Better the Devil You Know

Luke 8:26-39

Then they arrived at the country of the Gerasenes, which is opposite Galilee. As he stepped out on land, a man of the city who had demons met him. For a long time he had worn no clothes, and he did not live in a house but in the tombs. When he saw Jesus, he fell down before him and shouted at the top of his voice, “What have you to do with me, Jesus, Son of the Most High God? I beg you, do not torment me”— for Jesus had commanded the unclean spirit to come out of the man. (For many times it had seized him; he was kept under guard and bound with chains and shackles, but he would break the bonds and be driven by the demon into the wilds.)  Jesus then asked him, “What is your name?” He said, “Legion”; for many demons had entered him. They begged him not to order them to go back into the abyss.  Now there on the hillside a large herd of swine was feeding; and the demons begged Jesus to let them enter these. So he gave them permission. Then the demons came out of the man and entered the swine, and the herd rushed down the steep bank into the lake and was drowned.

When the swineherds saw what had happened, they ran off and told it in the city and in the country. Then people came out to see what had happened, and when they came to Jesus, they found the man from whom the demons had gone sitting at the feet of Jesus, clothed and in his right mind. And they were afraid. Those who had seen it told them how the one who had been possessed by demons had been healed. Then all the people of the surrounding country of the Gerasenes asked Jesus to leave them; for they were seized with great fear. So he got into the boat and returned. The man from whom the demons had gone begged that he might be with him; but Jesus sent him away, saying, “Return to your home, and declare how much God has done for you.” So he went away, proclaiming throughout the city how much Jesus had done for him.

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Everyone’s afraid today, it seems to me. The Gerasenes are afraid of the possessed man and everyone is afraid of Jesus – that man, his demons, the townspeople and, even though they don’t say so, those pigs must have been terrified.

So, this time around, this Gospel story had me thinking about the saying: “Better the devil you know than the devil you don’t.” You’ve heard this before, right? I know another version of it thanks to an Indigo Girls’ song that sings: “The devil I know is starting to look awfully kind.” Emily Saliers, who wrote the song, sings about leaving a bad relationship, but being tempted to stay for fear or anxiety or uncertainty about the unknown.

Whatever the case, the implication is that sometimes we’re inclined, or tempted, or afraid – scared – into sticking with what we know and with what’s familiar – even if it’s bad – for fear the alternative may be even worse. We’re more afraid of what we don’t know that what we do – even if what we do know is pretty awful. “Better the devil you know than the devil you don’t.”

It’s something like what I think is going on with the Gerasenes and this possessed man and Jesus today. I suspect you’ve heard something about this strange story before – this bizarre little ditty about a demon-possessed man, some pigs on the hillside, and one of Jesus’ more obscure miracles. As strange as it is, it’s very much like what Jesus did so often: He showed up in strange territory. He opened his heart to a stranger. He loved someone everyone else had rejected. He found what had be so very lost and he fixed what had been broken.

In this case, this naked, possessed – perhaps mentally ill – sick, scared, ostracized man who’s been pushed out of his community, forced to live among the untouchable tombs on the outskirts of town, is miraculously made well, set free, healed of his affliction at the expense of some pigs who can’t swim. And what is celebrated by the likes of you and me – and likely celebrated by Jesus’ disciples back in the day, too – as another great miracle … isn’t exactly received as good news with great joy by the people in the country of the Garasenes.

The same people who had banished this poor, possessed, pathetic man from their midst, to the other side of the tracks; who had bound him with shackles and chains at times, weren’t exactly happy about what Jesus had done. Apparently, they were even more afraid of the power of Jesus’ healing than they were of whatever had scared them so much about this guy in the first place.

Better the devil you know than the devil you don’t, right?

Because what must this mean, that one who was sick was now well? What must it mean that one who had been worthless, banished, broken beyond repair was now none of those things – but was now the opposite of those things, in fact – loved (by Jesus), valued (by Jesus), restored, returned home, made whole?

And, even more, what must it mean that this guy, Jesus, this foreigner from Nazareth in Galilee, made it all happen? This Jesus who would cast the mighty down from their thrones and lift up the lowly; who would fill the hungry with good things and send the rich away empty; this Jesus who was touching lepers and healing the paralyzed; who hung out with fishermen and with women from the city; who broke the rules of the sabbath; this Jesus who proclaimed and promised a kingdom where humility, mercy, forgiveness, generosity, sacrifice and love of enemies were all evidence of victory and signs of strength.

Better the devil you know than the devil you don’t.

Because if Jesus could do what he did to that Legion of demons – and if all the stories of his healing and teaching were true – than maybe all the rest of his ideas and promises and proclamations were true, too. And that might mean change for the status quo. It might mean that some tables would be turning, sometime soon. It might mean that who and what were once banished would be welcomed home again. It might mean that who and what were once considered sick and sinful would be well and worthy, instead.

It might mean that the familiar devil of complacency and of the status quo were starting to look awfully kind and easy in the face of all the change and challenge that God’s kingdom proposed. That’s why I imagine the people were so afraid of what they had seen in the country of the Gerasenes that day.

The devil they knew in their demon-possessed neighbor – and their ability to banish, ostracize, and disdain him – was more appealing than the love of God, in Jesus, that called them to welcome him home, to show him mercy, to see him as redeemed … to love him as Jesus had done.

The devil they knew – the lifestyle and life they were used to – was starting to look awfully kind, apparently; and better – safer – more familiar – than the alternative.

And isn’t that the case a lot of the time, still today?

I think about how women can be tricked, scared and threatened into remaining in abusive relationships. Sadly, the devils they know trick them into fearing what they don’t.

I think about young people who struggle with coming out of the closet. They’ve been tricked or shamed or scared into thinking that hiding and keeping secrets is more comfortable or more safe than living into the truth of their identity.

But it doesn’t have be quite so dramatic.

I know a devil named “Lazy” who keeps me from exercising as much as I should. I know a devil named “Busy” who keeps me from meditating and praying more often than I do. I know devils called “Pride” and “Ego” and “Greed” – and more – besides who keep me stuck in ways I wish I wasn’t.

And I’m not alone, am I? We stick with the devils we know in all kinds of ways, don’t we? And they are legion. We stay at jobs that don’t fulfill us, but that pay the bills – because what would the new thing be? We avoid conflict and hard conversations, for fear of the alternative. We keep more for ourselves because it seems scary to give more of it away. We do what we’ve always done – even when it ceases to bear fruit – just because we haven’t found the will or the way to do otherwise.

But what we forget is the same thing the Gerasenes couldn’t see or believe, just yet: that the quote-unquote “devil” we don’t know – or forget we know – is Jesus, who is no “devil” at all … but Jesus, master of grace and mercy and second-chances. Jesus, healer of our every ill. Jesus, lover of losers, forgiver of sinners, and friend of the broken. Jesus, who stills storms and calms seas and invites his people to step out onto them – in faith – and in spite of their better judgment.

We forget we know this Jesus, who calls us always to new things… new ways of living and moving and breathing in this world. This Jesus calls us to new joy, new hope, new life in spite of our fears and precisely because he is Jesus, crucified, died and risen for the sake of the world.

Amen

The Living and The Dead

Luke 24:1-12

But on the first day of the week, at early dawn, they came to the tomb taking with them the spices they had prepared. They found the stone rolled away from the entrance of the tomb, but they didn’t find the body. While they were perplexed about this, suddenly two men in dazzling clothes stood beside them.

The women were terrified and they bowed their faces to the ground. But the men said to them, “Why do you look for the living among the dead. He’s not here; he is risen. Remember how he told you while he was still in Galilee, that the Son of Man must suffer at the hands of sinners, be crucified and rise again on the third day.” Then they remembered these words and, returning from the tomb, they told all of this to the eleven and to all the rest.

Now it was Mary Magdalene, Joanna, Mary, the mother of James, and the other women with them who told this to the apostles. But their words seemed to them an idle tale and they didn’t believe them. But Peter got up and ran to the tomb. Stooping and looking inside, he saw the linen clothes lying there. And he went home, amazed at what had happened.

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I want to have a little fun and start with some optical illusions and see what we can see, together. This first one is a classic, I imagine most of us have seen before. I remember seeing it for the first time in my High School Psychology class:

(Some see an older woman, some see a younger woman; Some say that may depend on your age.)

(The way he’s looking depends on the way you’re looking, perhaps.)

(How many say the cat is walking up the stairs? How many say the cat is walking down the stairs?)

Now, the words from those guys in the dazzling clothes at the tomb in this morning’s Gospel, had me wondering about optical illusions and about the tricks our eyes can play on us – and our heads and our hearts, too. And their question is convicting and powerful and covers a lot of ground – when you consider it through the eyes of faith:

“Why do you look for the living among the dead?”

It seems, almost, like a rhetorical question, because they don’t seem to wait for an answer. Those guys in the be-dazzled duds, go right to reminding the women that Jesus had told them all of this would happen – that the Son of Man would be crucified at the hands of sinners, that he would die, that he would be buried, that he would rise again. “Remember how he told you…?”

Which they do, of course, finally; and it sends them back to where they came from telling the apostles and all the rest what they had found – or not found, as it turns out: That Jesus had risen. That death was defeated. That God’s grace and mercy and forgiveness and love had won the day. Just as he had told them it would.

So back to that question, “Why do you look for the living among the dead?” I believe it’s more than just a rhetorical question for those particular women in that particular tomb at that particular time. It’s a question for the ages, really. It’s a question for us, still. And it’s one I want to wrestle with and be challenged by this Easter and more often, in the days to come.

Because we do – too much of the time – look for the living among the dead, I think. I don’t mean we’re rushing to tombs, or hanging out in cemeteries, or pal-ing around with ghosts, of course. I don’t mean that life is a series of optical illusions or mind games or magic tricks, either. But, if by “life” we mean joy and value and peace of mind and hope for the future and self-worth and meaning… than I think we go looking for that kind of life in all the wrong ways and places, too much of the time.

“Why do you look for the living among the dead?”

I’d say, because it’s hard not to. I’d say because the world around us does its damnedest to make us see what isn’t there – life where there is none, I mean: joy and value, peace and hope, self-worth and meaning where none of those things can actually be found.

Joy in our Social Media feed; Value in our net worth; Peace through politics; Self-worth measured against the opinions of others and the list goes on, right?

We value money and things and stuff. We self-medicate. We over-work. We keep up with the Joneses. We strive for perfection and admire it in others. We are addicted and numb and going through the motions and holding grudges. We are pointing fingers and keeping secrets and talking behind backs. We are afraid of children of God who look or live or believe differently than we do. We are okay with the status quo. We avert our eyes from the suffering of our neighbor. We look out for Number One at the expense of Numbers 2, 3, 4, 5 and so on.

Why do you…why do we…look for life and the living, among the dead and death-dealing ways of the world around us?

Because, just like those first followers of Jesus, we forget. We need to be reminded every once in a while about the places from whence real life comes.

Which is why I’m glad we’re here, today. What God does for us at Easter, is turn the tables on the ways of the world. In Jesus’ resurrection we’re meant to see the world through God’s eyes again. We’re meant to see that life comes from the ways of Christ. Real life comes from sacrifice and selflessness. Transformed life comes from humility and hopefulness. New life comes from graciousness and gratitude.

And the really good news of Easter is that, in God’s kingdom – which is alive and well among us, even now, people – life can come, even from the places that feel dead, to us; defeated; lost; failed; whatever you want to call it, or however it is you’ve experienced it, maybe.

Those of us who’ve been to Haiti or have heard the stories, find life in one of the poorest places on the planet every time. Our Agape ministry found some new life just Monday night on Indy’s east side, sharing food and friendship with some prostitutes like they do every month. Some of us experienced more than a little bit of life that same night in the prison up at Pendleton – a place where some light shined in the darkness for the inmates and for the rest of us, too, while we worshiped together.

Because of Easter’s good news – and thanks to those women who first heard and shared it so faithfully – we actually can, now, go looking for life and the living among the dead places of this world, and find it there.

I want to show you another picture of some upside down styrofoam plates.

But then I want to tell you that one of these plates or bowls is right-side up. And once you find it, all the others will be right-side up, too. (Cool, right?)

God’s grace and love, God’s forgiveness and mercy and promise for new life trump the world’s judgment and sin and death every time – and twice on Easter Sunday. And when we remember that, everything is turned right-side up for us.

Because God has defeated even death for our sake, we are invited to see the world in a new, hope-filled, life-giving way. Because God promises new life to us, not just on the other side of the grave, but every day that we draw breath on this side of heaven – we are called to stop looking for life in all the wrong places.

Because of Easter we are allowed to see all things and all people – and to see ourselves, too – through the lens of resurrection.

And when we do that, God’s hope and intention and joy will be to see us live differently because of it: to forgive our neighbor; to love our enemy; to care for the other; to broaden our circle; to take risks in sharing the same grace and love and mercy we long for, ourselves; and to stop looking for life in the dead and deadly ways of the world – unless it’s our plan to shine the promise of God’s new life into that darkness for the sake of all creation.

Amen. Alleluia. Happy Easter.