Legion No More

Luke 8:26–39 tells of a man known only by his demons until Jesus crosses into the haunted places to find him. In this sermon, we witness the Savior who steps into our tombs, restores our name, and sends us back into the world as living proof that no chain, no label, no fear can keep us from the love of God.

Transcript

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You're listening to The Word on Baker Street, a podcast from Emmanuel Lutheran Church in Bakersfield, California. Each week we share the good news of God's love through the sermons from our Sunday worship. Wherever you are on your journey, you are welcome here.

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The Holy Gospel according to Luke. Then they arrived at the region of the Garrisons, which was opposite Galilee. And as he stepped out into the shore, a man from the city who had demons met him. And for a long time he had not worn any clothes, and he did not live in a house but in the tombs. And when he saw Jesus, he cried out, and he fell down before him, shouting, What have you to do with me, Jesus, Son of the Most High? I beg you, do not torment me. For Jesus had commanded the unclean spirit to come out of the man, for many times it had seized him, and he was kept under guard and bound with chains and shackles, but he would not break the bonds to be driven out by the demon into the wilds. Jesus then asked him, What is your name? And he said, Legion. For many demons had entered him. They begged him not to order them to go back into the abyss. Now there on the hillside was a large herd of swine that was feeding. And the demons begged Jesus to let them enter these. So he gave them permission. Then the demons came out of the man and entered the swine, and the herd stampeded down the steep bank into the lake and was drowned. When the swine herd saw what had happened, they ran off and told it in the city and in the country. Then people came out to see what had happened. And when they came to Jesus, they found the man from whom the demons had gone sitting at the feet of Jesus, clothed and in his right mind. And they became frightened. Those who had seen it told him how the one who had been possessed by demons had been healed. Then the whole throng of people were surrounding the region of the garrisons and asked Jesus to leave them. For they were seized with great fear. So we got into a boat and returned. And the man to whom the demons had gone out begged that he might be with him. But Jesus sent him away, saying, Return to your home and declare how much God has done for you. So we went away, proclaiming throughout the city how much Jesus had done for him. The gospel of the Lord. Let us pray. Gracious God, may the words of my mouth and the meditations of all of our hearts draw us closer to you today. Amen. So whenever we have a scripture that talks about Jesus casting out demons, my mind, it it starts to bounce back and forth between several different images. My favorite is uh Buffy the Vampire Slayer and all of the fantastic ways that she fought demons. And uh of course there is uh Linda Blair and the Exorcist. Uh you know, Hollywood has done a lot with demons over the years, but I don't think anything has ever matched that movie. Yeah, I mean they can try. They have more grotesque makeup or be more shocking than that voice or her head, you know, just spinning around there. But the pea soup vomit? Come on. Many have tried, almost like they're trying to get that first-time feeling back, but uh none have got there. I wish Hollywood and its takes on demons and exorcisms were the only images that came to my mind when I read our text today. But okay, so back in 1989, I was deeply involved in some very charismatic evangelical Christian groups, Calvary Chapel, Vineyard, and you know, groups like that. And I was I was I was a true believer. And I also was carrying this truth that I didn't know how to name. I hadn't come out. Um I didn't have language for queerness or belonging or love. But my my feelings for my best friend, uh a woman that I had met in the church, went far beyond friendship, and I'd I didn't know what to do. I was consumed with guilty feelings and sins, sins, sins, sins, and so I shared my secret with a leader that I trusted, uh, thinking it was safe. And you know, that I could be honest. And what followed was this church gathering where they they laid hands on me uh hard and they they prayed to cast out the demon of homosexuality. It was called an exorcism, and there was oil and water and praying in tongues and tears and shouting and shame and you know they called it deliverance. I called its failure proof that God had abandoned me. Of course, I told them that it worked. You know, I praise Jesus, I've been healed. For a long time I thought that this kind of thing was rare, that somehow I had invited this pain on myself. But this past year I sat in the audience at a panel discussion on the church and LGBTQ plus issues, and every queer person on that panel, everyone, shared that they too had been subjected to some form of exorcism. We all had our demons named for us. We all had people try to pray us out of ourselves. And it's hard to put into words what what that kind of spiritual violence does to a person. Now it separates a person from your own name, your own body, your own God. Which is why today's gospel it it undoes me. I I don't know. Is that even a word? I don't know. Luke tells us that Jesus crosses the Sea of Galilee into Gentile territory. He's gone to the other side, the haunted places, the unclean lands. And there, among the tombs, he meets this man who is possessed. Not trouble, he is possessed. The man doesn't live in the city anymore. He haunts the tombs. He's naked, he's alone, he's covered in self-inflicted wounds, and the townspeople they've they've chained him, shackled him, and he breaks loose, but he's never free. He's been banished to the margins, and no one calls him by name until Jesus does. Jesus steps into this haunted place, this gentile land. It is pig country, it is uh unclean by every Jewish standard. And instead of recoiling at the sight of this man, Jesus asked, What is your name? And the man, he doesn't say David or Joseph or Samuel, he says legion. Because many demons had entered him, and that that word legion, it is devastating. A Roman legion was up to 6,000 soldiers. It's overwhelming, it's oppressive, it's dehumanizing. And this man, he doesn't merely suffer, he is overrun. He is he's been stripped of his identity, swallowed up and made into a symptom and a threat or a burden or even a ghost of who he once was. He doesn't even know his real name anymore. He's only known by what possesses him. I think we all know people who are known only by what oppresses them. I know I do. Those labels, the addict, the felon, the homeless guy, the the alcoholic, the queer, the illegal, the person whose mental illness makes them unpredictable. Or the woman who keeps going back to her abuser. And the unsettling truth is also that we all, at least some of us, have our own legions. Anxiety that steals our joy, a shame that won't let us breathe. Fear that no matter how much we try, we will never be enough. Debt, grief, addiction, homophobia, racism, chronic pain, body hatred, church trauma. We become tangled up in it and so much that even we forget our name. And I've been thinking a lot this last week about the many people in our world that are being stripped of their names, people who know what it is like to be chained up by other people's fear, and know what it's like to be labeled instead of love, know what it means to cry out from a place no one wants to visit, and to wonder if God could ever cross the water to find them there. There's people in Bakersfield right now terrified of ice raids and living in fear of a knock on the door that might erase their family in a moment, and terrified to even show up at their immigration check-ins. People in Gaza afraid to show up at food distributions for fear of being gunned down. Queer and trans people, and especially the youth, are told by lawmakers and preachers that their very identity is a demon that needs casting out. And so many people are fighting to stay sober and to stay alive and to stay seen. And I can't even tell you how many times someone has said to me, I just don't want to be a burden. The struggle is so heavy and invisible and so lonely, and sometimes the demons win. The truth is that there are many things that try to tell us who we are. That we are a mistake, a burden, unwanted, disposable. And Nadia Boltzweber puts it this way: maybe demons are anything that tries to tell us who we are, anything other than God. But here's the good news: Jesus comes. He crosses boundaries, he walks into the unsafe places, and he climbs over walls and waves and wades into the graveyards, and he steps right into the mess of it. And his first act is not condemnation, it's compassion. He doesn't start by trying to fix it. Instead, he begins by asking, What is your name? Not the label, not the diagnosis, not the wound, but your name. See, Jesus says you're not your diagnosis. You are not what you fear. You're not your body size or your bank balance or your immigration status or your gender expression or even your worst mistake. You are beloved. That's your name. This gospel, it isn't about exorcism. It's not about pigs, it's or demons even. It's about identity and healing and power. It's about a savior who refuses to let us be defined by what other people fear. And it's about a gospel that heals us and disrupts the systems that profit from pain. And trust me, that's not popular. It wasn't then, and it's not now. I mean, look at what the townspeople do when the man is healed. They see him clothed, restored, and in his right mind, and they are afraid. They're not rejoicing, they're terrified. And they ask Jesus to leave. It's sad. But sometimes, as humans, sometimes we prefer the demons we can predict to the freedoms we don't understand. Sometimes it's easier to keep someone chained up in the tombs and to learn how to live with them whole and restored at our table. Sometimes it's less risky to tolerate brokenness than to confront the systems that benefit from keeping people broken. Healing is disruptive, liberation is threatening. The pigs drowned, and when they drowned, an entire economy went down with them. Sometimes people would rather keep others in chains than face the cost of transformation. And here's the thing: when the man is healed and restored, he begs to go with Jesus, and Jesus says no. He sends them back to the same people who shamed him, to the ones who feared him, to the ones who locked him up and left him for dead, and Jesus says, go home and tell them what God has done. And if you think about it, that's the most gospel thing ever. Because God's idea of a disciple isn't this polished preacher or the perfect believer. It's the one who knows what it is to be chained. It's the one who knows and who has been to hell and made it back. It's the one who says, I know what it feels like to forget who you are, but I also know what it feels like to be found. And maybe that's what communion is for each Sunday. I mean, maybe that's why we come to this table week after week, not because we've got it all together, but because we don't. Because we forget our names, because we too carry many voices in our heads, because we are legion. But here at this table, we are fed. We are named again, claimed again, loved again. Here, Christ kneels beside every tomb in our life and says, This is my body for you. This is my blood for you. You are not the demons that chase you. You are not the shame that binds you. You are not the name the world gave you. You are not the pain that keeps you up at night. You are a beloved child of God. So beloved, take eat, take and drink, and be clothed in love, be seen and be sent and tell your story. And remember who and whose you are. Amen.

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Thanks for listening to the word on Baker Street. If this message has spoken to you, share it with a friend. More sermons and reflections can be found at emmanuelbakersfield.org. May God's grace and peace be with you today and always.