Some Thoughts on the First Sunday after the Gerasene Demoniac

Some Thoughts on the First Sunday after the Gerasene Demoniac

A couple of words of explanation are due anyone who chooses to read this reflection on the experiences of this day, 30 June 2019, The Third Sunday after Pentecost. The first is that last Sunday’s Gospel, Saint Luke 8::26-29, is the account of Jesus’ healing the so-called “Gerasene Demoniac” a man possessed by demons who is healed by Jesus. The second is that this morning at Saint Mark’s Church in Berkeley, the liturgy was interrupted in its entirety by a very troubled young woman. These thoughts are a way of my coming to grips with the experience she provided for us this morning and understanding it in the light of the Gospel reading for the Sunday prior. 

When I say the word “Gospel” in my preaching or in casual conversation, it strikes me as a gentle thing – the “good news”. And we and I tend to think on Jesus’ actions in the Gospels as being gentle, restrained, kind – except when they are not such as the cleansing of the Temple, or his words to the disciples when he was interrupted by his family. The Gospel, in truth, can be tough. Knowing its insights and living them can be almost disturbing.

The connections of the young woman this morning, and last Sunday’s Gospel are remarkable. Her first interruption came after the sermon as she stood resolutely at the baptismal font and made a demand for water. The reaction was quick – here is a bottle of water, here is a cup of water. But no, she wanted water. The priest understood, I think, she wanted baptism. Later she would demand bread and wine. The pulse and pace of the liturgy were too much for her as her needs were immediate. More about that later, however. Here was a troubled person. It would be unkind and unfair to call her “the demoniac” (we don’t think in those terms these days) but the behaviors and demands bore a resemblance. “Call me by my name,” she shouted several times. She doubted the authenticity of the priest, and the church itself. It was a stand-off. What would Jesus do?

This is where I felt as though I had stepped out of my body and was viewing the situation well apart from the action, and wondering what the Gospel, or the liturgy had to do with all that was going on. Some sat in their pews, waiting for normalcy to return. Others gathered with the young woman at the font, attempting to comfort her and to meet her needs. Others looked at the situation for what it was – a troubled person who certainly needed bread and wine and water and yet more than that. She needed help and healing. The question was one of how to intervene.

My focus kept being drawn in so many directions. The liturgy, especially the Eucharistic Prayer demanding my attention, the police at the door waiting to be of service, a visiting priest calming and praying with the young woman, the medical doctor observing the melt-down of a personality and wanting to get her aid, the visiting organist wondering what to do, the woman holding the hands of the young woman, those gathered with her at the font, and those sitting in the pews, the other priests in attendance standing by, just in case.

For me the question was one of meeting her needs both spiritual and physical/mental. She was wanting an immediacy that could not be afforded her. The quiet of Jesus’ healing seemed to be missing here. It wasn’t quiet. It was angry, demanding, soul-wrenching, and loud. It was a demand for attention, as she stood at the altar, now, banging her hands on the mensa. What would Jesus have done? Demanding and riveting her attention was not possible. Perhaps it was in the hands of the visiting priest, and the other woman at the font who comforted, allowing time to pass so that physical aid could be given. The spiritual aid seemed vapid and ineffectual, and yet I wonder. 

Perhaps this was a visit by an angel, or better yet the Holy Spirit, demanding that we understand ourselves and what we could offer and how we could aid. A mighty wind had blown into the nave and chancel of Saint Mark’s Church. Next Sunday I will gather with others from St. Mark’s to see what lessons were learned, how Christ may have been served, and what will again be demanded of us. The young woman was taken away and is now, I hope, receiving the help that she so desperately needs. The question, however, still remains, "Where will we go from here?" In the prior Sunday's Gospel Jesus asks the name of the man/demon, and he replies, "My name is legion." Legion indeed, so many people needing aid and healing in our society. We cannot sit idly by.