On Mental Illness, Healing, and the Gerasene "Demoniac"

'Jesus and his disciples arrived at the country of the Gerasenes, which is opposite Galilee. As he stepped out on land, a man of the city who had demons met him. For a long time he had worn no clothes, and he did not live in a house but in the tombs. When he saw Jesus, he fell down before him and shouted at the top of his voice, "What have you to do with me, Jesus, Son of the Most High God? I beg you, do not torment me" -- for Jesus had commanded the unclean spirit to come out of the man. (For many times it had seized him; he was kept under guard and bound with chains and shackles, but he would break the bonds and be driven by the demon into the wilds.) Jesus then asked him, "What is your name?" He said, "Legion"; for many demons had entered him. They begged him not to order them to go back into the abyss.

Now there on the hillside a large herd of swine was feeding; and the demons begged Jesus to let them enter these. So he gave them permission. Then the demons came out of the man and entered the swine, and the herd rushed down the steep bank into the lake and was drowned.

When the swineherds saw what had happened, they ran off and told it in the city and in the country. Then people came out to see what had happened, and when they came to Jesus, they found the man from whom the demons had gone sitting at the feet of Jesus, clothed and in his right mind. And they were afraid. Those who had seen it told them how the one who had been possessed by demons had been healed. Then all the people of the surrounding country of the Gerasenes asked Jesus to leave them; for they were seized with great fear. So he got into the boat and returned. The man from whom the demons had gone begged that he might be with him; but Jesus sent him away, saying, "Return to your home, and declare how much God has done for you." So he went away, proclaiming throughout the city how much Jesus had done for him.'

-Luke 8: 26-39

Most of you know that I’m a bit of a movie buff. I enjoy putting references in my sermons, but one film I never really got into was The Exorcist, or any of its sequels, for that matter. I don’t really do horror so much, though I respect it as a genre. Still, there is one lesson that I remember from The Exorcist and other films of its ilk, and that is the first thing that a priest does during the rite of exorcism, in the film as well as in real life, is get the demon to say its name.

Why is this important? Because naming something gives one a sense of ownership or control over it, and as long as a person or thing goes nameless, then there is a sense that they or it is in control. Think about when you get a dog and how important it is to name it, in order to get it to eventually obey you. Getting the demon to say its name is really difficult, as any good exorcism movie will show you, but once that happens, then the work of removing the demon, of healing from it, can occur. 

Mosaic of the exorcism of the so-called Gerasene demoniac.

When Jesus confronts a Gerasene man who has been possessed, he gets the demon to say its name. “Legion,” it replies. Once the name is spoken, Jesus can do his work; he cures the man, sending the demons into a herd of pigs, and leaving the man in his right mind, as the text says.

But what exactly was this legion? Biblical scholars say the name is a reference the Roman legions that tormented and tortured Jesus’ people, and all others whom they conquered, the way a demon torments one whom it is possessing. But many others have speculated that the Gerasene man was plagued by what we might today call paranoid schizophrenia, bipolar condition, or dissociative personality disorder, which are legitimate medical conditions. Regrettably, the Church for centuries dealt with people suffering from and living with such conditions as if they were, in fact, possessed by demons, curable only through exorcisms in the name of Jesus. And when the exorcisms didn’t fix the problem, society resorted to treatments like shock therapy, and or throwing them into sanitariums that hid the mentally ill away from the world, the way the Gerasenes hid the so-called “demoniac” in the tombs, and shackled him with chains. 

Yet, as is often his way, Jesus bucks the trend. He meets the man with compassion, not fear or judgment. This man is not a drain on society, not an inconvenience to be hidden away, but someone who is fighting a great battle within himself. The text even tells us that he was dealing with the legion for a very long time. Here is a beautiful example that Jesus sets for us. He gets the man to name his demons – in this case, Legion – but he doesn’t treat him, or the demon, harshly. Whereas those around the man had shunned and shamed him, Jesus offers healing and peace of mind, and in an ironic twist, he actually grants the demons’ request by casting Legion into the pigs, rather than into the nothingness of the Abyss. 

I wonder if, perhaps, Jesus did this because he recognized the strength within this man to fight and struggle for so long with something inside him that he could not understand or control. Consider that the moment Jesus steps onto land, the man runs out to meet him, pleading for Jesus not to torment him. This is his cry for help, his rock-bottom, if you will, and like most of our own cries for help it’s not as simple as, “I’m having a problem, please help me,” but instead it’s an agonizing plea of fear, which no one but Jesus understands. In the example of this man, we are reminded that there is no weakness, no shame, in seeking someone out for help. And our prayer today is that we may meet a brother or sister in pain the same way Jesus did, without judgment, shame, or fear, and with compassion, mercy, and love.

Many of us have struggled in similar ways to the Gerasene man for many, many years, and if we haven't, we certainly know and love someone who has. We might even use the word “demons” to describe those struggles; as in, "I'm dealing with my personal demons."We call them mental illness, addiction, PTSD, and so much more. It is here that I should reiterate that such conditions are not, I repeat, not demons, nor are they demonic in nature in any way shape, or form. They are conditions with which we all, on a spectrum, struggle. Though they may not be actual demons, the first step to facing and healing from them is the same as in this story from the Gospel; that is, to name them. 

To that end, I want to share with you that I am only recently coming to grips with my own struggles with PTSD, and I have been fortunate to have a therapist who has walked with me and given me tools to help me heal. There is no shame in what has happened to me, or to any of you, and there is no shame in asking for help, though sometimes, like the Gerasene man, we may not know how.

After receiving his healing, the man sits at Jesus’ feet, clearly a new person, with a new outlook on life. He wants to go with Jesus, but he refuses, telling the man to stay where he is. Remember that the Gerasenes were not exactly pleased about this man’s healing. A whole herd of pigs were lost because of it – that’s an economic repercussion right there – and their response toward Jesus was to run him out of town, since the Gerasenes were Gentiles and didn’t appreciate an outsider coming in and upsetting their order of things. Sometimes our journey toward healing and wholeness takes us places that others don’t like very much. Loved ones may respond dejectedly when we come out of our healing process and emerge a new person – perhaps with a new name, an entirely new outlook on life. There is something holy and sacred in the call of this new person to remain with his people, to educate them, to love them, to help others heal the same way Jesus healed him.

We must, in spite of misgivings or fear, witness to the strength of those on the outskirts of society who have been made to feel shame and weakness, or told they are possessed, because of their conditions. We must honor the courage that it takes to face and deal with struggles of all kinds, to heal from them, whether physically, emotionally, or spiritually – all three of which apply to the healing Jesus gives to the Gerasene man.

Whatever kinds of struggles you might be facing, brothers and sisters, I pray you will have the courage to name them, the humility to ask for help, and the grace to show others around you how to do the same. And if you are one of the people who are “well” – whoever that may be, I don’t know – perhaps you will see the fears and struggles of others for what they are, something to be commended and uplifted. May you meet them with a loving heart, eager to help to be the healing hands of Jesus for them. And that is good news.

Stay Close, Please!

Earlier in the week I was looking through the books in my office to find something that might help me think differently about Pentecost, since I’ve preached on this feast more than a few times. So I grabbed Preaching Through Holy Days and Holidays, which was given to me as an ordination gift.  The title is kind of redundant, but it’s a collection of other people’s sermons, which are ok, but I don’t always find them super helpful. Still, I turned to the Pentecost section and my jaw literally fell open. One of the sermons was written by The Rev. Dr. Mitties McDonald DeChamplain, and while that name may not mean anything to you it’s pretty important to me because she was my preaching professor at General Seminary.

She has since gone on to glory, but Mo. Mitties is one of my Church heroes, everything you’d imagine a priest to be: filled with grace, wisdom, and serenity of spirit. She was small in stature and quiet in speech, but she had a presence that spoke loudly and commanded a room. She taught us to "always preach with abandon, keep your Jesus count high, and stay grounded in caritas." Her life was changed by the events of 9/11, after which she spent countless hours with other clergy at Ground Zero, ministering to those in pain and looking for survivors. Perhaps most importantly, she loved my dog Casey something awful and gave the little girl her middle name: Casey Louise Mitchell. "I just assume everyone’s middle name is Louise", she told me.

Casey Louise getting blessed by Mother Mitties on our last St. Francis Day in seminary (Fall, 2011).

She was a darn good preacher herself, and the sermon in the book shows it. She preached it on the Eve of Pentecost for a preaching conference in D.C. sometime around the turn of this century.. In the sermon, Mo. Mitties recalls the days after she took her General Ordination Exams, which are kind of like the bar or medical boards for clergy. They’re awful, and you need some kind of selfcare after you finish. She was told to go to the National Cathedral on the following Sunday and be fed by their 11:00 am Eucharist, and any of you who have been to the Cathedral can attest to how powerful that experience can be. So Mo. Mitties writes in the sermon about going up for Communion surrounded by all these people, and as she moves, she takes note of a woman, whom she describes as “an elderly woman in her mid-60s with radiant ebony skin and eyes that brimmed with an almost incandescence.” This minister of hospitality and welcome kept saying to the people walking up to receive, “Stay close, please.  Stay close, please.”

When I read that, I looked up to heaven, laughed, and thanked dear Mo. Mitties, because right now, some 20 years later, that’s a message we need. She may have been encouraging that room full of preachers to stick together in their common vocation, but “Stay close, please!” are words for us, too. What does it mean to stay close when staying physically close these past two years hasn’t been a good idea for most of us? How can we love and support each other and be emotionally close when we can’t get near each other?  We’ve had to relearn what closeness really is; or as Yoda put it, we had to "unlearn what we have learned." COVID-tide even gave us a new term – social distancing – which was meant to remind us that we needed to keep some distance to stay safe, but it started to feel like the term implied we shouldn’t be social, which just isn’t true. We are social creatures, we have to be in relationship with each other in order to survive. We’ve tried to stay close even when we can’t stay close. It’s been really hard, especially on the most vulnerable among us, and it’s been exhausting.

Pentecost, though, felt like a shot in the arm - pun intended - for our parish. After three years we were finally able to celebrate our annual parish cookout, worshipping in our Outdoor Chapel with no COVID restrictions. There was a great joy in the atmosphere, and it really felt like a new day in our parish, like we had turned a corner. So, as we turn a corner, I hope that we will remember those words and stay close. Regardless of physical distance, we must stay close, brothers and sisters. 

The altar set up for our outdoor worship on Pentecost Sunday of this year.

Y’all know I like to call you brothers and sisters because, well, that’s what we are. We’re a family, despite how the last two years have tried to get us to forget that fact, we always have been a family. COVID-tide tried to convince us that being separated meant we were less of a family, but we know that isn't true. Just think of your family that live on the other side of the country (or the world); are they any less your family?

And the thing about family is that you can’t quit them. You cannot choose the family you are born into or the story of that family, which also means you can’t change the ugly parts in the past, the skeletons in the family closet. Nevertheless, our family is a story we are written into forever, for good and ill. Blessedly, we know family is not about blood alone, but especially in cases of abusive relationships, plenty of us find new family, our friends, colleagues, or church folk who love and support us when our blood relatives can’t or won’t. This being the start of Pride Month, I’m particularly reminded that family comes in all shapes and sizes, and that closets are not for skeletons and hiding but for shoes, fabulous shoes.

Happy Pride, y'all!

What makes us a family is the Holy Spirit, that part of God that is the life-giver. Jesus knew this because in his two languages - Hebrew, which he read and Aramaic, which he spoke - the word for 'spirit' is feminine. It was the Spirit or breath of God  that moved over the waters at creation and called the A-dam out of the dust and gave the human one life. The Scriptures for Pentecost remind us of the Holy Spirit’s life-giving properties. In the Acts of the Apostles we hear about the Spirit giving birth to the Church (Acts 2: 1-21). The reading from Romans 8: 14-17 reminds us that we are all children of God, united by the Holy Spirit. Even Psalm 104 calls to mind the Spirit’s role in not only birthing but sustaining all of creation. If the Spirit births all things, then all things are related. All are siblings. All are family.

The Holy Spirit binds us all into such a family, not just as a parish, not just as Episcopalians, or even as Christians, but truly as one human family. And the Spirit urges us, as that usher urged Mo. Mitties and others as they came to Communion, “Stay close, please!” She’s calling us all today, still, to stay close. So, maybe we can hear her voice, just this once, and maybe by the Spirit's power, we might be a little different from this day forth. Perhaps we will hold each other a bit more carefully, be a bit more patient, a bit more understanding, a bit more kind. Maybe we will remember that we are family, and that no crisis, whether the violence we’ve seen the last couple weeks or the madness of COVID from the last couple years, can change that. 

So, this Pentecost I’m grateful that my parish was able to be physically closer than we have been in two years, and I pray that closeness continues. And I also pray that we will all stay close in heart, mind, and common mission to love and serve. Stay close, brothers and sisters, to each other. To your God. To Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of our faith. To the Holy Spirit, who showed up at Pentecost to tear away the veil that we put up between each other, and who still has the power to set our hearts on fire with love for God and a passion to transform the world. As my parishioners know, it is a new day in Asheboro now, as it was a new day in Jerusalem back then. It is a new day for us all. So as we head out into it, stay close, brothers and sisters. Please.