'Jesus and his disciples 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, convulsing him 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.'
--Mark 1: 21-28
One Sunday shortly after I was ordained I went to lunch at Chipotle, because I was brainwashed into thinking that stuff was good for me! As I stood in the line, the server asked me if I was a real priest, and though I later wished I’d had a snarky comeback, I was hungry and just told him that, yeah I was. “There’s something I’ve always wanted to ask a priest,” he said. Oh boy. “Have you ever done, like, an exorcism?!” “No,” I said, “I’d have to call my bishop.”
That is, actually, what we’re supposed to do. Our Episcopal Book of Occasional Services, from which we get the likes of Tenebrae, Lessons & Carols, and Stations of the Cross, has a total of three sentences in the section called Concerning Exorcisms, and the instruction is clear that a priest is to tell their bishop, who then determines if an exorcism is needed and who will do it. And that’s that. I can’t say I’ve ever made that call, though I’ve been somewhat tempted. The ancient church even taught that in baptism an exorcism actually takes place when the catechumen is washed in the holy waters; this is still the teaching of the Orthodox faith, and I’ve even heard many of my Episcopal colleagues share it.
There’s a whole film industry based around exorcisms, with The Rite (my personal favorite), The Conjuring, and of course the SEVEN films in The Exorcist saga. What is it about these stories that captures our minds? Maybe because we want to believe that true evil does exist, which helps explain how a world that God pronounces as “very good” can be assaulted by the likes of war, famine, poverty, and injustice? Maybe we are drawn to them because in the end the demons are defeated, at least until the next movie?
The first miracle performed by Jesus in the synoptic Gospels is an exorcism. In the synagogue at Capernaum, a place in which Jesus spent so much time that there’s a sign there today declaring it the “Town of Jesus,” a man with an unclean spirit, a demon, suddenly shows up. His first words are directed at Jesus, tinged with fear, “What have you to do with us, Jesus of Nazareth? Have you come to destroy us?” The demon even knows who Jesus is, the Holy One of God. In a scene that could’ve been directed by William Friedkin, Jesus calls the demon out of the man, leaving everyone there amazed.
We don’t know the nature of the man’s demon, though in this and other examples throughout the Gospels – like the Gerasene demoniac called Legion whom Jesus casts out into a herd of pigs – modern scholars have speculated that what the ancient world called demons were in fact very real medical conditions like paranoid schizophrenia, bipolar, or dissociative personality disorder. We don’t talk often about mental health in the Church - we should - and when we do we don't often do so with the pastoral sensitivity that fully respects the dignity of those for whom mental illness is an ever-present part of their lives. Regrettably, the institutional 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, with the backing of the Church, resorted to treatments like shock therapy, or throwing folks into sanitariums that hid the mentally ill away from the world, the way Jesus’ own society often cast people away into the catacombs, out of public view.
In reading this story of Jesus’ first exorcism, I’m struck by the way he engages the man. We can imagine the people there having a number of reactions – some looking away, some eager to kick this guy out of their house of prayer and study, some terrified that he’ll hurt someone. Jesus, though, meets the man, not with fearful violence, but with compassionate conviction. He doesn’t see a stranger, an “other,” he sees someone in need of mercy.
Consider that the man asks if Jesus has come to destroy him. Perhaps he has sought help from the rabbis and other learned people in the synagogue, only to be sent away time after time. I wonder if he showed up that day knowing that Jesus would be there, hoping that maybe this man could help him. He throws up to Jesus a cry for help, a 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 out someone out for help. We are reminded that houses of prayer, study, and worship should be the very places where folks in such states should find rest, comfort, and support. And our prayer is that we may meet a brother or sister in pain the same way Jesus does, without judgment, shame, or fear, and with compassion, mercy, and love.
I do believe demons are real, but I believe they have more to do with power, prestige, and possessions than real psychological and emotional conditions that fearful folks – including church leaders - have called demonic because they don’t want to actually face them. It seems they're fine with the demons that fill their bellies, prop them up as "big deals," and maintain their positions of authority.
There are folks in churches every week who have struggled for many, many years. We might, at one time or another, have even used the word “demons” to describe those struggles: mental illness, addiction, PTSD, trauma, the list goes on, though it should be reiterated that such conditions are not, I repeat, not demonic. It’s taken me years to come to terms with my own PTSD and various traumas, and I’m still working on them, but when I finally managed to seek help I found it, in therapists, spiritual directors, and people who met me with love. 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 man in Capernaum, we may be afraid that asking will destroy us.
I have seen tremendous faith displayed by my siblings in Christ who have lived much of their lives on the outskirts of society, made to feel shame and weakness, or, God-forbid, told they are possessed, because of their conditions, even by religious leaders. If you are someone who has been wounded by the institutional Church in such a fashion, I am sorry. I pray we learn from and honor the courage that it takes to face and deal with struggles of all kinds, to heal from them, whether physically, emotionally, or spiritually. I would like to think that the man in the Capernaum synagogue received all three of those healings that day from Jesus.
Whatever kinds of struggles you might be facing, brothers and sisters, I pray you will have the courage and 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 truly are, something to be commended and uplifted, rather than pitied or feared. May you meet anyone who is struggling with the same compassionate conviction of Jesus, and love one another through our wide variety of complex and complicated struggles. For all of us, that is good news
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