him, 
who is the help of my countenance, and my God.

This week has been a tragic one.  Dozens killed in the shooting in Orlando, and then Friday a local teenager killed in a car accident on I-80.  This week a year ago, we were praying for those killed in a Bible Study in an AME Church in Charleston.  Many of us have been hit in many ways by these tragedies, and they have resulted in intense, and not always charitable, discussions about who we are as a nation, as human beings, and even as Christians. 

We may carry great sadness, fierce anger, overwhelming fear, isolating numbness or almost any other emotions in the wake of such events.  We cry out, “Where is God now?” and “Why have you forgotten us?”  We have pain, we have turmoil, we have questions.  

I don’t claim to have answers, at least none that satisfy me. 

Why are you so full of heaviness, O my soul? * 
and why are you so disquieted within me?

Put your trust in God; * 
for I will yet give thanks to him, 
who is the help of my countenance, and my God.

This morning’s gospel reading doesn’t really have any answers, either, but I think it sheds light upon the seductive answers that we too easily try to grab a hold of.  We, like the people of the country of the Geresenes, use any number of false answers to make us feel protected from the evil in our midst, but those efforts only serve to block our way forward.

When Jesus gets out of the boat in this Gentile area, he encounters a man with a legion of unclean spirits.  Given that “Legion” is also the name of a group of Roman soldiers in the area, the evil that has overcome this pour soul could be seen as any number of personal, psychological, military, political, addictive or social kinds of oppression, or maybe some of all of them.  The townspeople had tried to restrain him, and he couldn’t be restrained.  He lives in the tombs, surrounded by death.  As Jesus is casting out the demonic legion, they beg him not to cast them into the abyss, and he complies. I have never understood why Jesus listens to them, unless he knew that they couldn’t help but go to their deaths wherever he sent them or because he is much more merciful even to unclean spirits than we are.  The spirits that sent the man to the tombs enter a bunch of pigs.  Then this deviled ham commits sui-cide in the lake. (Sorry.) The people of the town see the demoniac clothed and in his right mind and talking to Jesus, so they become afraid and beg Jesus to leave.  The man, now healed, asks to go with Jesus, and Jesus says “no”.  So instead he finds a way to praise God right where he is.  Later traditions identify him as the first bishop of that area, but we can’t know for sure. 

Why have you forgotten me?

Where now is your God?

We should first just say that there is no explanation here as to why this man had all of these demons, or how they got to that country in the first place.  We can build any number of scenarios, but the evil is just there.  Just like so much evil is just here, or in Charleston or in Orlando, or on I-80, or in so many other places that are filled with people just trying to live decent, normal, everyday lives as best as they can. 

The first response of the villagers is to try to bind this demoniac, to tie him up, to keep him as far away as possible.  This response is also one of our first ones to tragedy.  We look for ways to build walls between ourselves and the places where disasters are occurring.  We reassure ourselves by saying that we are different somehow so that similar tragedy can’t happen to us, or we yell shrilly to ensure that whatever we see as the tragedy’s cause stays as far away as possible.  If we can convince ourselves that God is punishing people for some sin, and we aren’t sinning that way, then we decide that we won’t be similar victims.  We aren’t gay.  We don’t go to nightclubs.  We don’t associate with the wrong kind of people, maybe because we aren’t the wrong kind of people.  We are careful when we drive, and never go over the speed limit, at least only by a reasonable amount, and never are distracted, unless it is for a good reason.  The dishonesty in all this is usually pretty clear to everyone except to us when they are our rationalizations.  Or, we the villagers sending demoniacs to the tombs, we send away whatever we see as the causes of our suffering and pain.  We can’t let Muslims near us.  We can’t let immigrants near us. We can’t let guns near us, at least not the kinds of guns that we ourselves don’t own.  We can’t let the mentally ill near us.  We need a really big wall, and whenever a mentally ill, immigrant on a terrorist watch list with an automatic weapon and a suspended license drives dangerously around the wall, we should immediately receive an alert on our phone.  Yet none of that is the answer.

Now we should, of course, act together as a community to make good public policy when we see dangers.  The lane divider on the freeway after the last teenage tragedy will hopefully save future lives, and there are some very meaningful steps we should take.  But we can’t eliminate all evil from our lives.  Effective gun control wouldn’t have saved Elyssa Griffin and highway safety measures wouldn’t have made a difference at Pulse. 

Why are you so full of heaviness, o my soul?

Why are you so disquieted within me?

The Geresenes’ other response to tragedy which is not to be commended was their response of banishing Jesus with great fear when they saw what the needed response might cost.  They didn’t want to accept their own culpability for what had happened or the cost of change to overcome the evil in their midst.  Specifically, they weren’t happy with the pigs dying.  They made money off their pigs, and were not interested in losing that income, even if it meant somebody’s healing and freedom.  At the same time, pigs were unclean animals to the Jewish people at the time. They could eat the same food as humans, so when food was scarce and expensive, the more the rich fed food to their pigs to make sausage, the less food was available for poor people who were starving.  We might mourn the loss of a heard of bacon, but those in Jewish and Christian circles hearing this account two thousand years ago wouldn’t have. 

We all bear some responsibility for the fact that the catchphrase of our society could be, “I am not my brother’s keeper.”  We all bear some responsibility for the fact that we want to be able to get from point A to point B on the highway at faster and faster speeds, even for good reasons.  We all bear some responsibility for deciding to drive when we are really too tired, or can’t see well enough in these conditions, or just aren’t so sure of what we are doing, or really need to change the radio or have this snack or check this text since it really is important.  We all bear some responsibility for not investing enough time and money into our communities to ensure that people having issues are both supported by and accountable to people that can help them.  We all bear some responsibility for not being willing to change or give or do what we might know deep in our hearts is needed to make it harder for evil to win.  We all bear some responsibility for not pouring our hearts out in prayer regularly for so many people that need it.

I do not mean to say that if we only did everything right we could eliminate all these tragedies and evils.  We can’t.  Or at least, we are broken and everyone else is broken and we just aren’t able to do the things we would need to do to eliminate evil from our midst.  And if we were perfect, we’d probably end up crucified like Jesus.  But the fact that we can’t actually create the society we need doesn’t mean we don’t bear some responsibility for the society we do have.  In recognizing our own guilt, we also recognize our need to repent and turn to God and work harder in the future, even knowing that we will still fail and that those around us will still fail and that we will face other tragedies and have to repent and try again.

Why are you so full of heaviness, o my soul?

Why are you so disquieted within me?

Another answer to tragedy, that seems like it should be a good one, is also dashed by our gospel reading.  We, like the former demoniac, might beg Jesus to take us out of these tragic situations and just be with him.  Lord knows we have suffered enough, cried enough, struggled enough, prayed enough, and called out to God for help and healing enough.  But Jesus says, “Return home and declare how much God has done for you.”  In the end, that is all we have.  No answers.  No walls.  No reformed society where such things never happen again. No boat ride into the sunset with Jesus.  Nothing that ultimately satisfies us or makes the tragedies we’ve seen “worth it” in some way or grants us the peace that this all won’t come ‘round again.  Just “return home”, “be where you are,” “and declare how much God has done for you.”  

We are here in church to declare how much God has done for us.  To give thanks and praise.  Others lined up for blocks to give blood in Orlando.  Others are undoubtedly preparing meals and otherwise caring for the extended family and friends of those killed in Friday’s accident.  Others are using their gifts in whatever ways they can to “bless the dying, sooth the suffering, pity the afflicted, and shield the joyous” for the sake of the God who loves us all.

An important part of what God has done is to suffer and die for us, so that no matter what happens to us and no matter what we do, we are never separated from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.  No one killed in a car crash, no one shot in a terrorist hate crime, no one numbed by pain or overwhelmed by fear or awash in anger is ever separated from the love of God.  Jesus went through death so that when we go through death, we are still with Jesus.  All these tragedies are still senseless tragedies, but they are tragedies where God is present and making some kind of loving way forward for both the living and especially the dead.  And we can only declare what God has done for us, even in the midst of death and a community of tragedy, in whatever way we are given to declare it.

Why are you so full of heaviness, O my soul? * 
and why are you so disquieted within me?

Put your trust in God; * 
for I will yet give thanks to him, 
who is the help of my countenance, and my God.

    

The Centurion's Approach to Jesus: Luke 7:1-2

Proper 4, Year C, 2016

1 Kings 18; Ps 96; Gal 1:1-12; Luke 7:1-10

Rev. Adam T. Trambley

May 29, 2016, St.John’s Sharon

In the gospel this morning, we find Jesus healing from a distance the slave of a centurion.  As the story unfolds, we see examples of a number of approaches to God, all of which receive a response from Jesus.  Yet we also see the most powerful and important one, a faithful recognition of Jesus’ power and authority over everything that we might encounter, including ourselves.

Jesus has just finished his “Sermon on the Plain,” which in Luke’s gospel describes a great teaching event of Jesus that parallels much of Matthew’s Sermon on the Mount.  We shouldn’t be surprised that this important material was shared by Jesus on more than one occasion in different locations. Jesus now returns to Capernaum, which is his “home base” in Galilee. This area on the north shore of the Sea of Galilee, like all of Palestine, was under Roman rule at the time of Jesus. 

The gospel says there was a centurion there with a slave whom he valued that was very ill.  A centurion was a high ranking Roman officer that would have been traditionally in charge of a 100 soldiers.  Centurions were some of the highest ranking Roman military in their areas and were charged with keeping the peace.  The more enlightened centurions would use their connections and resources to be civic leaders in ways that endeared them and the Romans to the native people.  In Jewish communities, some of them were true God-fearers who worshipped the God of Abraham but never officially converted, while others basically bought influence with focused philanthropy. 

Centurions also had slaves, but Roman slavery was not the same as later American slavery.  A household or professional slave could become a trusted friend and important piece of centurion’s life in a foreign land, so the slave’s serious illness could have been very troubling for the centurion.

The Centurion hears that Jesus, this miraculous healer, is in town, and his first approach to Jesus is through the local Jewish officials.  They come and tell Jesus how worthy the Centurion is to be healed.  He is a good man who helps them and loves them so much that he even built their synagogue.  This message probably came with more than a little bit of self-interest on the part of the Jewish elders, since if they could get the Centurion’s favorite slave healed by Jesus, they could probably leverage that for favors later.  Then the gospel states, simply, “And Jesus went with them.” 

When Jesus is a short distance from the Centurion’s house, some of the Centurion’s friends come with another message and that message has two parts.  The first part is their message to Jesus to stop because, “I am not worthy to have you come under my roof.”  We can assume that there is a true humility here on the Centurion’s part.  He probably does feel unworthy to receive this holy man having done whatever manner of things he would have had to do to rise through the ranks to become a Roman Centurion.  At the same time, he is also probably savvy enough to know that if Jesus actually comes into his house, there will be all manner of trouble for Jesus, and maybe for others.  At that time, a Jewish person couldn’t go into a Roman house without suffering religious and social consequences.  Now it is more than a little ironic that a Jewish person couldn’t to the home of the guy who paid to have their synagogue built, but that was the way things were.  By saying he was unworthy, the Centurion not only expressed his feelings, but he also gave Jesus a safe out.

Of course, the Centurion still wanted his slave healed, and he followed up the confession of his own unworthiness with, “But only speak the word, and let my servant be healed.”  Then he goes on to explain that he is under authority and he has people under him who do what he tells them.  While the Centurion doesn’t spell it out, what he is also saying is that he recognizes Jesus authority over his slave’s illness, and maybe his slave’s life, and probably over a whole lot of other things, as well.  The Centurion is saying who Jesus is – even if he doesn’t use words like Messiah or Son of God.  Jesus recognizes what the Centurion is saying, too.  Jesus is amazed and says, “I tell you, not even in Israel have I found such faith.”  The Centurion’s friends return home and find that the slave is in good health.

These three approaches to Jesus parallel the approaches we often take to God.

The first approach is the “Look, I’ve been very good and am worthy to have you help me, God” approach.  We may not come out and say we’ve built the synagogue, but people often have some expectation that God helps people who have been good or who are involved in church.  People fall back to whatever they think they have done that might “put in a good word” or even anything they can draw from family or other connections, trusting that such works can be used to merit the assistance of God or his people. 

The flip side of this approach is the bargain with God.  “I’m not worthy now,” we pray, “but if you do this for me, I’ll do whatever you want” usually followed by some particular promise.  Now we know that we can’t really merit God’s love.  It is freely given, and God’s care for us is not dependent on what we have or haven’t done.  Yet, at the same time, we see Jesus willing to respond to this approach.  The Jewish elders say that the Centurion is worthy, and Jesus comes with them.  He may have come with them with a slight smile – he loves the Centurion’s slave and would have been happy to heal him without bunch of testimonials.  At the same time, if that good work gives someone hope that God will listen to them and provides a connection, God will use it.  Without the Jewish elders, the Centurion might not have believed that Jesus would come, so if the best we can do is tell God, “Hey, I did a good thing once, so please help me,” God will take the crack in the door of our life to burst it open with his love.   

The flip side of the first approach is the second, which just says, “I’m not worthy to have you come to me, Jesus.”  These words are true, but if they stopped there they would still be incomplete, because it still makes the whole thing about us and what we have or have not done.  Jesus would no more avoid us because we haven’t been good than he would run to us faster if we have been better.  Of course we are unworthy, but our sense of our unworthiness can either come from a true humility or from our own ego’s desire to protect itself from God and other people by claiming unworthiness. 

At its healthiest, telling God we are not worthy of him coming to us is merely an expression of his incredible awesomeness.  We recognize the gulf between him and us.  Then, ideally, we, like the Centurion, move from this confession to a profession of faith in God’s power and love.

Too often, however, our unworthiness becomes a barrier to try to shut the door to God.  We dishonestly tell ourselves that we are unworthy of love when in fact we are children of God whom God has created as worthy of love and being loved.  No matter what we have or haven’t done, nothing can take that special status away from us.  Nothing.  None of us have fully lived into the blessing that God intended for us by making us his children, but this falling short is why we have the cross and forgiveness and grace and mercy.  Sure, we aren’t worthy, but God doesn’t care and he has done a lot to reach out to us, and he will continue to do so, no matter how unworthy we are or how much we are afraid to let him in.      

The third approach to God, and the one Jesus commends, is the faithful acknowledgement of Jesus’ authority.  The Centurion combines it with what is best in the second approach, “I am not worthy, but only say the word and heal my servant.”  Actually some traditions use this as part of the preparation for receiving communion – “Lord, I am not worthy to receive you, but only say the word and I shall be healed.”  Here we are acknowledging that Jesus has the ultimate power and control over whatever we are praying about.  We are actually opening the whole situation to him in prayer and letting him take control.  This step may seem obvious.  I mean, why pray if we don’t believe that Jesus is more powerful than the situation and is able to fix it. Yet, too often, we do ask God for help, but without any belief that he might be able to fix it, or without a willingness to accept the way he might decide to fix it.  We hear the Centurion, “I tell people to go and they go, to do something and they do it.”  Are we able in prayer to say, “This situation is under your authority, Lord.  Tell us what to do and we’ll do it, and we know you’ll take care of the rest.”  These prayers are bold ones and powerful ones.  “We know you can do this, God, so come into the situation and make it right.”  When we ask in this way, God usually does come into the situation and starts to make it right.  Then we have to decide to either go along with it or not. 

This approach to God is also the basic one of the twelve step programs.  The steps tell us to admit that we aren’t in control, that there is a higher power who is in control, and that we need to turn things over in obedience to that higher power.  We here know that the name of that higher power is Jesus, the Son of God, who now sits at the right hand of God the Father Almighty with all things in subjection under his feet.  The God we worship has this much power and authority, but he gives us control of ourselves and our own lives.  Our prayer of faith is to recognize his authority and turn the situations of our lives that need healing and restoration over to him.  Whether we feel worthy or not, whether we have been good or not, whether we are scared to death to ask him to come to us or not, if we recognize him and invite him to come, he will, just like he did for the Roman Centurion two thousand years ago.

I would encourage you today, as you come to the altar, to come with these words, “Lord, I am not worthy to receive you, but only say the word and I shall be healed.”  Repeat the phrase together.  Open your life, especially in its broken places, to God in humility, and faithfully ask for his healing.  Then pay attention in the coming days, weeks and months to see just what God does.