Luke 8:26-39
A Sermon Preached by the Reverend Dr. Howard W. Boswell, Jr.
Twelfth Sunday in Ordinary Time, June 20, 2010
Kenmore Presbyterian Church
Kenmore, New York
The pastor who did my father’s memorial service asked my family and me for things we would remember about Dad. Among other things, I said I can’t listen to Johnny Cash sing and not think of my dad. When we went through pictures, we found one of Dad, all dressed in black! I always thought they looked a little alike. They were about the same age and shared a hard, rural upbringing. I remember watching The Johnny Cash Show with my dad.
Another thing they shared was addiction. Johnny went through rehab more than once. My father nearly died due to alcoholism when I was a junior in college. On American Recordings, Cash included “The Beast in Me,” a song by friend and former son-in-law, singer-songwriter, Nick Lowe. Lowe wrote “The Beast in Me” with Johnny Cash in mind. It captures the conflict Cash knew, a fight my father faced, a struggle with which I wrestle, in different ways.
“The Beast in Me” begins,
The beast in me is caged by frail and fragile bars.
Restless by day, and by night, rants and rages at the stars.
God help the beast in me.
The beast in me has had to learn to live with pain,
And how to shelter from the rain,
And in the twinkling of an eye might have to be restrained.
God help the beast in me.
This song serves as an image of what many endure who suffer from addiction, as Cash and my father did; from depression and co-dependency, as I do; and from emotional distress and mental illness. Many of us understand all too well these words from Paul in Romans chapter 7, verse 15, “I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate.” Some of us sense all too well what Paul means when he writes in verse 24, “Wretched (one) that I am! Who will rescue me from this body of death?” Yet, even amid the dying, we still cry, “God help the beast in me!” and hope to proclaim, “Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord!”
“The Beast in Me” paints a portrait of the Gerasene demoniac before Jesus came ashore on the other side of the sea. Scholars disagree about the exact location, but all of them agree it was in Gentile territory, outside of the ordinary. When I went to Jordan in 2001, I saw some of the land of the Gerasenes. Its nearly lunar landscape made it easy to imagine the demoniac’s life before Jesus came. No longer fit to live among the living, he dwells in the land of the dead, running around the tombs, naked. Sometimes, for public safety, the residents place him in shackles, but these “frail and fragile bars” are no match for his restless mind. He breaks them and runs to the wilderness, where he rants and rages at the stars.
Most of us may have problems with the notion of demon possession. Some suggest the Gerasene demoniac was bipolar. They imagine with the right medication, with the right treatment, and a little self-control, this poor man could be right as rain. Yet, we need to accept mental illness and addiction still carry a stigma in our society, even within the church. Many of the homeless who wander the streets of our cities, from whom we walk away when we meet them on the sidewalk, suffer from a chronic mental illness or addiction. In our society, we still do not show those who suffer mental illness or addiction the same compassion we show toward those with physical ailments. Even insurance companies do not cover behavioral health at the same levels as they do physical health. We seem to think since it’s all in their heads, it’s not real or that they aren’t strong, like we are.
We may not know it, but we meet people like the Gerasene demoniac every day. They may even sit next to us in these pews. Some quietly suffer. They endure the pain and the added burden of shame we place on them. Others demonstrate their pain in inappropriate ways. We either ignore them or send them packing when they disrupt our calm. Yet, like the villagers, we fear them, but even more we may fear what happens when they become better. When they become whole, we begin to sense how much we need them to be broken. They let us not look at the beasts in us.
I nearly left out the bridge and last verse of “The Beast in Me,” because I believed they didn’t work with the passage, until I realized how they speak to our lack of awareness of or honesty about our own struggles. Yet, now, I see now how well they fit,
Sometimes it tries to kid me that it’s just a teddy bear
And even somehow manages to vanish in the air
And that is when I must beware
Of the beast in me that everybody knows;
They’ve seen him out dressed in my clothes
Patently unclear if it’s New York or New Year.
God help the beast in me.
The beast in me.
Sometimes, we call ourselves to confession with these words from 1 John 1:8-9, “If we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us. But if we confess our sins, God who is faithful and just will forgive us our sins and cleanse us from all unrighteousness.” Other times, we use these words, “We cannot come before God unless we are first honest with ourselves about who we are, about the mistakes we make, and about how well or poorly we care for others.” We like to kid ourselves our sins aren’t so serious. We like to pretend we know who we are. We like to excuse our mistakes and explain away our lack of compassion. Yet, in those moments, we must be aware the beast lies within every son of Adam, within each daughter of Eve. Though we were born to bear our Father’s likeness, we mar the resemblance. Though Jesus died on the cross and rose from the tomb to save us, we think it only offers us a ticket to heaven, rather than a way to live lives of wholeness here on earth. Though we received the anointing of the Spirit at our baptism, we fail to listen to the still, small voice that leads us to fullness of life.
We may kid ourselves, but Jesus doesn’t take the many voices that seek our souls so lightly. As soon as he sees the Gerasene demoniac, he commands the unclean spirit to come out of him. When the man cries out, “What have you to do with me, Jesus, Son of the Most High God?” and begs him to stop due to the torment he feels, Jesus continues, asking, “What is your name?” He answers, “Legion.” So we grasp what it means: A legion was a division in the Roman Army, composed of three to four thousand soldiers! Yet, Jesus sends this occupying army of demons into the herd of swine, who run into the depths of the sea, which Jesus already silenced as the disciples and he crossed. Only then does the man appear, restored and fully clothed.
Over the last several years, I’ve wanted to preach on this passage, because it speaks to me of my own struggles with depression and co-dependency. Sometimes, I ignore them, thinking they’re just a teddy bear, but I know they are “The Beast in Me.” They keep me from living in joy and peace. Yet, beyond my own struggles, I wanted to preach on this passage, because I know many of you share similar struggles. Some of you speak to me directly about them. Yet, mostly, I see them reflected in your eyes and hear them echoed in your words. Nowadays, many of us listen to Legion, many conflicting voices at work, through the media, in our families, from our friends, who tell us who we are and what we ought to do.
I want to make sure to share the good news in every sermon and I fear I’ve spent too much time on its opposite so far. Yet, if this passage tells me anything, it suggests how sometimes good news and bad news sound a lot alike. All of us contend with “The Beast in Me.” All of us have issues that we would rather not address in our lives. All of us carry around some kind of pain. Yet, Jesus addresses us with authority, invites us to name the demons, and offers to take away, or, at least, lessen the pain. He alone can help “the beast in me,” but only if we place ourselves at his feet, not kidding ourselves about our control, being brutally honest about where we fall short. He will receive us and he will restore us. “Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord!”
©2010 Howard W. Boswell, Jr.
