June 20, 2004

Communion Meditation - "Deviled Ham"

There are two things that always cross my mind whenever I hear this often-repeated story about Jesus moving demons out of a man and into a herd of pigs—one, you’ve got to feel sorry for the pigs.

And two, Jesus never quits reaching out to save the lost, no matter how lost, no matter how messed up they happen to be. This is not efficient evangelism. Some bean counter at missionary headquarters would never approve. Jesus leaves this story with just one convert. The rest of the people say “Leave us alone.” And that’s okay with Jesus. Why? Because all people, even messed up people—especially messed up people—are precious to God. Don’t ever forget that.

This story is one more of those places in Scripture that tell us that Jesus Christ comes into people’s lives and heals them, makes them whole. But also, it tells us that some people simply don’t want to be made whole. Maybe there are some people here this morning who feel this way.

It’s very easy for preachers to say that Jesus Christ can come into your life and heal you. It is easy to say it—and I don’t just believe it, I know it to be true. I never look any farther than my own life to know it’s true. When you see me, you see a broken man who God reached down to and gave a new life.

But saying it and being able to explain it are two different things. How, exactly does God make people whole, you might ask. What do I need to do to make it happen to me? How do I sign up for it? And what’s going to happen when I do sign up?

First of all, don’t you think it’s incredible that such a display of purifying power, the cleansing of this demon-possessed man, would be followed by the people of the village telling Jesus, “Hit the road, Jack.”

But the plain fact is, that happens all the time. We are afraid when the power of Jesus Christ moves in our midst.  Sometimes all we want is that Jesus would just leave us in peace—our kind of peace, not his. We don’t recognize our own need of healing. We don’t want him interfering in our lives. We like things as they are. Some people simply like living in darkness.

One of the most interesting stories I’ve used in preaching is more than 200 years old, dating to the French Revolution. In 1789 the revolution was touched off when the angry French common people stormed the Bastille, a notorious Paris prison where men were locked up and never heard from again. The angry mob broke down the doors of the prison and freed all the prisoners within, including one man whose eyes burned at his first glimpse of the sun in years. He was so in pain that he fell to his knees and begged to be allowed to return to his cell.

All he wanted was to live out his remaining days in darkness.

Fear plays a great role in that drama, and this one. First of all, the disciples have just crossed the Sea of Galilee and survived that famous storm that Jesus had to calm. Then the first thing they encounter when they step out of the boat is this wild man, this hairy, raving wild man, so strong that chains can’t hold him, this screaming lunatic comes charging right at them.

Well, what would you do? Suppose you were over at Pechin’s and a wild man came running at you, what would you do? If you’re like me you head for the exit as fast as your two feet can carry you.

But not Jesus. He stands his grounds, talks to the man, learns his problem and ultimately heals him. Now you and I might disagree on what his problem really is. Modern psychology has given us new names for ancient demons, names such as schizophrenia and paranoia, but the truth is that these are scientific explanations for afflictions that the Bible describes in metaphors such as demon possession.

In fact, most people go through periods in their life when they feel out of control, at war with themselves. They feel that they want to do the right thing but something powerful is blocking the way, something they can’t beat on their own. The Apostle Paul wrote about this problem in his Letter to the Romans, when he said, “I don’t do the good I want to do, but I do the evil that I don’t want to do.”

Paul adds that he is bewildered by this situation. He says, “I do not understand my own actions.”

Now think about this. How many times have you read or heard a news account of somebody doing something horrible, a murder perhaps, and neighbors are interviewed who say, “I can’t believe it. He was the last person you’d think would do something like this, he was so nice, so quiet.”

Sometimes you read criminals’ life stories and they themselves say “It was like somebody else was in control, and I just stood there watching.” And this happens on a world-wide scale, too. After World War II, the civilized world had to wrestle with the question, how did a great Christian country like Germany that produced artists like Bach and Beethoven and religious leaders like Martin Luther also produce Hitler and the horrors of Nazism?

So what’s the problem? What’s keeping Paul, or you or me, from doing the good we want to do? What’s driving us to do the evil that we don’t want to do? It may not be a demon the way we remember poor little Linda Blair throwing up pea soup in the Exorcist, but it sure feels that way. For one reason or another we have been separated from the God who made us for himself, and in whom alone we can find rest. It sure feels like someone powerful has taken over our life, and for rescue we need to turn to the only one whose power is greater still.

One way or another, whatever name you apply to them, we all have to wrestle with demons in our life.

Luther, the central figure in the history of the Reformation, battled terrible demons, especially in his younger life. In that great hymn, “A Mighty Fortress is our God,” he wrote “Though this world with devils filled should threaten to undo us; we will not fear, for God has willed his truth to triumph through us. The Prince of Darkness grim, we tremble not for him. His rage we can endure, for lo, his doom is sure. One little word shall fell him.” That hymn has been called the Battle Hymn of the Reformation, and it expresses Luther’s faith in God as protector from all evil in the world.

Luther was convinced that he was a miserable sinner. Sometimes he even whipped himself to keep away from sin. He felt pursued and tormented by Satan and his demons. Until one day, reading Paul’s Letter to the Romans, the light bulb went on. Luther suddenly realized what God’s grace means in our lives when he read, “Who will save me from this miserable life I lead?” The answer? Christ will. At that moment, Luther understood that he is made presentable before God by Christ’s death. You know how your mom always wanted you to look presentable? Suddenly Luther knew that he was washed clean so that he could stand before God.

In that moment, he also knew that the demons would not win, they would not control his life. And that’s what Christ came to earth to proclaim. Whatever demons are in your life, whatever’s chewing away at your soul and making you miserable, the bad guys aren’t going to win. Not while Christ is around. It reminds me of what Winston Churchill wrote in his diary after Pearl Harbor, when America entered World War II. With America’s power on our side, Churchill wrote, we are sure to win. And my friends, with Christ’s power on our side, we are sure to win.

So there are three essential points of reassurance I hope you’ll take away from today’s service as we gather at the Lord’s Table.

One, you don’t have to be at war with yourself. Whether you believe in demons or not, something was making this poor madman torture himself. He was hurting himself, bruising himself, injuring himself. Of course, some people, like the early Luther, think you really need to suffer to make up for the bad things you’ve done in life.

Who here remembers the comic strip Calvin and Hobbes? That was one of my all-time favorite comic strips. In fact, I found a service on the Internet that e-mails me one old Calvin and Hobbes strip per day.

One strip was set a few weeks before Christmas when Calvin, a little boy, is thinking about how bad he’s been all year and how Santa Claus won’t bring him anything for Christmas. He’s talking to Hobbes, who happens to be a tiger, and says, “I’ve still got a couple weeks till Christmas. I’m going to do 10 good deeds every day and that will make up for all the bad things I’ve done all year.” And Hobbes, a wise tiger who knows that Calvin really isn’t very inclined to be good even when presents are at stake, says, “You? You couldn’t do 10 good things all year.”

But Calvin insists he can do it, until he sees Susie, the little girl down the street, walking through the newly fallen snow. And Calvin just can’t resist. He makes a snowball and throws it at her. Splatt!

Calvin suddenly realizes he’s just made it worse with Santa Claus and he says, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” And Susie just glares at him, “Not as sorry as you’re gonna be,” and the last panel shows Calvin’s feet sticking out of a snow bank and the bubble over his head reads, “If you suffer for your sins, that ought to make up for them.”

That’s bad theology, folks. The whole point of grace is that we don’t have to atone for our sins. The sacrifice of Jesus Christ on the cross wiped out our sins once and for all eternity. You don’t have to earn forgiveness. In fact, none of us deserve it. That’s why it’s called grace. But God only wants us to accept it and live in peace with him. Have you ever felt like you’re your own worst enemy? Do you want to feel better about yourself? Do you want to like yourself more? Do you want to stop bruising and hurting yourself? Then remember this: You are special to God. He loves you. You are extremely valuable to him. He claims you as his child.

If you’re at war with yourself, it doesn’t have to be that way.

Second, you don’t have to be at war with your neighbors. Not like this crazy man, who had been so obnoxious he got himself thrown out of society, exiled to live in a cave. As soon as Jesus and the disciples arrive, he rushes at them looking to pick a fight. And that’s certainly the way we all can be with our neighbors, ready to spring into combat at the least provocation, like a neighbor who mows his grass at 6 a.m. We might holler at a neighbor or sue a neighbor or even shoot a neighbor, over petty little problems. When will we ever learn patience and tolerance?

A certain young man and his parents, residents of a rich suburb where parents routinely purchased cars for their kids, went to shop for a car before the son graduated from high school.

They settled on a car and the boy thought this was a done deal. But the day of his graduation came, and the parents presented their son with a gift-wrapped Bible.

Enraged, the boy threw the Bible to the ground and stormed out of the house, never to return. He went off to college and cut his parents out of his life completely, not answering their calls or letters. He tortured his parents—and, I might add, himself, by this crazy, selfish anger.

When his parents died, this man, no longer young, finally returned home. He went through his parents’ things, and found in his father’s desk the very same Bible that he had thrown down in disdain. He opened the front cover, and a piece of paper fell out. He picked it up and saw that it was a check dated on his graduation day for the full purchase price of the car they had picked out. That’s a true story. It appeared in Dear Abby on Sept. 3, 1990. Don’t you just hope that man picked up that Bible and read it cover to cover? It has so many lessons we all need to learn, including this one: you don’t have to be at war with other people, whether it’s your family, your neighbor or whoever. It doesn’t have to be that way.

Finally, this story tells us that we don’t have to be at war with God. Some people think that the sins of their past have cut themselves off from God, and indeed they have, but it doesn’t have to be a permanent cutoff. Some people have been disappointed by life and think God has it in for them, so they cut God off from their lives. But God never stops trying to build a bridge across the gulf that separates the creator from the created. Some people have such a low self-image that they think there’s no way that God even knows they exist, much less cares about them.

To those broken-hearted people God says “You are so wrong. You’re so lonely, and it doesn’t have to be that way. I’m standing at the door of your heart right now and knocking. Just open up and let me in, and I can make you whole.”

One of the reasons that Jesus is so important to us, and why this is such a good story for Father’s Day, is because Jesus lets us look into our Father’s eyes. Jesus said, “If you see me, you have seen the Father.” When we look at Jesus we see what God is like, and what God wants us to be like. Jesus shows us the compassion, the concern and empathy in God’s eyes. And that’s the good news of the Gospel. The best news that could ever be. Jesus reveals that our Father never looks at us with angry, vengeful, condemning eyes, but always with eyes of love.

We don’t have to be at war with ourselves. We don’t have to be at war with others. And we don’t have to be at war with God.

There is one more thing I want to add to this story: How do we respond to the people who make us uncomfortable? Some people scare us. Or sicken us. Or repulse us. We don’t want to get near them. We’re real happy just ignoring them and hoping they go away. And usually they do. But maybe one of the reasons why so few people reach others for Christ is because it makes us uncomfortable. But everybody needs love, and everybody needs Jesus.

 Is there somebody in your life who needs to hear what great things God has done for you?

This story ends with Jesus leaving the land of the crazy man, but it’s not really the end of the story, not for this newly-freed soul, and not for us. Legend has it that the demon-possessed man, as he shared his story with others, founded one of the first Christian churches.

As we take the bread and cup today, let us remember that it is through Communion that all of us have been made whole by the power of God. And we are called to do the same thing—go home and spread the word: you might be wrestling with demons, but it doesn’t have to be that way.