Pentecost 2 C: Inviting Us Out of the Tombs

Luke 8:26-39

Dear Partner in Preaching

My apologies for the long “radio-silence.” While Holy Week and Easter are often the crunch times in ministry, followed by a bit of a respite, that has not been my experience this year. Board meetings and trips and baptisms and funerals and graduations all the things that make up congregational life have kept me running and made it very challenging to write… even late into the week. And I’m not sure when or if that will change, so I will continue to write when I’m able, but simply can’t promise that my reflections will be as regular as before. None of this, I want to be clear, should be construed as complaining. I love my work more than at any time in my career and feel blessed to be entrusted with it. And I love thinking about these passages with you all as well, but as we’ve moved in our congregation to a more narrative approach to the lectionary, these weekly reflections are often the second round of exegetical work and it’s been more difficult to make time to offer them. Thanks for all the inquiries and for your understanding and patience.

When it comes to this week’s reading, a few thoughts. First, there are a number of really odd details in this story – a man who has lost his identity not to a single unclean spirit but to a legion (typically denoting 6000 soldiers) of demons; the same demons who want to inhabit pigs rather than go into the abyss (whatever that may be); demon-possessed swine who then run headlong to a watery death; swine-keepers who are amazed, fearful, and consternated; folk from the surrounding communities who come to gaze in fear and wonder at the spectacle; and more. These details add depth and texture to the story and can do the same for your sermon, but they can also be distracting and/or raise as many questions as they answer. All of which is to say that you should make some choices about what you’ll focus on and be prepared to offer a bit of detail and explanation to make some of these odd details more understandable. (For help in that direction, I thought Judith Jones’ commentary this week on Working Preacher was exceptional.)

Second, with regard to the choices I would make, I was struck very much by the tail-end of verse 27: “he did not live in a house but in the tombs.” The details of this man’s life are already bleak. Completely dominated by what has mastered him, unable to restrain himself or be restrained, naked and alone, we discover he is also homeless, abandoned, and lives among the tombs; that is, among the dead, in a wasteland, in territory considered unclean, unsafe, and unapproachable.

Horrible. And yet, if we’re honest, not unfamiliar. There are very likely folks in your congregation who have experienced homelessness or been on the brink of that experience. Others “live in the tombs” and in the place of death more metaphorically, but no less painfully. Those trapped by mental illness or addiction. Those in abusive relationships. Those who feel terribly alone. Those who feel that something they’ve done, or something that has been done to them, disqualifies them from acceptance. Those who have been rejected because they do not conform to the norms and identities with which we are most comfortable. Those who struggle to find any sense of value in themselves or purpose in life.

And the list goes on. Indeed, broadening what it means to “live in the tombs” in this way, there is likely not a single person who has not had this experience.

What’s easy to overlook in this odd story of eventual healing is that this whole encounter between Jesus and this man lost and living in the tombs is the result of a nearly inexplicable and totally unnecessary detour. This larger scene is set in motion by Jesus’ decision to cross to the other side of the lake. Luke’s narration makes it sound so incredibly happenstance: “One day, Jesus got into a boat with his disciples, and he said to them, ‘Let’s go across to the other side of the lake’” (v. 22). That’s it. No rationale, like pressing crowds or the need for rest. It’s not a shortcut to some ultimate destination. And no plan or purpose is made apparent. Just a desire to cross from the familiar to the unfamiliar, from the known countryside of Capernaum and Galilee to the land of the Gerasenes… and to this man.

Which may mean that Jesus’ whole point with this detour is to seek him out. To rescue him from his occupation, to return to him his life. While it may seem utterly unnecessary to us, that is, it is absolutely necessary, even crucial, to Jesus and his mission. This is what Jesus does – seeks out and finds the lost. Even more, this is who Jesus is – the one who is: the one who bringsbring good news to the poor, proclaims release to the captives, recovery of sight to the blind, and lets the oppressed go free (4:18).

And here’s the thing: Jesus is still doing that. He is still going out of his way, still taking the long route, still crossing boundaries, still daring to meet us in the middle of our tombs, in order to heal and restore us. To put it another way, if Jesus goes so far out of his way to encounter this one man, what will keep him from seeking us out, from meeting us where we are and accepting us as we are, from inviting us to come out of the tombs, from daring us to imagine life in abundance, from bidding us to share the news of what has been done for us. The answer, in short, is nothing. Nothing will keep Jesus from reaching out to us, finding us, accepting us, releasing us, calling us, loving us. Nothing.

Perhaps, in addition to reminding us of this good news – indeed, of the good news – we might also be encouraged to look around for those folks who are themselves still living without a home and in the tombs. Might we, that is, having tasted the love and acceptance of God and been renewed by the Spirit, now extend that same love and acceptance to those still wandering alone and among the dead? The Apostle Paul, speaking of the new reality and life of those caught up in Christ’s Spirit in this week’s second reading, says, “There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus.” It’s a word of acceptance and inclusion, not eliminating differences but relativizing them. What matters most, that is, is that we are all God’s children. We all belong. We are each worthy of God’s attention and care. Christ has come – has actually sought us out – to enfold us in God’s love.

That message, enacted in Luke’s story and articulated by the Apostle, is incredibly exciting when you discover it includes you. And it’s incredibly exciting when you realize it applies to all those around you as well!

Blessings on your proclamation, Dear Partner. I’m grateful for your fidelity to your call and the word of hope and acceptance you offer.

Yours in Christ,
David

Image: The Gerasene Demoniac by Sebastian Bourdon (1653)