Mark 1:21-28

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, throwing him into convulsions 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.

Bob was fighting unclean spirits all the time: in himself, at the church, all around. The first time I met Bob I was leading service by myself for the first time at St. John’s in Phoenix. Bob walked onto campus wearing three coates, sports goggles, and had a large buck knife hanging from his belt. He mumbled his first words to me: who are you and who do you serve? What a greeting right?

I quickly, and as kindly as I could, introduced myself and asked him who he was. He said “they call me Bob. I’m a warrior of the Lord.” Okay… Church starts in like 5 minutes. By this time I am sweating bullets, which was normal in Arizona but this was way worse. So I ask Bob if he’s been here before and says, “are you getting cross with me…?” No, no, no Bob. (Please I think to myself, I just want to get through my first service!) Finally I told Bob he was welcome to join us, we’d be happy to have him, but the knife stays out here.

He said “oh I know that, maybe I will or I might be here”.

Bob didn’t join us that day, but he kept coming back. Each time he was a little less threatening and we got to know each other more. Bob felt he had demons, real unclean spirits, attacking him or surrounding him wherever he was. He would patrol the perimeter of the campus to ward them off. He would point at them and curse them; unafraid to walk right up to them. For Bob, expelling demons was a part of his everyday life.

I suspect many of us don’t know what to do with stories in the Bible about casting out uncleaning spirits or exorcizing demons. We think we are so different from Bob or the man in the story. Afterall, we don’t really believe in those types of things, do we? We have science, the scientific method. None of it has proven the existence of demons or unclean spirits, right? In our western minds, demons and unclean spirits exist only in indigenous cultures, or scary movies, or in folks who are seriously mentally ill.

But should we be so quick to dismiss this notion? Just because we don’t understand or haven't experienced them doesn’t mean they aren’t real, does it? I asked our faith formation students if they thought angels and demons existed, and their opinions were across the spectrum from “absolutely i've experienced them” to “absolutely not.”I like what Mary Oliver says in her poem, “the World I Live In”. She writes:

I have refused to live locked in the orderly house of reasons and proofs. The world I live in and believe in is wider than that. And anyway, what’s wrong with Maybe? You wouldn’t believe what once or twice I have seen. I’ll just tell you this: only if there are angels in your head will you ever, possibly, see one.

Can not the same be true of unclean spirits? I am not trying to suede you or convince you to believe demons or angels are real. However, we should not write off others’ experiences so quickly, like the man in our story or my friend Bob. If anything, perhaps our understanding of unclean spirits is too narrow, which means our view of Jesus' power and ministry is too narrow, too.

Jesus, along with his first four disciples, strolled into Capernaum. Then on the sabbath, Jesus walked right into the synagogue and began teaching. He must have been feeling rather confident, maybe from seeing the heavens rip open at his baptism or from defeating the devil's temptations in the wilderness. Regardless of why, he taught with authority, as one who is sure and passionate about what he’s saying. And in the midst of that, the man with the unclean spirit comes up to him.

That’s what we read, “a man with an unclean spirit”. Yet, what the Greek says is a little more terrifying… It reads, a man “in” an unclean spirit… as if the unclean spirit has swallowed up the man, so much so that he could no longer be identified apart from the spirit that’s overtaken him. He was known only by this thing that had taken control of him, running and ruining his life.

So when the man cries out “what have you to do with us Jesus?”, I don’t think he’s referring to all the people in the synagogue, but instead referring to himself and the demon he can’t shake. And asking if Jesus has come to destroy “them” makes it clear: the man is consumed, terrified, and unsure what Jesus will do…

We too know what it’s like to be swallowed up by unclean spirits, so much so that our identity is unknown apart from the demon we have. You don’t call it an unclean spirit, but when you get so angry you can’t see straight, what else is that? Or when you fixate your gaze on a person, or a screen, or on sex. When you obsess about always getting more: more money, more stuff. When you can’t see the good things in front of you and only wish for what others have. When someone knows you not for who you are but only for what and who you stand against. All of these spirits can swallow you up so that no one can see you apart from them. They can run and ruin your life. And maybe you too are consumed, terrified, and unsure what Jesus will do…

This story, the first public action of Jesus ministry, tells us that Jesus is more powerful than any unclean spirit we could face. With as much authority as he taught with, Jesus commands the unclean spirit to shut up and come out, setting the man free. And the spirit does just that, but not without a fight, shaking and screaming until the end.

We’ve all been possessed by unclean spirits: powers that hurt you and others, voices telling you that you aren’t loved, things that seek to divide, disparage, and denigrate. We all want to be set free.

Thankfully, that's what the mission and ministry of Jesus is all about. In baptism, God claims you as God’s own and covers you in the grace and forgiveness only Jesus offers. Rather than a life full of anger and greed, jealousy, and hatred, at the font and at this table we are invited and empowered to live a life of peace and generosity, discipline and love.

But how do we experience this liberation? For some of us, it was quick, like a grace-filled lightning strike and your life was forever changed. For others of us the path of healing and freedom is longer and requires more companions along the way: like the unending support of a Stephen minister, the persistent presence of Al-anon meetings and sponsors, a parent support group, a prayer partner, or a fantastic therapist. We can be confident that God works in all of these ways, and more that we may not even notice, to liberate us from unclean spirits.

What is the unclean spirit that swallows you up? What’s the thing trying to run and ruin your life?

Often we are too scared to name it, to examine it, in case it takes greater hold of us. How’s that going for you?

Instead, what if we take a cue from my friend Bob; rather than ignore or deny it; point at, curse it, be unafraid to ask God to free you from that which threatens you, trusting that Jesus is still more powerful than any spirit we face.

Maybe we aren’t so different after all.

Amen

Mark 1:14-20

After John was arrested, Jesus came from Galilee proclaiming the good news of God, and saying, “The time is fulfilled. The kingdom of God has come near. Repent. And believe in the good news.”

As Jesus passed along the Sea of Galilee, he saw Simon and his brother, casting a net into the sea, for they were fisherman. He said to them, “Follow me and I will make you fish for people.” Immediately, they left their nets and followed him. As he walked a little farther, he saw James, the son of Zebedee, and his brother John, in their boat mending the nets. Immediately, he called them and they left their father in the boat with the hired men and followed him.

Last week, I talked about “Doubting Nathanael,” that guy who hears about Jesus from his buddy Philip, but who is more than a little suspicious that this Jesus from Nazareth could possibly be who they thought he was – the messiah, the Son of God, “the King of Israel,” as Nathanael ultimately declares him to be, in spite of himself.

As part of all of that, I talked about that very churchy word “evangelism,” the notion of sharing the good news of the Gospel with others in order to invite them to faith – what Philip was doing for his friend, Nathanael, with that short, sweet, simple, holy invitation he learned from Jesus, himself: “Come and see.”

And, when it comes to this “evangelism” stuff, I suggested that some of us aren’t inclined to it. We don’t like it. We don’t feel qualified or capable – a lot of us – to talk about our faith. And I suggested that another reason many of us don’t “evangelize” or talk about our faith out there in the world or invite others to Church like we feel we would, could, or should, is because we don’t want to be “one of those kind of Christians.”

And I could feel the shared sentiment in the air when I said that – “one of those kind of Christians” – like many of you knew what I meant. You know, the pushy ones, the “turn or burn,” fire and brimstone, “get saved or else,” Bible-thumping, holy-rolling Christians who see Jesus’ invitation to “follow me” as less “come and see,” and more “get in line, or else.”

Well, when I considered this morning’s bit of Mark’s Gospel this time around, I wondered about another kind of Christian I don’t want to be, and never have been, really, for that matter. And that’s the kind of Christian who just drops everything and follows Jesus. The kind of believer who leaves nets and boats and friends and family to follow this Jesus from Nazareth. The kind of believer with no questions or doubts or suspicions – like the ones Nathanael had. The kind of follower who just buys all of this, who gets caught up in all of this, who gets dragged along by all of this, hook, line and sinker, you might say.

I think too much of the time, we hear this story about Jesus showing up in Galilee after his cousin, friend, and mentor, John the Baptist was arrested, strolling by the lake collecting disciples like so many sea shells by the sea shore, and we pretend that that’s how it’s supposed to work. That it’s that simple.

“Come and see,” I mean. And they do come, it seems. “Follow me and I’ll make you fish for people.” And I’ll be dipped, they drop everything, leave everything, lay it all down, and follow Jesus, like puppies or robots or whatever.

And it bugs me a little bit that someone thinks I’m “that kind of Christian,” just as much as it bugs me that some might think I’m “the other kind of Christian,” I mentioned earlier.

What I mean… And what I know about so many of you… And what I have learned from reading about those very same disciples we just heard about – James, John, Simon, Andrew, Nathanael, and all the rest – is that this faith we share is hard won; it’s rarely, if ever, easy; it’s hard to come by, to cultivate, to cling to, and to even care about some days. And when we just read little bits of the Gospels like this one – and what a lot of people preach and teach about it – we aren’t getting or sharing the whole story. When we pretend that everyone should be able to just drop everything and follow Jesus, we’re not being fair or honest about what this journey of faith and what life in this world are really like a lot of the time.

Because let’s not forget about how hard it was for these disciples to keep up with following Jesus so faithfully in those early days. Yeah, they left their boats and their nets and their dad that day by the lake, but they missed the point and misunderstood his teaching a lot of the time, too. They had amazing experiences where water became wine, where Lazarus was raised from the dead, where people were healed. They, themselves, passed around a couple of loaves and a few fish to feed thousands of hungry people on more than one occasion. Peter walked on water for crying out loud.

But the story goes that he sank like a stone, too, when his faith failed him out there on that water. And Lazarus died again somewhere along the way, too. And those disciples got stingy with the good news they’d received. And, in the end, despite all they’d seen and all they had to celebrate in their time with Jesus … in spite of all that faithful following … they denied him; they betrayed him; they deserted him; they left him hanging, quite literally, in the end.

Which is to say, again, this faith stuff is hard won, not easy, difficult for a lot of us to come by, to cultivate, cling to, and care about some days. And I think Jesus knew that and knows it, still. And I think it’s why he said then – and invites us, always – to “come and see” and “follow me,” nothing more and nothing less.

Peter Marty is a Lutheran pastor and editor of the Christian Century magazine, for which he wrote a piece last month about a man in his congregation who was coming to terms with the imminent death of his mother. The man, Jason, was 44 years old, his mother, Marie, was dying in the ICU. And Jason was utterly out of sorts about it all – never having been inside a hospital before and not resting in or wrestling with, any measure of faith, whatsoever.

So, in the ICU waiting room, trying to minister to Jason, whose mother was hours away from death, Pastor Marty was asking himself some pretty hard questions. Like, “to someone of unbelief sitting beside you in a hospital waiting room, how do you describe the power of faith, the significance of hope, or the meaning of life?” And, “How do you realistically acquaint them with the riches or comfort of faith during a 20-minute sit-down?”

Pastor Marty’s answer was, sadly, “You don’t.” And I think, sadly, most of the time, he’s right. None of us has encountered Jesus, strolling along the seashore with an easy, “Come and see” and “Follow me,” that does the trick.

As Pastor Marty writes, “Faith is a deeply ingrained condition formed through steady habits, disciplined practices, and reliable instincts that take shape over long stretches of time. It’s a way of life that acquires its layers and contours incrementally, developing ever so gradually and often imperceptibly.” He says, it’s something “like the parent who doesn’t notice her infant’s changing appearance until she comes home from a weeklong trip and can’t believe how much her child has matured in her absence.”

With that in mind, with the struggles that surround us in this world, and with the ones all of us are yet to encounter along the way, I hope we can be careful, compassionate, and realistic about how we receive and share this story of those first disciples who seem to so easily drop everything and follow Jesus.

Don’t get me wrong, their first steps were bold and brazen; beautiful and faithful; inspiring, even, to be sure. But, again, I know it’s not always so easy.

Because they were knuckleheads and naysayers, doubters and deniers, cynics and skeptics, fearful and faithless, too. And again, I think Jesus knew and knows that about all of us, just the same.

And it’s why our invitation is to follow in his footsteps. Not believe without question. Not denying that our fears are real or that they get the best of us too often, either.

But following with whatever faith we can muster – putting one foot in front of the other – loving, forgiving, showing mercy, giving generously, praying daily, worshiping regularly. Following as closely as we can – especially on our hardest days. Following Jesus – trusting that God is always somewhere out ahead of us … making a way for us and to us whether we believe it, understand it, can see it, or not. Following this Jesus – because his is the way and the truth and the life – and it makes a difference for us, come what may, in spite of ourselves, and for the sake of the world.

Amen

Bob and I Aren't So Different

Hard Won, Faithful Following