June 23, 2019, Sermon – Weekend of Hope

This weekend at St. Peter was our third time having a “Sunday of Hope” to pray for and honor people affected by cancer. We raised funds for the American Cancer Society by selling luminary bags to be used in July at Butler County Relay for Life. Here’s our prayer litany.

Our readings for this weekend were Luke 8:26-39, Psalm 22:19-28, and Galatians 3:23-29. In my preparation, David Lose’s commentary on this story was helpful, and there are a couple other notes in the sermon text.

Grace and peace from our Lord Jesus Christ, the One who was, who is, and who is to come. Amen.

If you were listening closely to that Gospel reading, you might have noticed this is a strange story. There’s a naked guy living in a cemetery, a whole legion of demons, and some suicidal pigs.

How is this reading relevant for a weekend of hope service about cancer victims and survivors? I’ve been asking myself that all week, and I think one of the keys to this story is where it takes place. Jesus and his disciples have crossed the sea of Galilee in a boat. They’ve left Israel and they’re now in foreign territory, the Gentile region of the Gerasenes.

The pigs in the story are a reminder, because remember, for Jewish people, pigs are unclean. They’re not demonic or anything, but they’re something to be avoided, something filthy. At the end of the story when the pigs don’t make it, it’s no great loss, since they’re unclean anyway. (Of course, the farmers who lose their herd might feel differently! Perhaps that’s why they’re so eager for Jesus to leave!) The point is that Jesus and the disciples are crossing into unfamiliar territory.

Now, if you read this story in Matthew’s gospel, it’s set in the region of the “Gadarenes.” (Check it out in Matthew 8:28-34.) Geographically, that makes more sense, because Gadara borders the Sea of Galilee while the village of Gerasa is 30 miles inland.

Some commentators, though, think Luke’s land of the Gerasenes is not a place, but a description. It’s a Greek pronunciation of a word meaning “the banished or exorcised ones.”

Jesus has come to the land of the outcasts and exiles. This is a place inhabited by people ignored by the world.

Too often, that’s the way our world treats people afflicted with a diseases like cancer. When someone is diagnosed with a serious illness, there’s often a lot of support. People want to take care of them and help them out. But if the situation lasts for a while, if it becomes chronic, the support starts to slip away.

It’s not intentional, but people get distracted and start to lose interest. One of the challenges of living with chronic pain is you start to feel like an outcast, like you just don’t fit in, like society has forgotten about you, or like people are uncomfortable being around you.

Many people have similar fears about nursing homes. Once you leave your own home, it’s easy to feel forgotten and out of sight. I know that’s one of my fears.

But Jesus leaves the familiar region of Galilee, and crosses over to the land of the outcasts. And there, he and the disciples encounter this man, this Gentile, who is basically a dead man walking.

We don’t know when the demons came into him or how it happened, but when he started acting strange, the authorities had tried to take care of him by guarding him and keeping him in chains. Since then, he’s broken free and now he lives in the tombs, another place good Jews would consider unclean.

He’s outside society, and the world has given up on him. We don’t know how long he’s been like this, but think of the strength it must take to keep surviving when everyone else has given up on you, when there’s no hope.

This story challenges us to ask who we have given up on. Who in our world is living among the tombs, abandoned to death? Whose suffering would we prefer to keep out of sight?

Perhaps the words we read from Psalm 22 sound familiar. This is the Psalm Jesus cries out from the cross. It begins with despair: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Why are you so far from helping me, from the words of my groaning?”

Then the Psalmist lists all the reasons he’s despairing. He goes through this whole litany of problems, talking about how his hands and feet have shriveled and he can count all his bones.

His heart is melting like wax, and his bones are all out of joint. Everything that can go wrong has gone wrong. I’m sure this guy with the demons among the tombs can relate.

Yet the Psalm ends with hope. The last verse we read declares that kingship belongs to the Lord. The Lord is still ruling over the nations. In the midst of suffering and fear, in the midst of disease and death, God still has authority.

And in the very next Psalm, we read of the Lord being our good shepherd, protecting and leading the sheep, even through the darkest valley, the valley of the shadow of death.

No matter what evil comes, no matter what this broken world brings, there is still hope. We don’t know what the future holds, but we know who holds us in our future.

We don’t know what heaven looks like, but we know the one who has opened the gates to everlasting life for us.

We don’t know the details of how our hope will be realized, but we know the one in whom is our hope.

The demons recognize Jesus as the Son of God. They cry out, “Do not torment me!” because they recognize his authority over evil forces. They understand the truth that Jesus has authority over everything. (See NET Bible notes on Luke 8:28).

That’s both a hopeful reassurance and a warning. It’s reassuring because it means Jesus has power over whatever is tormenting us. Whether it’s another person, or a situation at work or in your family, or it’s something else beyond our control like cancer, Jesus still has authority. Whatever it is that’s tormenting you does not and will not get the final word. Whatever valley, whatever trial you’re going through will not last forever.

There’s another detail here that Luke’s readers would have caught that’s easy for us to miss. When Jesus asks for the man’s name, the demon replies, “Legion.” Those hearing this story would immediately think of a Roman legion, an army unit of five to six thousand soldiers. Jesus has power not just over demons and spiritual forces, but over earthly empires and governments as well.

And Jesus’ ultimate authority is also a warning. For the demons and all the forces that defy God, Jesus’ authority is not good news, but rather a warning that their time will not last.

We are not demons, but we are still sinful, and for us sinners, this is a warning that our sin will be revealed. Everything we try to hide will be found out. The times we selfishly put ourselves before others, the times we judged others, the times we gave up on or forgot about God, the times we did what we should not have done and failed to do what we ought to do, all of that sin is known to Jesus. And sin has consequences. We know that under the law, the wages of sin is death.

But even as we hear that warning, we also hear the good news of Jesus’ authority. Our hope is not in the law; our hope is not in how good of people we are; our hope now and for eternity is in Jesus. Our judge is also our savior.

In the reading from Galatians, Paul tells us we are no longer subject to the law as our disciplinarian. In Christ Jesus, you are all children of God through faith.

Jesus casts out the demons and restores this man to society. In fact, he sends this man to the very people who sent him away. Like all disciples, he is sent to share the good news of Jesus, but unlike others sent out to travel from city to city and knocking on doors, Jesus sends him back home, to proclaim freedom in Christ to his neighbors. (For more on this, see The Gospel of Luke, by Joel Green, page 336.)

Jesus has come for all of us, for the outcasts and the suffering, for the rich and the poor, for the citizens and the aliens. Jesus uses his power and authority to claim all of us as beloved children of God.

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.

No matter what suffering you’re going through, no matter what pain or grief or loss you’ve experienced, even if you’ve been cast out to live in the tombs, Jesus still receives you. Jesus still crosses over to heal and restore you. Thanks be to God. Amen.