"A Good Scare"

          This is the time of year for being scared, because this is the time when people go to amusement parks. A few years ago, I recall seeing a series of T.V. commercials; I think they were for Cedar Point. We watched a guy, twenty something years old. He was being asked about some huge roller coaster at the park. The man yelled his explanation and swayed back and forth for emphasis. “And it goes like, whoa! And it goes like, whoa! And it goes like, whoa!” Nothing like the subtlety of a roller coaster enthusiast.
         Then there was another T.V. commercial. Dad was driving the car. Mom was in the front passenger seat. Kids were in the back. They were heading to Geauga Lake. And it was so fun mom actually had to dance in the front seat as they drove. Oddly enough, when my parents took me to an amusement park as a child, I don’t remember my mother dancing in the front seat. It must be an Ohio thing. Besides, here’s how I feel about scary amusement park rides. You know if you made your cat ride one of ‘em, they’d throw you in jail.
         We enjoy fear, thrill, risk in small doses, as long as we have some control. But then there’s the fear that accompanies Jesus wherever he goes. Jesus deals with fear, casts out fear, and sometimes causes fear.
         Jesus came to the country of the Gerasenes. This was Gentile country, and the only time Luke tells us about Jesus performing a miracle among Gentiles. Just as Jesus stepped from the boat onto dry land he was met by a demon-possessed man.
         It’s a good reminder, isn’t it? Evil doesn’t come to us when it’s convenient and hassle-free. And human suffering doesn’t wait until we’ve cleared our calendars. Life with all its joy and wonder, evil and pain, comes on its own schedule. Is God’s church ready to respond?
         The demon-possessed man, a demoniac, was naked, homeless, and living in the tombs. Again and again he’d broken out of shackles and chains. He seemed utterly out of his mind. But Jesus had commanded the demon to come out of him. And the demon knew who this Jesus was. So the man fell down before Jesus, shouting, “What’re you going to do with me, Jesus, Son of the Most High God? Please don’t torture me!”
         But Jesus did something interesting. He asked, “What’s your name?” And the demon answered, “Legion.” Jesus did not allow evil to go unnamed. Sometimes naming evil is the first step to casting it out.
         A few years ago, I remember attending a workshop on peacemaking and spirituality. One of the leaders suggested an exercise for our battle against personal temptations. She said, “Sit in a chair and place an empty chair directly across from you. Name your temptation, and have a conversation with it. Ask it, “What is it that you want from me? What deeper need am I filling in you?” Half the battle is knowing the name of the evil and knowing what it really wants.
         Jesus learned the name of the demon. Its name was Legion which is really not a name but a number meaning six thousand or a multitude. As one scholar says of the poor man, “Oppressed by too many demons to count, he has lost himself in the cacophony of their voices and has ceased being a self, an individual, a person.” (David J. Lose in Feasting on the Word: Year C, Vol. 3, 169.)
         Do you and I sometimes feel that same oppression and hear that same cacophony? Forces within us that leave us shattered and cut off from others. Voices that confuse us and fill us with sadness or fury. What did this Legion, this multitude want? It wanted to run away from life. It wanted annihilation. It wanted death. It still wants that for you and me.
         To borrow another person’s phrase, sin and evil are a “relentless march toward oblivion.” (Jane Leavy, Squeeze Play, 67). That’s what the demon named Legion wanted–a relentless march toward oblivion. It wanted the man to remain in the tombs, naked, full of rage and fear. It wants us to remain there too. 
         But again Jesus did something odd. The demons begged Jesus not to send them back to the abyss, the place where death and evil were said to originate. The demons wanted to go into some pigs, unclean animals of the time. And Jesus allowed them to do that. They left the man and entered the pigs, then drowned themselves in the lake.
         With our 21st century perspective, the episode seems cruel to the pigs and unfair to the pig farmers. But the scene reminds us of a greater point--evil is always finally self-destructive. Tyrants, torturers, terrorists–the hateful are consumed by their own hatred. And the evil within each of us will finally self-combust too. Though evil is still terrifying to us, we also know that ultimately evil will self-destruct. And only goodness and love will remain.
         After the pigs drowned, the people in charge of them went running and told anybody who’d listen. People came out to see what had happened. And there before them sat the former demoniac, clothed, and sane. And everybody threw a party, thanking Jesus. Right? But no. They were afraid. The Greek says they were “seized with great fear.” And they asked Jesus to leave.
         Imagine how Jesus must have felt. After all he’d been through, after all the good he’d done, they asked him to leave. Have you ever tried to do good, but been asked to leave?
         In the 1996 movie entitled “Phenomenon,” we meet George Malley, an ordinary thirty-seven-year-old man who suddenly receives extraordinary powers. George is able to read and memorize the content of several books in day. He predicts an impending earthquake. He deciphers code and develops telekinetic powers. And he locates a missing child who is very sick. Some of the people in George’s little town are thrilled. But others gather in a local bar one night and start running him down. Finally, the town’s doctor can’t stand another word. He begins screaming at them, “Why do you have to tear him down? What are you afraid of? What have you got to lose? He wasn’t selling anything. He didn’t want anything from anybody. He wanted nothing from nobody. Nothing! Nothing! And you people have to tear him down so you can sleep better tonight. So you can prove that the world is flat and sleep better tonight. Am I right? I’m right . . . ”
         Jesus’ powerful goodness terrified the people. They were content with the demons they knew, but not the powerful goodness they had not known before. So they proved the world was flat, and asked Jesus to leave.
         So the story leaves us with a choice, doesn’t it? We can side with those who are afraid of Jesus’ powerful goodness and want to continue with the familiar evil they know. Or, like the former demoniac, we can be instruments of God’s powerful goodness in the world.
         I invite you to undertake a spiritual exercise. Drive around the Wooster area sometime, and as you drive pay attention to places where the demonic may be at work. Maybe you’ll drive through the part of town dominated by poverty and drug and alcohol addiction. Maybe you’ll drive through an area of ostentatious affluence and spiritual hunger. Maybe you’ll pull into a gas station and puzzle about why our country continues to fund terrorism and destruction of the environment with its addiction to oil. Like the people who lived near the demoniac, where in our town have we become accustomed to and complacent about familiar evil?
          I wonder how Christ might minister through First Presbyterian and shake up this neighborhood and town with goodness so powerful it would scare people. What suffering, madness, and human need is God calling us to name and heal as instruments of the living Christ? And what sorts of scary goodness might Christ unleash through our youth when they travel to Atlanta on Sunday? Let’s pray for God to show us, empower us, encourage us, and lead us.
         And in our spiritual disciplines of worship, prayer, study, service, how could we open ourselves to God’s transformation in our individual lives? How might you and I be so transformed that people might have trouble recognizing us?
          The life of Christian faith is not completely in our control. But for those who are willing, God takes us on a thrilling, risky roller coaster ride. And whoa!  What a ride it is. Amen.