Casting Our Demons: A Sermon on Mark 1:21-28

Anne had not been to church in a very long time.  The fact of the matter was, she had some demons.  She had dropped out of college long ago, after her drug and alcohol use got out of control.  She had since spent years struggling for survival; occasionally homeless, often in destructive relationships-- sometimes with married men, other times with men who were also drug users.  She struggled with depression and an eating disorder, and over time, she became pretty certain there was not a soul on earth who would ever be able to love or accept her.  Not even herself.  And especially not God.  Because how could God ever love anyone as broken, afflicted, and unclean as she was?

There was one event in Anne’s life which pretty much brought her to the breaking point.  Due to her reckless lifestyle, she eventually found herself pregnant.  The father was a married man who had no interest in being a father to her child.  And so with no money, no place to live, and no one to turn to, she did the only thing she could think of to do— she terminated the pregnancy.  She was so ashamed and distraught over the choice that she began to use drugs and alcohol even more in a desperate attempt to dull the pain.  It’s fair to say that at this point in her life, Anne had pretty much hit rock bottom.

During this time, Anne often found herself hanging out in an area of San Francisco that was viewed by many as the “bad” part of town.  There were lots of poor families, some homeless people, immigrants, food stands, and flea markets.  It was loud and dirty.  But it was also colorful, and so it would distract Anne from the bleakness of her own life.  In this neighborhood there was a tiny, unassuming little church.  It was a ramshackle of a building-- with poor landscaping and only a few pitiful looking trees on the property.  The stained glass windows looked dirty and unkempt.  To the casual observer, the church almost appeared to be deserted.  But Anne knew that if she happened to be hanging out there between the hours of 11 and 1 on a Sunday morning, she would hear the sounds of the most beautiful gospel music rising up out of the building.  And there was something about that music that drew her in-- something about it that made her want more.  And so she began stopping in from time to time— never going farther than the doorway, mind you.  She couldn’t bring herself to go in, because in her mind, she was unclean.  She simply had too many demons, and she didn’t want these people, who all seemed so kind and good, to see her for who she really was.  If they did, she thought, they might not let her stay.   There were some days when Anne was almost too drunk to stand up, but still, she couldn’t bring herself to go inside and sit down.  Until one day, for reasons she could not explain, she felt brave enough to step past the doorway.  She slipped as quietly as possible into one of the seats in the very back of the church.  And something happened to her that day that she would never forget: to her complete and utter amazement, no one asked her to leave.  No one rejected her.  Instead, the people of that little church smiled at her.  They welcomed her, and said things to her like, “we’re so glad that you are here—thanks for coming!”  And incredibly, instead of feeling judged, she felt taken care of.  And in that moment, Anne began her journey of coming back to life.

That was Anne’s story.  

I kind of wonder if the unnamed man that we read about today in Mark’s gospel had a story sort of like this.  I wonder if maybe it had been a long time since he had stepped inside the walls of the synagogue.  Certainly if he was perceived by others as having an unclean spirit— he wouldn’t have even been allowed in the synagogue.  Some translations of this text use the phrase “evil spirit” or “demon” to describe this man’s disorder.  A disorder which— at that time in history— would not have been tolerated inside the most pure and holy of places.  He would have been ushered out, shown the door, and shunned by the religious authorities and scribes.

And so I wonder if he had walked by the synagogue before, wanting to go in, but afraid of being rejected and excluded.  I wonder if he had heard of this man named Jesus.  If he had been drawn to him.  If on that day when Jesus was teaching in the synagogue, his desire to go in finally overwhelmed him, even though the last thing he wanted to do was expose his demons in front of people who would judge and exclude him.  But his desire for healing had been too strong, and for one reason or another, he entered the synagogue that day.  But instead of throwing him out, Jesus saw him and felt compassion for him.  Jesus stopped his teaching— one can imagine that he was in the middle of some great sermon or explanation of scripture—  in order to care for this man and offer him healing.

In our bible study of this passage, some of us in the group wondered what would happen if a situation like this were ever to arise here at Park Church.  What if the unnamed man from the Gospel of Mark— with his unclean spirit— with all his demons-- was to find his way into Park Church on a Sunday morning?  What would we do?  How would we react?  Would we ignore him?  Throw him out?  Take him aside to try and calm him down while someone else called 911?  What would we do?  What should we do?

Well the answer to that question-- I believe-- lies with the identity of the unnamed man.  Now you may be thinking— how can we possibly know the identity of the unnamed man?  He has no name—we don’t know who we was!  But here’s the thing: there are a lot of unnamed characters in the Bible— particularly in the Gospels.  There are unnamed women and men in need of healing.  There are unnamed disciples struggling to come to understandings of who Jesus is and what it means to be his followers.  And I have this theory that the gospel writers left these characters unnamed for a reason: so that we might be able to put ourselves in their place.  Because these aren’t just stories about people who lived thousands of years ago.  These are our stories as well.  We are the men and women in need of healing.  We are the disciples struggling to figure out who this Jesus guy is for us today.  These are our stories as well.  And so when it comes to the identity of the unnamed man, the question we must ask ourselves is:  Can we put ourselves in his place?  Can we see ourselves— can we hear our story-- in his story?

Well we all have our demons, that much is sure.  And while we may not think about demons in the same way today as they did back then-- we might not even believe in the kinds of demons or evil spirits that this morning’s gospel presents us with-- still, we all have our demons.  Many of us have anger or resentment that we just can’t seem to let go of.  Some of us may struggle with anxiety or depression, or maybe even substance abuse.  Our demon might be loneliness, or grief over a failed relationship.  Our demons might be struggles with perfectionism or self-doubt.  Our demon may be related to something that happened to us long ago-- something we can’t seem to move past-- some hurt that just doesn’t seem to heal.  We all have our demons.

Once we recognize this, perhaps then we can begin to recognize ourselves in this story.  And then, we may just find that we don’t need to worry so much about what would happen if that unnamed man were to show up here at Park Church on a Sunday.  Because as it turns out, he shows up every Sunday.  He shows up every Sunday because all of us show up every Sunday-- with all our own demons.  All our own internal struggles— our anger and our resentment, our guilt and our fear, our sadness and brokenness-- all of our unclean spirits.  

I think sometimes we operate under the illusion that when we come to church we have to give the impression that our lives are perfectly in order.  That we are happy and that there are no demons or unclean spirits plaguing us.  Or if there are, it’s not polite or proper to talk about them.  But to operate under this illusion is to ignore the words of Jesus himself, who said that those who are well have no need for a physician.  And that he didn’t come for those who are well— he came for those who are broken, and hurting, and wrestling with their demons.  The church is not meant to be the place where we come to be perfect, to sit quietly and be proper, and sit and stand and sing at all the right times.  The church is meant to be the place where we are honest— the place where we can come as we are.  It’s the one place we don’t have to pretend that everything’s all right, even if it’s not.  It’s the one place where we can show up, demons and unclean spirits and all, and still be loved, accepted, and healed.

And the most amazing part about all of this is that we don’t just come to be healed.  We also come to be healers.  The woman whose story you heard at the beginning of this sermon-- Anne— she was pretty broken inside.  She had lots of demons.  But when that little old church accepted her— demons and all, she started to come back to life.  Her story, by the way, is a true story.  She ended up becoming a nationally renowned writer and author of five bestselling books.  Her full name— which some of you might recognize, is Anne Lamott.  Her words have been life affirming and healing for so many who are wrestling with their own demons.  Her story has helped many people understand that no matter what may have happened to us in the past, no matter what we may have done, or what we may be going through, God can transform that hurt into healing.  God can use us—no matter broken or unclean we might think we are-- to spread love and light in the world.

So what about the unnamed man, you may wonder, whatever happened to him—after that day when he encountered Jesus in the synagogue?  Well, later on in the gospel of Mark, we read about another unnamed man.  One who was going around casting out demons in Jesus’ name.  Now the disciples— in their usual bumbling way— tried to stop him.  They figured it wasn’t okay for this other guy to be casting out demons and healing people since he wasn’t part of their group.  But as usual, Jesus corrected them, saying, whoever is not against us is for us.  Whoever is out there doing acts of compassion in my name, well, we’re on the same team.

I like to imagine that this second unnamed character in Mark is actually the same guy.  That he left the temple that day— brought back to life— ready to turn his own experience of healing into healing for others.  I like to imagine this because though we all have our demons, though we are all wounded, it is often that very woundedness which gives us the authority and the ability to be a healing presence for others.  The fact that we too wrestle with demons gives us the compassion to turn to the unnamed man or woman among us and say, you are not alone.  Here you are safe.  Here you are accepted, and welcomed, and loved.

In his book called “The Wounded Healer”, Henri Nouwen writes that “a deep understanding of our own pain makes it possible for us to convert weakness into strength and to offer our own experience as a source of healing to others who may be lost in the darkness of their own sufferings… because a shared pain is no longer paralyzing but mobilizing, and becomes a path towards liberation.”

This is what we do when the unnamed man shows up at Park Church.  We let ourselves be the wounded healers that we are meant to be.  We let our church be the sanctuary it was built to be.  We let our demons be known so that they can be healed-- and thus begin to charter a path towards healing for every person who walks through our doors.  Demons and unclean spirits and all.

Hearing our Call

Have you ever been called by God? 

This is one of the questions that came up during last week’s Tuesday morning bible study.  We were reading the story of Samuel’s call from God-- the same story that we heard this morning in our first reading-- and the question came up: have you ever been called by God?  It’s a question that comes up a lot in church life as we try and determine what to do next as individuals and as a church.  It comes up every time we try and puzzle out what it means to be a Christian and what it means to be the church in the 21^st century.

Have you ever been called by God?

Perhaps some of us find this a difficult question to answer.  After all, not many of us have had the kind of dramatic call experiences that we read about in the Bible.  Perhaps one of the most quintessential call stories in the entire Bible is the story of God’s call to Moses— a big booming voice coming out of a burning bush in the middle of the desert.  It’s a cool story, and it’s great Sunday school material, but how many of us can actually relate to that?   If that’s what a call from God looks like, then I suspect our answer to this morning’s question for most of us would be a resounding no.  We hear these stories in the Bible about a God who calls people in extravagant and fantastical ways, and we notice the lack of such extravagant events in our own lives, and maybe we are left wondering-- is God really still speaking to us?  Is God really still speaking to me?  And if God is in fact calling me to do something-- how on earth will I know?

Well I think Samuel’s story is a pretty good place to start in answering some of these questions.  Because unlike Moses’ call from the burning bush, Samuel’s call was much more ordinary, and much less clear.  As far as Samuel could tell, it wasn’t God’s voice at all that he heard, but rather the voice of his mentor Eli coming to him from the next room.  In Samuel’s story, we can begin to see how understanding and responding to God’s voice is sometimes a process of trial and error.  Three times Samuel hears God’s call, and three times he jumps up from the temple floor, running to Eli in the next room, not recognizing that the voice calling to him was in fact coming from God.  Like Samuel, our process of discerning God’s voice amidst all the other voices clamoring for our attention is often a process of trial and error.  It may require us to strike out a few times, to risk imperfection or failure, to jump up and head in the wrong direction before figuring out where we need to go.

I came across a great quote the other day from a fellow pastor who said that: “creating opportunities for failure is major preparation for success.”  I think that’s a great way to think about call.  Because sometimes I think we expect that God’s voice will be the voice that tells us exactly what to do, exactly how to do it, and exactly when to begin. We think that if it’s God’s voice calling us, there will be no room for ambiguity or uncertainty.

For a long time, this is how I felt about starting seminary.  I thought to myself— “well, I’m not going to go until God provides me with a clear path forward.” Eventually I realized, after several years had gone by, that if I was waiting for God to make everything crystal clear for me, I would actually never go.  I needed to take a risk.  I needed to jump up and say, “here I am Lord”, even though I didn’t know exactly what to do next.

Understanding our call is often like this-- a process of trial and error—of steps and missteps.  We can’t expect that our calls will be completely self-explanatory and perfectly laid out for us.  Notice that when Samuel first received his call from God, there were no instructions attached.  There was no grand plan laid out for him.  It was simply a moment of God calling Samuel’s name— trying to get his attention.  I think oftentimes this is exactly what it looks like when we first receive our call from God.  It’s those experiences we have of God getting our attention— snapping us out of our complacency— even if it’s only for one moment-- in order to feel something extraordinary.  And then it’s up to us to take the next step and respond.  To listen for what may be coming next.  And to take a few risks along the way.

Have you ever been called by God?

If you’re still not sure about the answer to that question, let me put it to you another way:  

Have you ever had an experience of being filled with God’s unfailing presence and love?  Perhaps in a time in your life when you really needed it?  Well then, you have been called.

Have you ever heard about a problem in your community and been moved to want to help— even if it was just in a small way?  Have you ever heard about an injustice somewhere and thought to yourself— “that’s not right, what can I do?”  Well then you have been called.

Have you ever sat in church and felt inspired to live differently?  Have you ever thought to yourself: there is more to this life then what the mainstream culture has to offer-- with its focus on climbing the ladder of success and its tendency to discount those who don’t quite make it all the way up that ladder?  Well then guess what— God is calling you my friend.

We may be tempted to think sometimes that if we aren’t somehow out there doing extraordinary things and garnering all sorts of attention for our work, that we aren’t really called by God.  But if that is what we think then we would do well to remember the words of a very wise woman who once said that “we can do no great things.  We can only do small things with great love.  It’s not how much you do, its how much love you put into it.”  That was Mother Teresa.

The truth is, we don’t really know what will happen when we decide to follow our call.  It may just be that extraordinary things do happen when we start to do small things with great love.  Or it may be that ordinary things happen-- but that they have an extraordinary effect on someone, somewhere.  And we may never even know about it.  And like Samuel, we may falter a bit at first.  We may jump up and say— “Here I am Lord!”  Only to be faced with a brick wall or a frustrating road ahead.  But that doesn’t mean that we aren’t called.  It just means that we have to keep on listening.  We must continuously present ourselves before God, and respond just as Samuel himself responded—by saying “speak Lord, for your servants are listening.”

This week, I have an experiment for you to try.  When you wake up in the morning, or when you go to bed at night, say these words:  Speak Lord, for your servant is listening.  Then—and here is the most important part-- actually listen.  Listen for God’s still small voice.  Try this every day for a week.  And see what happens.  

Speak Lord, for your servants are listening.

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We Belong to God: A Reflection on Mark 1:4-11

So… what now?  Now that Christmas is done—now that we’ve opened all the presents and sung all the Christmas carols.  Now that we’ve seen Mary and Joseph travel to Bethlehem and we’ve celebrated Jesus’ birth.  We’ve rung in the new year, made new year’s resolutions, and maybe even broken a few resolutions.  Most of us have probably taken down the Christmas tree and the decorations.  We’ve finished all our celebrations, returned from our vacations, and gone back to work.  And maybe it kind of feels like nothing’s really changed.  Maybe it kind of feels like we’ve just gone right back to the way things were.  So, what now?  What do we do now, on the other side of Christmas?

Well, clearly those who compiled the lectionary anticipated that we might be asking this question right about now.  For they have given us not one, but two texts this morning that deal with beginnings.  As if to say, now is not the time to slip comfortably back into the old.  Now is not the time to go back to business as usual.  Now is the time for new beginnings. 

We are reminded in our text from Genesis of the very beginning of it all— the moment when God brought the world into being, the Spirit of God moved over the earth for the very first time, and claimed it as good.  And then, who knows how many thousands (or millions) of years later, human beings came along, and they started to form tribes, then farming communities, then cities, and eventually nations.  And God’s creation got banged up pretty good along the way.  So that by the time Jesus comes along in the New Testament, people may have been asking the same question we find ourselves asking today—“what now?”

And that is where we find ourselves with this morning’s gospel text-- Jesus finding his way to John the Baptist to be baptized.  It’s the story that lays the foundation for our own baptism, and it’s also a story of new beginnings, for after this nothing was ever quite the same for Jesus and the small countryside villages of Judea.  Indeed, nothing was ever quite the same for Jerusalem itself, or Rome, or anywhere else for that matter.  Because this was the beginning of something big.  And it all started with this seemingly small act of baptism. 

I have to admit, there is something that has always bothered me a little bit about the story of Jesus’ baptism by John.  Here we have John the Baptist, who according to scripture, proclaimed a baptism of “repentance and forgiveness of sins.”  The idea being that people came to him in order to cleanse themselves of their sins and imperfections-- to repent from their old and corrupted ways.  How odd it seems then, that Jesus would seek out John to be baptized by him.  It begs the question: why would Jesus— Son of God— the divine Spirit made flesh— need to be baptized?  Is humanity so sinful and corrupt that when God became incarnate in Jesus, he suddenly took on that sinfulness?  Did he need to be cleansed from it before he could begin the work of his ministry?  And if this is not the case-- if Jesus didn’t need to be cleansed from sin, then what exactly was his baptism all about?  Furthermore, since we are baptized in large part because Jesus himself was baptized, then what exactly is our baptism all about?  Is it a means of purification from sin-- a way of securing our place in eternal life?  Or is it merely a symbolic gesture?  Is it nothing more than act of initiation into a faith community?  Baptism marks the beginning of something— that is certain-- but what, exactly?  What is our baptism for?  What is the purpose of it?

I think it’s important to keep in mind, when talking about something as complicated as what happens during a sacrament like baptism, that there are many Christians out there with many different perspectives on the matter.  And most likely, none of us have it exactly right.  German theologian Karl Barth has said that any words we speak about God can never really encapsulate God.  They can only serve as signposts that point us in the right direction.  I think the same thing applies when talking about sacraments.  We not be able to fully articulate the mysterious way the Spirit moves when we call upon Her in baptism, but it’s still worth thinking about every now and then.  Especially on a morning like this one when we find ourselves asking the question, “what now?”  And this morning’s gospel gives us the perfect opportunity to reflect upon and explore this question of what our baptism really means—and what it might mean for those of us seeking new beginnings at the start of a new year.

Now at the most superficial level, our baptism is indeed a rite of initiation.  For those of us who received this sacrament as infants, our baptism was a chance for our parents to make a public commitment to raise us in the Christian faith.  To teach us to follow in the paths of Christ, and to introduce us into a community of faith.   But there is something much deeper going on in this act of public initiation.  Through baptism, we become part of something larger than ourselves-- a body of believers that spans across the globe and over centuries.  We become linked with brothers and sisters from many different cultures who may practice their faith in ways quite different than our own.  But in our baptism, we become a part of one family.  Our common baptism is meant to bind us together in unity.  A unity that recognizes that we don’t really belong to any of those things that so often cause division and strife between us.  At our very core, we are not claimed by state or country.  We don’t belong to the things that sometimes hold us captive such as the quest for money or power, prestige or recognition.  We are not owned by political parties.  Our lives are not governed by capitalism or socialism, or any other ‘ism’ for that matter.  The unity of our baptism is a unity that comes with the recognition that we belong to God.

At the end of this morning’s gospel text we read that “as Jesus was coming up out of the water, a voice came from heaven, saying, ‘You are my Son, the Beloved, with you I am well pleased.’”  In our own baptism, we too are named and claimed as beloved children of God.  This seemingly simple rite of initiation clothes us with an identity that is deeper and more powerful than anything this world could ever bestow upon us.  Forget any other labels that others may have put on you.  Forget any other labels that you may have put upon yourself.  This is the one that matter-- we are God’s beloved children, in whom God is well pleased.  We belong to God.

But that’s not the end of the story.

Through the sacrament of Christian baptism, we are not only initiated into the Christian faith, but we are also initiated into Christian ministry.  Preacher and Christian activist Pauli Murray writes that “we must continually remind ourselves that every Christian who is baptized into the church is admitted to the royal priesthood of all believers in Christ, and that each of us has a ministry, whether we are young or old, male or female, lay member or clergy.  To be a Christian is to follow Jesus Christ’s example of ministry, to be God’s representative on earth.  Each of us has been called by God to love and serve God and our fellow human beings.  However sinful, rebellious, or inadequate we may feel, we cannot escape God’s claim on us.  If we respond to God’s call, we are given the power of the Holy Spirit, and God uses us as instruments of God’s Divine Will.”  In other words, the work of ministry is not just for priests and clergy.  The work of spreading God’s word is not just the work of “professional” Christians or people who have gone to seminary or studied theology.  Our baptism means that we are not meant to be passive recipients of God’s grace. We are called— each and every one of us— to be ministers of that grace.  Today, I encourage you to ask yourself, what is my ministry as a beloved child named and claimed by God?  How might you begin to understand your role as God’s representative on earth?  Because you are meant for that.  All of us are.

Perhaps the most remarkable and mysterious thing about baptism is the work of the Spirit that occurs during, and even after the sacrament itself is received.  In the gospel text, John the Baptist remarks that there is a difference between the baptism he offers and the baptism offered through Jesus.  “I have baptized you with water” he says, “but the one who comes after me will baptize you with the Holy Spirit.”  Jesus’ baptism is a game changer.  It transforms the sacrament from a mere act of repentance and purification to a mysterious and holy event in which the Spirit of God infuses our lives and indeed our very beings.  I say mysterious because there are so many ways in which God’s Spirit moves in the lives of those who have been baptized.  For some, it may be obvious and instantaneous— like the woman who is baptized as an adult and then wholeheartedly devotes her life to service to others.  Or the man whose baptism moves him to seek reconciliation with his estranged family.  More often than that, however, I think the movement of God’s spirit is less obvious, less dramatic, and more gradual.  More often, it may take us a while to really understand what it means to be named and claimed by God.  It may take us a while to really believe that we are beloved.  That God is pleased with us, and that we are in fact good in God’s eyes.  And it may take us a while to figure out exactly what to do with that information.  The road towards that knowledge may be filled with twists and turns, with forward movement as well as moments that set us back.  The journey will be different for each of us.  But the important thing now, is that we allow ourselves to begin.

This morning, I would encourage all of us to think about how our own baptism might be a catalyst for new beginnings of our own.  To think about how we are all uniquely called-- as beloved sons and daughters of God-- to a life of ministry as Christ’s body on earth.  What will you do with the grace and power of the Spirit that has been given to you?  Where will it lead you?

Last week we talked about how following God’s light in our lives can sometimes lead us away from what is familiar and out of our comfort zones.  This morning, I’m going to ask you to do something that might just take you out of your comfort zone a little bit.  At the end of the service, instead of rushing on to the next thing, instead of going back on auto-pilot, take a moment, just one moment, and come up to the altar.  Dip your hand in the water and remind yourself of your own baptism.  Say to yourself, “I belong to God.”  And don’t stop there.  Make that your prayer throughout the week this week-- “I belong to God.”  Repeat it to yourself as you drive to work in the morning.  Meditate on it while doing laundry or washing the dishes.  If you do, you may just find yourself less influenced by the distractions of the world around you, and more attuned to the movement of the Spirit within you.  Let us begin.