Here’s my longer sermon notes from this morning’s Metro Christian Centre service (dated 2nd October 2022), continuing our new series ENCOUNTERS.
You can also catch up with this via MCC’s YouTube channel (just give us time to get the video uploaded 😉)
We are continuing our ENCOUNTERS series, looking at a handful of the gospel accounts where people have these stunning interactions with Jesus.
To repeat what I said the first week, I don’t want us to study God, as such—I want us to be dazzled. Dazzled means we can be confused, and say ‘I don’t get it, what is that about?’, whilst, at the same time, being in awe and saying ‘wow’.
The encounter we will to look at today, dazzles me. It’s found in Luke 8:26-39 (if you want to turn to it). Jesus and his disciples have just crossed a lake (the Sea of Galilee), where Jesus has just calmed a raging storm, but when they land on the other side, in the land of the Gerasenes, they encounter a different sort of violent storm; a demon-possessed man. The famous ‘Legion’ story. (You can also read this episode in Mt. 8:28-34 and Mk. 5:1-18).
Like all the encounters we’ll look at in this series, this encounter is dense: there is a lot that could be said and wonderful questions will bubble up as we read it.
So, I’ll apologise in advance; I am not going to cover it all.
READ: LUKE 8: 26-39 (NLT)
SCOOBY DOO
When we look at this passage, there are important things we could say about the Roman occupation of Israel at this time, what the Jewish people expected the Messiah to do, and how this miracle of Jesus would have heightened those expectations whilst also challenging them. Leading on from that, we could also touch on the echoes of the Exodus story in this passage (an enslaving force is drowned in a sea after a Divine conflict), and how Jesus is fighting a battle against a foe larger than Rome. And, of course, there are lots of questions about the pigs!
I’m not going to touch on those things (but here’s some starters in the endnotes)[i]. I want to focus on another aspect of this story. And to do so, I first need to talk about Scooby Doo.
Every episode of the Scooby Doo cartoon, more-or-less follows the same pattern: There will be a town or fairground somewhere haunted by a supernatural monster, and Scooby Doo and his friends would turn up in their Mystery Machine and investigate it. By the end of each episode, what we originally thought of as supernatural was always revealed to have a natural explanation, as the ‘demons’ in the show are literally unmasked to reveal human faces.
For example, in one episode, a town’s ghost is caught and unmasked to reveal the greedy Mayor Dudley in a ghost costume, who ‘would have gotten away with it if it hadn’t been for those meddling kids.’
I mention Scooby Doo, because, to borrow the analogy from Richard Beck and his amazing book Reviving Old Scratch, when we come to stories like this one, we often want to ‘Scooby Dooify’ it, by replacing the supernatural with a natural explanation. So, we look at this story as an ancient out-dated view of mental health; “The man wasn’t possessed, he had Dissociative Identity Disorder.”
Now before I dismiss that, I need to say that the Scooby-Doo approach to life is not wrong! There have been many occasions, both ancient and modern, when natural explanations were ignored and people wrongly, with harmful results, subscribed to supernatural explanations like demons.
For example, I know a missionary who went to a country where they met a family who had an autistic son. The missionary recognised the autism, because they worked with people on the autistic spectrum. But the child’s family, didn’t; they were convinced it was demonic. So instead of being cared for appropriately, the child was exposed to regular exorcism rituals and when his behaviour was unmanageable, he’d be locked in a shed.
I cannot begin to imagine the damage that child has gone through. And as a father of a child on the spectrum, that story makes me angry.
The Scooby Doo approach to life is vitally important: there are medical explanations, and neurological conditions that should be acknowledged and understood. There are also social conditions that affect people’s behaviour. And there are also traumatic things we can experience that have a huge impact upon us and create a range of physical and mental health problems, from anxiety and depression, to dissociative identities and PTSD.
As human beings, we are a living conversation of chemicals and neurons, flesh and blood, emotions, thoughts and experiences. We are individuals and relational beings, who are shaped by our own choices and the consequences of other people’s choices, and by events that are out of anyone’s control. And sometimes, these things don’t come together in a harmonious way, as they ought. Instead, they collide.
There are, sadly, people who claim to follow Jesus who are obsessed on seeing demons everywhere. And that’s not biblical. We are called to be dazzled by God, not fixated on the demonic.
Yes, the scriptures encourage us to be discerning. But part of that means that instead of reaching for a supernatural explanation straightaway, we actually apply a Scooby-Doo approach first.
Having said that, Scooby Dooing doesn’t explain everything. When it comes to this story, saying that “the man had Dissociative Identity Disorder” is not only unhelpful in removing the stigma around mental health, but it doesn’t fit the narrative. The scene with the pigs, though it raises plenty of questions, speaks of something more and other than a psychological condition.
I know the modern mind can be uncomfortable with the supernatural, but Jesus did some extraordinary things that can’t be Scooby-Dooed away. According to the Gospel’s, some of those extraordinary things were casting out demons.
This does not mean that Jesus was obsessed with demons, and that he thought or taught that demons were to blame for every medical ailment. He didn’t. The Gospels present a Jesus who deals with diseases and with devils (Mt. 4:23-24; Mk. 1:32-34), a Jesus who dealt with spiritual problems, physical ailments, as well as social evils.
A healthy Christianity grasps this complexity.
As C. S. Lewis pointed out in the introduction to his book, The Screwtape Letters, ‘the modern world divides into those who are obsessed with demonic powers and those who mock them as outdated rubbish. Neither approach, Lewis insists, does justice to reality.’[ii]
It doesn’t do justice because our world is both physical and spiritual, not either/or. And occasionally, like in this story, spiritual problems find collaborators in the physical, and the chaos caused by spiritual problems are echoed by an inhumane society.
ECHOES
In the story we’ve read, Luke writes that this man is possessed by demons. Because of this, he is in constant torment and lives in a chaotic state; he is homeless, naked, and lives among tombs. In Mark’s version of this account, he adds that he hits himself with rocks and that he screams all day and all night (Mk. 5:5).
Like the raging storm on the lake, which Jesus encountered before this, this man is engulfed in a violent storm. He is anything but silent and calm. His life is filled with turbulent, raging noise.
Actually, the idea of noise, of sound, features heavily in this passage. It’s a noisy story.
The Greek word that we translate as possessed is a noisy word we all know and we all use: Echō. And yes, it means what we know an echo to be—it’s about sound. In the Greek language, the word was used to describe holding on to something like property, about ownership. But in a literal sense, it means to be filled with the sound of another.
This man is not himself, he is owned and muted by the sounds of another. He is an living echō of chaos.
He wasn’t made for this. He was made to be an image of the Most High. In his freedom, in his human dignity, his life was to voluntarily speak of the goodness of God. But he has been overwhelmed and drowned out in a sea of voices that shackle him and silence him.
Shackled and silenced—I want us to note those words. Because when Luke describes this man’s condition he is not just describing the man, he is also highlighting the failures of his community.
They are not ‘possessed’ like this man, but they certainly are an echo.
These forces present a false image of this man to his community, they mask who he really is, and his community buys into it. These evil forces put the man in bondage, and the community echoes their tactics; they shackle him up as well, in a very real physical sense. They may not realise it, but they are cooperating with the problem. Instead of being cared for, he’s chained up and shut off from the land of the living. Suffering in silence and facing his demons alone.
And so the man faces the problem on two fronts: he is possessed by demonic forces and his community demonise him. Can you see that?
Sure, maybe the community felt helpless when dealing with this man, having no idea what to do? But this rejection hasn’t helped. Evil doesn’t cure evil. Demonisation doesn’t rid this man of his demons. It just deepens this crisis, causing more harm.
Mostly, evil doesn’t need to possess people. Evil just needs to distort our view of others, to the extent that we are no longer willing to see the Divine image in others and the humanity of others. And if evil can distort our view, then it’s not long before our treatment of others also distorts.
When this happens, we end up shackling people and leaving them to face their demons alone, because our response to them echoes the turmoil they find themselves in.
EXCLUSION
I’m saying this, because I believe that church should not be an echo of chaos, but a temple of the living God. I don’t believe church should be a place where people suffer in silence and face their demons alone.
And by demons, I don’t merely mean spiritual entities. I also mean our problems, our pain, our suffering, our addictions, our messes, and our sin. I mean all our raging storms, be they spiritual, physical, mental or social.
The thing is, when we can’t speak—when something in our environment and culture shackles us and prevents us getting help or even seeking help, because we fear people will crush us—things get more destructive.
I met with a minister friend earlier this week. As we were talking, our conversation turned to something that happened a number of years ago. There was global prominent worship leader, who wrote an extraordinary and beautiful song that spoke of their desire for God to heal them. It was made all the more powerful, because this worship leader said he had been diagnosed with terminal cancer, and would sing this song with an oxygen tank strapped to his back and an airline in his nose.
It eventually came out, that this worship leader had faked his diagnosis. He wasn’t terminally ill, the truth was he had a crippling pornography addiction. The shame of carrying this and wrestling with it secretly had affected his physical health, and the only way he could explain his health issues was to lie, pretending it was something else, instead of admitting to this addiction.
When this hit the news, it was everywhere, Christian voices spoke out condemning his deceit, and recordings of his song were pulled from albums and church meetings stopped singing it.
Now, please hear me. In what I’m going to say, I am not condoning this man’s deceit. It wasn’t right. But, my friend noted something. He said, ‘we assume that this guy’s song, that desired healing, was insincere. But, what if it wasn’t? What if he did want healing but he felt he couldn’t speak about the real problem in the culture he was in?’
My friend makes a good point. Again, He and I are not saying this worship leader was right in his deception. But the church culture he was in would have made it nigh-on impossible to speak about something like a pornography addiction. It would be ok to say, ‘I went through this..’, as a thing in the past (we love those kind of testimonies). But to say, ‘I’m going through this…’, well, you’re going to find the community echoing the monsters that haunt you, and they’re going to bury you, like your shame is already doing, instead of coming around you.
I should add; this is not just a church culture problem. You only need to look at the press to see how much we delight in a scandal. We relish them! And, I have to say, though we’re not possessed, I can’t help but think that this echoes more of the enemy’s nature than God’s.
I think a lot of us want help, but we’re afraid to speak honestly, because even though we desire to be in a sanctuary, we suspect that, when we do speak, we’ll find ourselves in a slaughter house instead.
That’s not how church should be. It should not look like the land of the Gerasenes. I want church to be a refuge. I hope you do, too?
If you’re struggling with pornography addiction, for example, we’re not going to shun you, demonise you or call you a pervert. We want to help. You’re not alone.
If you’re struggling with alcohol, we’re not going to shackle you, we’re going to embrace you.
If, like me, you struggle with mental health and depression, then there is no stigma here—there’s sympathy and empathy.
If you fail, and mess up, and you feel sin just pulls at your ankles, then you’re not outside of the crowd. On the contrary, you’re part of the same crowd that gathers around the throne of a graceful and merciful God asking for help.
Churches are not called to demonise and echo chaos. We’re called to break chains, not shackle people up to suffer alone. I want a church culture that looks like Jesus.
EMBRACE
You see, when Jesus—the image of God, the perfect reflection of what humanity is supposed to be like, both individually and corporately—lands on this shore, He doesn’t enslave, Jesus liberates.
Jesus doesn’t demonise, but heals. Jesus is not persuaded by the enemy’s testimony about this man’s nature, nor does Jesus echo the enemy’s methods; he knows that this is an image of God that has been placed in bondage, and so he breaks the chains.
Jesus breaks the chains, not just of this man, but of this community.
Because of Jesus, the illusion has been snapped; these demons had masked and muted who this man was, and Jesus has ripped this mask off. In doing so, the community are presented with the truth of whom they have rejected for all these years.
In the presence of Jesus, the humanity of this man is released and revealed. The one they sought to shackle is sat at Jesus’ feet; fully clothed, in his right mind, and at peace.[iii] Jesus exposes their inhumanity, their own ability to echo chaos.
When they see this and they hear about what happened to their pigs; when they see the man sitting at Jesus’ feet; when they become suddenly aware of Jesus’ liberating power—they’re terrified and plead with Jesus to leave them alone.
Interestingly, echoing again the posture of Legion at the beginning of this story, when Legion also begged Jesus to leave them alone.
I wonder: If Jesus had turned up and helped them shackle this man in a more permanent manner in some unbreakable chains; would they have been happy for Jesus to stay?
I’m going to throw this out there: Could it be that we are more comfortable with a Jesus who condemns and enchains than we are with a Jesus who forgives, liberates and reveals the humanity in others? Are we more comfortable with a Jesus who endorses our judgemental thinking, than a Jesus who challenges that thinking and who calls us to come alongside others?
GO AND TELL
I think the thing that dazzles me most in this passage—and there’s a lot about God that dazzles me in this passage—is Jesus’ response to this community’s insistence that he should bog off?
Jesus—the all-powerful One who can calm raging storms and drive out a legion of satanic influence with a mere handful of words—says, ‘OK’. He doesn’t force himself upon them. He doesn’t echo chaos; Jesus does not overwhelm them or drown out their voices. God incarnate consents. He doesn’t demand his Divine rights (Phil. 2:6), Jesus, calmly, gets back into the boat he arrived in.
But also, unlike the demons, he doesn’t shun this community. He doesn’t abandon them and shut them off from himself. He leaves them a light.
It may seem cruel of Jesus to refuse the ex-demoniac’s desire to come with him. But Jesus’ doesn’t want to shackle this community. So, he commissions this man to be a living memorial of God’s liberation in that place.
The one who was filled with the noise of others is given his freedom back and allowed to use his own voice to tell others about what God has done for him. The tormented voice at the start of this story, becomes the voice of hope at the end.
The person rejected by the community, becomes the central witness of the presence of Christ’s work within the community.
Isn’t this what we’re meant to be; a voice of hope, not despair?
Instead of spreading bad news, we announce the Good News: There is forgiveness, freedom and life in Jesus’ Kingdom.
Of course, I’m left with a question: How long did it take to lift the demonic perceptions from this community? Casting out a legion took a moment, but changing the distorted, stigmatising, narrow and blind, demonic views co-opted by humanity… Well, that work’s still taking place, and we need the Holy Spirit’s help everyday.
“You quieted the raging oceans … and silenced the shouting of the nations.”
Psalm 65:7
[i] Let’s start by quoting something from Richard B. Hays, from his excellent book, Echoes of the Scriptures in the Gospels:
‘Just in case we readers might begin to forget the conflict between the kingdom ruled by Rome and the kingdom of God proclaimed by Jesus, Mark includes a sly reference to Roman military power in his account of Jesus’ exorcism of the Gerasene demoniac. When Jesus demands to know the name of the unclean spirit that is possessing and destroying his human host, the spirit replies, “My name is Legion, because we are many” (Mark 5:9). No first-century reader would need to be reminded that the Legions stationed throughout the Mediterranean world and ready to respond to rebellion and revolt belonged to Rome. When Jesus then powerfully dispatches the demons into a herd of unclean pigs who plunge to their death in the sea, Mark hardly needs to explain the joke. It is a kind of political cartoon, in which the Roman army is driven out by Israel’s true king, sent back into the sea from which their invading ships had come.’
I know, this doesn’t necessarily explain why the pigs plunged into a lake and drown. But as a starting place, in reminds us of the geo-political context of Jesus’ ministry. People living under the military occupation of Rome desired to see them expelled. There is an obvious political punch to this exorcism that Jesus’ audience (including his disciples) would see.
However, as Hays himself goes on to point out, there is more here than a political statement in this symbolic act. Jesus has not come to battle with Rome, there is a cosmological scale to this battle. As N. T. Wright indicates, with regards Jesus’ exorcisms and this particular episode (Jesus and the Victory of God):
‘Various elements of this narrative appear significant. The location in on the non-Jewish side of the lake: Jesus is among Gentiles. The demoniac […] lives among tombs. Herdsman are nearby feeding pigs. The demons identify themselves as ‘legion’. All these features point in the same direction: the situation is about as unclean, from a Jewish point of view, as it could be. All the indications are that Jesus is surrounded by places, people and influences that belong to the enemies of YHWH and his people. The driving of the pigs into the sea may well be regarded […] as symbolic of what the Jews desired to do with the unclean Romans. The exorcism then takes on the following connotation. Jesus is fighting a battle against the enemies of the people of YHWH. But Rome is not the enemy; it is the satan and his hordes who are deceiving Israel into thinking that Rome is the real enemy, so that she (Israel) will not notice the reality. Jesus is going into what was thought of as enemy territory, taking on (from the Jewish point of view) the demon of uncleanness and hostile paganism, and defeating the real enemy instead, demonstrating that victory in acted symbolism of the death of the pigs. The story is, to be sure, strange, but all the signs are that these are the resonances that it would have carried at the time.’
With that bit of background, I would now recommend reading this great article by Greg Boyd, That Weird Episode with the Pigs.
As few extra asides for you (and myself) to think through: Are there echoes of the Exodus story here, and why may this be important in the Gospel’s presentation of Jesus?
[ii] N. T. Wright, Simply Jesus: Who He Was, What He Did, Why it Matters (SPCK, London, 2011), p.119. C. S. Lewis’ actual words are, ‘There are two equal and opposite errors into which our race can fall about the devils. One is to disbelieve in their existence. The other is to believe, and to feel an excessive and unhealthy interest in them. They, [the devils], are equally pleased by both errors and hail a materialist or a magician with the same delight.’ The Screwtape Letters (HarperCollins, London, 2001), p. ix.
[iii] Question: Where did the man get the clothes? Did Jesus share his own clothing with this man?
TRISTAN SHERWIN 
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