Sermon - Safety in numbers?

Christ and the Demoniac, Edward Knippers, 2004

A sermon preached during the Choral Eucharist at St Stephen Walbrook on Thursday 23rd June 2022 (First after Trinity, Year C) based on readings from Luke 8.26-39 and Galatians 3.23-end.

A gospel reading with many different voices - some coming from the same person. I thought I would listen again to three - and while doing so, ask ‘which one is me?’

 

 

<Voice 1 - A resident of the town> 

 

I don’t believe people can really change. Sure, you can change your mind about what you want for dinner - but you can’t change your nature. I’m always suspicious when people change their allegiance - in sport, in politics. 

 

We are what we are. We are all born a certain way. This is the way it has always been and always will be. 

 

When the swineherds came I thought they were drunk! Rushing around as if they were possessed. Perhaps he infected them with his madness? 

 

There’s a reason why that guy isn’t welcome here. Kept under lock and chain. Some say it’s retribution for something he did once. What goes around, comes around. Others say his parents were to blame. Madness is in the genes. 

 

He won’t keep his clothes on. He’s a pervert. He lives in the tombs because he enjoys it. It’s creepy. He’s locked up for his own good. 

 

I’ve never actually seen him, although when I’m down there I swear I can feel his eyes on me. He makes me feel dirty. 

 

But there’s strength in numbers as they say. So when my neighbour said a crowd was going to the shore to see what all the fuss was about, I went along too.

They hadn’t seen him before either but someone who worked as one of his guards recognised him. This was no imposter. 

 

There he was, not writhing about or wailing and swearing, but sitting calmly and fully clothed at the feet of this traveler. He looked - normal.

 

I was suspicious. You can dress me up in a smart suit but I’ll still be the same person underneath!

 

But the longer we stood there, the more it seemed as though the madman really had been healed. 

 

Who was this traveller who had such power - who could change someone’s nature. If he can make the deranged normal, what would he do to us? Who would he change next?

 

Some in the crowd began to chant “Go, go, go”. I joined in. It seemed the only thing to do - there’s strength in numbers.

 

I saw the man get up and follow the traveller to the waters edge, but he didn’t go with him. 

 

Even now, days later, it seems so unbelievable. But part of me can’t help thinking - what if it was true? 

 

 

<Voice 2 - The voices inside the man>

 

We knew who he was. 

 

We were drawn to the shore - attracted as if by a magnet - as he stepped off the boat. 

 

Pulled out from behind the tombstones into the the blinding light of the dawn, it’s sparks bouncing off the surface of the lake. Falling at the feet of the one who has the power to command the wind and the waves. He came to the shore alone - his companions remained in the boat. We knew that look in their eyes. 

 

For years we had been comfortable here. Free to occupy this compliant host, who surrendered to this legion of negativity. 

 

I am helplessness.

I am distrust. 

I am self-loathing. 

I am loneliness. 

I am insecurity. 

I am jealousy.

I am shame.

I am misery. 

I am resentment.

I am pessimism. 

I am terror.

I am chaos. 

I am decay.

I am destruction.

I am uncertainty. 

I am anxiety.

I am stagnation. 

I am hatred. 

I am bitterness. 

I am worthlessness. 

 

—  and each of us with a hundred more under our command. There’s strength in numbers. 

 

Some whispering, some screaming, sometimes in battle, sometimes on maneuvers preparing for the next - but always on the march; the sound of our boots masking the beat of his own heart. 

 

“What have you to do with me, Jesus, Son of the Most High God?” we cried out - knowing the answer to be nothing. 

 

Just like us. Nothing. No thing. No substance. An unreality realised by a perpetual turning away from His truth and life. 

 

Falsehood built on foundations of clay; supported by an inhuman pyramid of our willing hosts. Just one of whom can bring down our house of cards.

 

We struggled. Pleaded. But knew our time was up.

 

We rushed down the slippery slope into the water. Our regression the price of that man’s evolution.

 

The oppressor now the outcast. 

<Voice 3 - The healed man> 

 

I didn’t even see him coming - which was not unusual. My eyes, even when looking straight ahead, often failed to see what was right under my nose. For years I had been in limbo - present yet not present in the world.

 

It was so calm. There’d been a terrible storm that night. My skin was so sensitive that even the force of the wind on it was unbearable - but I could do nothing to find relief - even putting on a cloak was painful. Sometimes, in the heat, all I could do to release the pain was cry out in agony as I scratched myself. I just couldn’t stop. 

 

A man used to come and lock me up with chains in the graveyard and watch over me from a distance. The shackles were tight and uncomfortable but I found I could smash them with stones. 

 

But even when I broke free I ached for release; even when I was alone I was desperate for solitude; even in the silence I craved peace.

 

Jesus is that peace. Jesus is that freedom. But in Jesus I am not alone. Instead of the deafening voices I now hear a new, harmonious song - a song of love. I have turned over a new leaf - changed channel. I have been repaired. Re-membered. Reborn.

 

I can’t explain how it happened. Who knows where energy comes from? I just know it came – in abundance. I now have a life - not just an existence. 

 

 

I wanted to go with Jesus in his boat. I didn’t want to leave the one who had given me so much. I followed him to the shore as the crowd were chanting for him to leave. But at the water’s edge he turned and told me to go back and tell my people what God has done for me. 

 

I could have felt very alone standing on the shore, surrounded by the crowd -

some of whom I recognised from years back, before I was driven out of the town. But even though he had waded back to the boat, I felt he was still with me.

 

As the mass of people left for home, one or two ventured closer and began to walk alongside me. They worked as swineherd. Slowly I told them my story, as Jesus had asked me to do.

 

I will keep remembering, retelling what happened - proclaiming the transforming love of God and living as a witness that he can do the same for you.

 

A gospel with many different voices - some coming from the same person. Which one is yours?

Amen. 

Image : Edward Knippers - Christ and the Demoniac, 2004