Love doesn’t care about the ways we feel divided from our neighbors. Love goes to the hardest places and holds out a hand, and gets involved.
Vicar Natalie Wussler
The Second Sunday after Pentecost, Lect. 12 C
Text: Isaiah 65:1-9; Psalm 22:19-28; Galatians 3:23-29; Luke 8:26-39
Beloved in Christ, grace to you, and peace in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Don’t let the pigs and the demons distract you. Yes the pigs and the demons are important parts of the story, but when we hyper-fixate on the spectacle of this story, we miss the very human parts. And we forget to ask:
Who is this man?
Where were the people that loved him?
How long had he been suffering? How long had he been alone?
Who put him in the tombs?
Because
Someone chained him, someone saw him as more of a problem than a person. Someone washed their hands of him. And the whole community looked away from him.
If this was a story about Jesus and demons and pigs, then we’re off the hook. We can bask in the miracle and the awe-inspiring power of Jesus and sit back to consider who this Jesus guy actually is, like the disciples did when Jesus calmed the storm a few verses prior. And if it’s just a story of divine intervention, what does that require of us?
But if this story is about a man who has been abandoned by his community, if this story is about someone that’s been so forgotten that he, too, forgets himself, whose suffering was seen as “too much”, who’s been considered as good as dead, then we’re involved. If this is a story about a broken community, then we’re on the hook.
Because this world looks a lot like that Gerasene community, and the powers that be thrive on us not getting involved and looking away from each others’ suffering. Our world is built on systems and structures designed to oppress and punish and push away what we don’t want to see. It’s a world that leaves people on the margins and blames people for their wounds And the world is really good at keeping us separate–drawing lines between “us” and “them”, that hands us categories like “normal” and “abnormal”, “worthy” and “unworthy,” and it tells us to stay on our side in our silos and our echo chambers. It’s a world that wants us to forget our neighbor’s belovedness, that meets conflict with violence, and difference with fear.
But then Jesus shows up, in a foreign land and in a Gentile community–
He doesn’t add to this man’s oppression, he restores in
He doesn’t avoid, he meets him with love and curiosity
He asks the man his name, and he finds out that this man identifies as “Legion.” He’s had no one to remind him who he is. His identity is completely wrapped up in his pain
But Jesus sees him. Jesus reaches deep into this man’s soul, reminds him he still has one. When no one else would come close, Jesus, an outsider in this community, does. And when no one else would come close and he’s saying to this man, “I see you, your problems and your pain matter to me.” He gets involved. And he sees someone worth loving and worth saving, worth welcoming home. and the man experiences true healing and he’s freed from pain and fear—his chains are finally broken because love got involved.
And in our own ways, we’ve all been this man–overwhelmed, believing the labels this world puts on us, feeling unworthy and broken, too hard to love. We’ve lived seasons in tombs, and forgotten who we are, but Jesus comes for us too.
Jesus sees through every label, every fear, and every lie we’ve believed about ourselves, calls us beloved, child, worthy, capable. And the send us out to be the same love that changes our lives everyday.
And this love doesn’t fit into the categories and silos, it doesn’t pay attention to labels. Love goes out of its way to go to the margins and to go into the places it’s told not to go into–just like what Paul is saying to us today: there is no Jew or Greek, slave or free, male or female–for all are one in Christ Jesus.
We don’t erase differences, In Christ, the old divisions and hierarchies don’t separate us anymore. In Christ, all are valuable, all are beloved.
In Christ, we belong to each other and we show up for each other. In Christ, if someone is hurting, we’re already involved, no matter who is suffering. In Christ, we have a love for each other that says, “No matter where you are, if you’re hurting, I’m here for you.” Because in Christ, we can’t decide whose pain and suffering matters. And when we act in this love, healing happens.
But this kind of love is costly. It asks us to show up and cross boundaries. To go to the margins and risk being rejected, like Jesus was. And everyday, we see more and more that the world resists this kind of love, because it threatens the way things are. This kind of love exposes the town’s apathy toward this man, and maybe that’s why they ask Jesus to leave. The world thrives on fear, on separation, on silence, but the Gospel calls us to something different. It asks us to get our hands dirty in the work of healing.
Because the story doesn’t end with this man’s healing. Even after the man begs to stay with Jesus, Jesus sends him back into his town. Why? Because the real work is just beginning.
Because the community needs to face what it’s done.
Accountability needs to happen.
Reconciliation needs to happen.
And this now-healed man is sent to tell his story, to speak truth and to witness to the power of the love that got involved. No matter how long it takes.
And we, too, are sent out.
We’re called into the same day-in, day-out work of healing and witness. The kind of love that gets involved that changes both people and communities.
The love that breaks cycles of violence and apathy.
The love that rebuilds what fear tore down.
The love that whispers to us and people throughout the world and throughout time: You are not alone.
The love that brings abundant life for all people
The love that gets involved, and now, more than ever, requires us to get involved too.
In the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
