It’s For His Own Good

 Luke 8:26-39

I am sure that no one wanted it to be that way for the man.  Some parents might have found the man’s captivity difficult to explain to their children: “Sweetie, I know it looks mean, but it is for his own good,” they might have said as their kids watched the howling man be shackled once again amongst the tombs.  The whole scene had become so commonplace over the years that the community had developed a sick kind of liturgy for it.  A fine-tuned way of handling him that reinforced the need for the handling.

 First, each time they got word that he had escaped, a group of men would have to go out into the wilds to find the very mentally ill, or very drug-addicted, or very demon-possessed man.  Then, they would either have to take him by force –tackling him, tasing him, drugging him—or, try to verbally convince him to return with them.  Their tactic depended on how out of his mind he was on that particular day.  It was always unpredictable.  Finally, when they got back to the tombs, they would have to bind him with chains and shackles, trying not to catch his naked skin in the locks.  Meanwhile, some of the women probably cooked food to bring it to the man, once he was securely locked up again. 

 It was this whole well-thought out, well-executed plan of action.  And after all these years, it had become just a way of life –both for the sick man and for the townspeople of Gerasene. And I am sure that everybody—the sick man included—assumed it would stay their way of life.  Everybody—probably the sick man included—thought it was best if it stayed their way of life. 

When talking to their kids about it, the townspeople emphasized how keeping him shackled amongst the tombs kept the man safe from hurting himself or from getting into trouble.  But when talking to each other about it, standing around the tables at the church fellowship dinner or at a microphone at a Town Hall meeting, they emphasized how the man’s containment kept the community safe too.  You simply cannot have a crazy person roaming around town, scaring people.  He might start asking for money or camping out by the highway.  Furthermore, what would happen if he came into their stores?  His presence would definitely impact business.  It was better for everybody to keep things the way they were.  We don’t need a homeless shelter in town for it just invites more trouble.

 Plus, by locking him out there in the tombs, outside of the town, if it was not your turn to stand guard, you could almost forget the sick man was even there.  You could just go about your day and not even have to think about him.  If he is not in my backyard, then he is not my problem.  It is not my fault that his service in Vietnam or Iraq messed him up.  He is the one who keeps the needle in his arm, the bottle to his lips.  He is the one who won’t stay on his meds or get a job.  All we can do as responsible townspeople is protect ourselves from him.  Keep him out, on the literal and figurative margins.  It is for his own good.  

 And everything was going just fine until Jesus showed up.  First of all, I am sure that some of those swine herders could not figure out what that Jewish rabbi was doing there in the first place.  Why had he and his disciples gotten on a boat and come into their Gentile territory?  Gerasene was the opposite of Galilee in every way.  The majority of the people who lived there were not Jewish.  The Greek town belonged to the Decapolis.  It was not the normal place for a Jewish rabbi and his group to just show up.  Maybe they would just walk down Main Street, wander in a few stores and help out the local economy.  But after that, they could go back to where they belonged, on the other side of the sea.  And everything could get back to normal.

 But as we heard in the story according to Luke, nothing “normal” was going to happen that day.  The demon possessed man must have broken his chains again because he ran over to Jesus, howling and yelling at the top of his lungs.  He fell down at Jesus’ feet and the demons pleaded their case:  “What have you to do with me, Jesus, Son of the Most High God?  I beg you, do not torment me.” 

 We have to pause here for just a moment because we must notice that even though the disciples were still unsure as to just who this Jesus was, the demons were not unsure at all.  They recognized divine power right off. 

 “What is your name?” Jesus asked the man, surely squatting down in order to look him in the face.  “What is your name?”  Don’t you guess that it had been years since anyone had actually looked at him in the face and asked him for his name?  People had talked about him.  People had talked around him.  But I bet no one talked to him.  And certainly no one cared about his name.  Well, no one but Jesus.  “What is your name?” 

 “Legion.” The man must have said it with a tone of total exhaustion.  For Legion was not actually a name, but rather a description of all the forces that kept him captive.  Legion was the name of his disease.  Legion was the name of all that kept him from being who he was.  Legion was the name of the powers that haunted his dreams, that kept him ill, that had broken all his relationships.  So by answering Jesus in that way, the man was saying, “I no longer have a name.  I am only that which holds me captive.”  “My name is Addict.  My name is Lost Job.  My name is PTSD.  My name is Grief.  My name is Consumer.  My name is Workaholic.  My name is Legion.”

 And I am sure the man was not the only one who thought his name was Legion.  Probably just about everybody in the town had forgotten his real name years ago.  He was known only as the town drunk, or the crazy vet, or the homeless good-for-nothing.  He was known only as the one with mental issues, or the one from whom you hid your kids, or the one you crossed the street to avoid.  He had long ago ceased to be known as son, or brother, or friend.  “My name is Legion,” he said, for many demons had entered him. 

 Now, there is a pause for me in the story at this point.  Because the Jesus I know would have said something in response to such a sad confession.  The Jesus I know who sits children on his knee and who crosses the sea to search out those who are broken – that Jesus would have said something to this hurting human being who felt so captured by his demons that he had lost his name.  Surely Jesus said something like “No it’s not.  Your name is not Legion.  Let me show you who you are.”  The Jesus I know, the Jesus in whom I believe, would have responded with something like that.  But unfortunately, Luke did not write down whatever it was that Jesus said in response. 

 Rather, Luke just tells us what Jesus did in response to the man’s answer – my name is Legion.  Luke tells us that as soon as he uttered those sad, broken words, Jesus sent all the demons into a herd of swine that then went running off a cliff.  And once those demons were gone, the man was set completely free from all those powers that had kept him captive for as long as he could remember.  He was saved, healed, made whole.  And it must have been quite a dramatic scene. 

 For the next thing we know is that as the pigs are running headlong off the steep bank, the swine herders are running headlong back to the town.  They wanted to tell everybody and anybody what was going on out there on the margins. “You are not going to believe it,” they must have said.  “You have to come and see it with your own two eyes.”  Maybe they talked about how much money everybody had just lost as the pigs went on their unfortunate swim.  And maybe some of the townspeople got angry about that loss of their property and went out there to try and reclaim it.   But their reaction to the newly healed man tells us something else was going on too. 

 For what did they do when they got out there and saw that man with clothes on, in his right mind, clear as day, sitting at the feet of Jesus just like a disciple?  Did they say “YEAH!  We are so happy for you!  Let’s throw a party and kill a fatted calf.  For you were lost to us and now you have been found.”  No.  Did they say, “Look at what you can do, Jesus.  Who are you?  Tell us and we will all become your disciples.”  No.  Did they even say to the man, “How do you feel now?  Do you have a headache?”  No.   Luke tells us that all the people from the surrounding country came out there, saw the formerly possessed man sitting safe and sane at the feet of Jesus, and their only reaction was FEAR.  They were afraid.  So afraid that they begged Jesus to leave.

 That is quite a response, isn’t it?  This man who had given himself up for dead is finally made whole, finally set free to rejoin his community, but instead of causing great joy, his healing caused great fear.  Why?  Was it the money?  Was it because his healing cost them serious income?  Maybe.  Or was it because Jesus’ obvious power over even the forces of evil scared them because they thought he might mess with them next?  That is certainly possible. 

 OR, was it because that man’s healing challenged their entire comfortably ordered value system?  Because let’s remember, people had given up on that guy years ago.  Years before, they had decided that he was completely without hope, without any chance for newness, without really even a shred of humanity left.  And furthermore, in that day, if you were sick—physically or mentally-- then that was a sign that you had really messed things up.  Illness was definitely linked to behavior for folks in Jesus’ time.  It is like what my grandfather’s fellow church members told him right before he died of cancer: “You just must not have enough faith or you would be healed,” they said as they shunned him and refused to visit anymore. 

 And that kind of attitude- that kind of “he deserves it” attitude proved useful.  It was an excellent antidote for anyone who dared to see that possessed man as actually being human, as actually being worth some time and energy.  For if he deserved it, then they could wash their hands of him and just contain him, manage him and control him.  They no longer had to care for him, reach out to him, or God forbid, try and love him. 

 But then Jesus showed up and had the audacity to see that guy as still a human being created in God’s image.  Jesus had the audacity to see him as brother, as son, as friend.  Jesus had the audacity to bother to ask his name and then, then to heal him and set him free.  Jesus messed with their decently and in order lives.  So they had to get him to leave.  It was just too much. 

 And Jesus, never one to overstay his welcome or push his way into a space where he was not wanted, got back in his boat.  And the newly healed man was so overwhelmed by the gift he had been given that he wanted to go with Jesus.  But Jesus said no.  The man had some work to do there, in his hometown. 

 So not only did Jesus give the man the gift of healing on that day, but Jesus also gave him the gift of a new calling on that day – a vocation:  “Go and constantly declare how much God has done for you.”  Jesus gave him, the man formerly known as Legion, the call to be a testifier to the light.  A proclaimer of the good news.  It was almost too much.  And I cannot help but wonder, if right before Jesus pushed off the shore, he again asked the man the question:  “What is your name?”  And this time, don’t you think his response must have been, “Disciple.  Child of God.  Your Follower.”