Monday, January 30, 2012

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.

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