Sermon by Kathy Sharp January 31, 2021

Mark 1:21-28, NRSV–The Man with an Unclean Spirit

“They went to Capernaum; and when the sabbath came, he entered the synagogue and taught. They were astounded at his teaching, for he taught them as one having authority, and not as the scribes. Just then there was in their synagogue a man with an unclean spirit, and he cried out, ‘What have you to do with us, Jesus of Nazareth? Have you come to destroy us? I know who you are, the Holy One of God.’ But Jesus rebuked him, saying, ‘Be silent, and come out of him!’ And the unclean spirit, throwing him into convulsions and crying with a loud voice, came out of him. They were all amazed, and they kept on asking one another, ‘What is this? A new teaching—with authority! He commands even the unclean spirits, and they obey him.’ At once his fame began to spread throughout the surrounding region of Galilee.”

Your seminary vocabulary word for the day is “inclusio,” meaning a story within a story—often showing up as an interruption to the main action. It is a frequent gospel device, which you have witnessed in this scripture in the first chapter of Mark.

After being baptized by John, confronting temptation in the desert, learning that John has been arrested for condemning Herod, Jesus picks up John’s proclaiming (preaching) and calls four fisherman to leave their profession and fish for people instead. All that happened in the first 20 verses!

Immediately after in verse 21, we find Jesus in the synagogue, this time teaching! His first time! And he’s making a great impression. Is it his knowledge and interpretation of the scriptures? Has he introduced parables to make the ancient texts come to life? Or is it his charisma—his ability to be a vessel for the Holy Spirit and willingness to look into the eyes of the people, with openness to them? This text tells us he taught with authority, as compared to the scribes.

Many of us have taught. We know what it’s like to be “in the zone” with our students, when you know they are tracking with you, their eyes are on you, and it’s almost magical. (And we know what it’s like when this isn’t happening, and you question whether we should be teaching at all.)

At this pinnacle moment, Jesus is RUDELY interrupted! A man screams, “What have you to do with us, Jesus of Nazareth? Have you come to destroy us? I know who you are, the Holy One of God!”

In Jesus’ time, when a person was diseased, lame, blind, mentally ill or suffered from neurological disorders (such as epilepsy), the causes of these problems were identified as sin-based,  “unclean spirits” and sometimes even “demon possession.” These ideas still exist today in some Christian and other faith communities. When a person was under the influence of such evil, incapacitating powers, that person was isolated from the community, further aggravating the individual’s distress and reducing their chances for survival.

The man’s scream was a shocking event. You might expect Jesus to rely on synagogue bouncers or his burly fishermen disciples to throw the man out, so Jesus could finish his soon-to-be famous teaching.

Jesus hears the man, who even in his spirit-possession, calls out Jesus’ divinity—before it was affirmed by his closest disciples or other mesmerized listeners in the synagogue. One unclean Spirit is addressing and threatened by Jesus’ divine Spirit. Despite or perhaps because of the man’s possession, he could see God standing before him long before the rest of us.

Jesus, even at the earliest moments of his ministry, did not let his ego get in the way of blessing another—even someone who positioned himself as an angry, dangerous threat to Jesus.

Jesus chooses to really SEE the man. He compassionately quiets the man and calls the unclean spirit out of him. He returns the man to wholeness, peace, and back to normalized life within his community.

First century Christians saw this story as another proof of Jesus’ superior divine power. He can command evil spirits and they obey him. Later commands the stormy seas and heals many other people.

Commentator Karoline Lewis points out that Jesus’ teaching is not only compelling in this gospel story, but also EFFECTIVE. A listener was more than INFORMED. He was transformed. Healed. Made whole.

As 21^st century Christians, living in the secular age of science and modern medicine, we are likely to look at this individual and guess that he may have suffered from mental illness. Unfortunately, mental illness, PTSD, addictions, or any neurological differences–any deviation from community norms—is often stigmatized, hidden, not discussed, shut out and therefore the one who suffers is shamed, cast off with insufficient community support.

We may think we are more enlightened than the people of Jesus’ time, who quickly blamed people as unclean or possessed if something was wrong with them. But are we really? Have we made a safe place in our particular faith community for members, friends, and family to openly discuss their personal struggles themselves, or in caring for a family member—especially when it is brain-related.

Would we be willing, post-pandemic, to have personal encounters with people who are unhoused—knowing that some suffer from addictions, PTSD and mental illness?

Do we find a safe place and accommodate people who are labeled “outside the norm” or even disruptive or unpredictable in worship and fellowship? Being in loving community with people who experience the world differently from us is a genuine challenge. It calls on us to be counter-cultural to our very instincts and preferences for sameness, “respectability”—people with whom we identify.

Let’s think more about how we can emulate Jesus, and welcome those people who are faced with the difficult—and entirely normal—challenges of life.

Let’s de-stigmatize, by making more transparent, our own differences and challenges, so we can gain shared understanding, compassion, empathy and tools to better welcome all people—that they may be whole and know they are important and loved for who they are.

We have guides for such a task within our membership. So many of you have devoted your professional lives to lifting up and equipping people with special needs. Others have humbly offered volunteer service to vulnerable people. Many of us have offered this acceptance, compassion, hope and healing within our families. What could we learn from one another’s experiences?

I’ll close my thoughts with a Jan Richardson blessing shared this past week with the advisory council for The Center for Religious Wisdom and World Affairs of Seattle University. It was used to promote the beauty of inter-faith relationships, and I think it has application to today’s challenging theme.

The Grace That Scorches Us

Here’s one thing

you must understand

about this blessing:

it is not

for you alone.

It is stubborn

about this.

Do not even try

to lay hold of it

if you are by yourself,

thinking you can carry it

on your own.

To bear this blessing,

you must first take yourself

to a place where everyone

does not look like you

or think like you,

a place where they do not

believe precisely as you believe,

where their thoughts

and ideas and gestures

are not exact echoes

of your own.

Bring your sorrow

Bring your grief.

Bring your fear.

Bring your weariness,

your pain,

your disgust at how broken

the world is,

how fractured,

how fragmented

by its fighting,

its wars,

its hungers,

its penchant for power,

its ceaseless repetition

of the history it refuses

to rise above.

A Blessing for Pentecost Day

I will not tell you

this blessing will fix all that.

But in this place

where we’ve gathered,

wait.

Watch.

Listen.

Lay aside your inability

to be surprised,

your resistance to what you

do not understand.

See then whether this blessing

turns to flame on your tongue,

sets you to speaking

what you cannot fathom

or opens your ear to a language

beyond your imagining

that comes as a knowing

in your bones,

a clarity

in your heart

that tells you

this is the reason

we were made:

for this ache

that finally opens us,

for this struggle,

this grace

that scorches us

toward one another

and into

the blazing day.