I have a friend who, for a while, lived in Williamsburg Brooklyn, which is right across the East River from Manhattan. He lived in a changing neighborhood. Williamsburg is now the hip place to live, but back when Jim lived there it was a bit sketchy. People who could not afford the rents in Manhattan moved across the river into Williamsburg.
I lived for a while in Greenwich, Connecticut, which is a more upscale town, about forty minutes from New York by train. Greenwich is known for the wealth of its many successful citizens, of which I was not one. My youth minister salary brought the median income down a little.
Both places are home to good people. People who work hard, fight the winter, love the summer, and go about their lives. Both places differ only in financial resources. Take away the money, and each place is nearly the same, babies crying, people living, life occurring.
To get from Greenwich, Connecticut to Williamsburg, Brooklyn, you ride the New Haven line into Grand Central Station, and take the number six subway train to Union Square/14th Street stop, get on the L train into Brooklyn and get off on the Bedford street stop. On this particular day as I made that journey, it was a winter’s day it was that misty rainy cold day. Outside the Bedford street stop, catching a cab was hard to do, walking the ten blocks meant being very wet. Jim offered to come get me at the subway stop, obviously I accepted.
I stood outside of the subway waiting in the rain holding my umbrella. I looked a little out of place. I am a tall person, and I lean towards that Brooks Brothers/button down/uh…some people call it, that preppy look. At the Greenwich train station I am not that abnormal, but in Williamsburg I leaned toward the anomaly. There I stood, preppy me, holding my umbrella, trying to blend in.
I had one of those experiences that many of you may have had. Standing in a public place, waiting for someone to come pick you up, and in your periphery you see a strange sight. You look straight ahead, using your mind to make yourself invisible to the rest of the world, but the person walking up has the ability to see invisible people and he sees you, standing there in the rain outfitted in your Brooks Brother’s look holding your umbrella, completely out of place.
Out of the corner of my eye I noticed this man, walking in the rain, carrying a patio table umbrella as his defense against the wet. He walked right up and stood next to me, holding the patio table umbrella as if he were at the park, and it was a parasol he held on a sunny Sunday afternoon. I looked straight ahead, wondering why my invisible powers had failed me, checking my watch as if it might be the reason I was not invisible.
“You want to buy some cologne?” He asked me. “No, I am good.” I replied. “You got a cigarette?” He asked me. “No, sorry man.” I responded. “Oh, well I got one.” He said as he pulled out a cigarette and a lighter. There we stood, in the drizzle. An odd couple of people that only a city like New York could bring together. Me, my Brooks Brothered, seemingly well educated, seemingly cultured self, me and my patioed/parasolled, Marlboro red smoking, cologne selling new friend. Standing there together in the mist, waiting for Jim to come and pick me up.
There were a few moments of silence, and then he spoke. “You know,” he said, “You know I have been shot, hit by a car, and thrown off of the roof of a building.” “All in the same day?” I replied. “Yep, all in the same day.” He said. “Oh.” I commented. The rain picked up, he moved the patio table umbrella parasol to cover himself. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, checked my watch and looked down the street. “You know,” he said after a moment, taking a drag off of his cigarette, “You know, there are demons down on those docks.” And after a few moments he said, “and I’ve seen ‘em.” And with that, he finished his cigarette and he walked away. Jim pulled up a few seconds later, I hoped in, that was that.
Capernaum is on the northwest shore of the Sea of Galilee. I have never been there, and if you wanted to go there today, it would be hard to find. The city that Jesus knew is no longer there, save for some ruins and thoughts on where it might have stood. We do not know much about it, but we do know it held a synagogue. Mark tells a story of Jesus and his disciples walking into the synagogue at Capernaum on the Sabbath and teaching. While Jesus is teaching a possessed man stands up, interrupting the teaching and in a loud voice yells, “What have you to do with us, Jesus of Nazareth? Have you come to destroy us? I know who you are, the Holy One of God." Imagine that moment, a sermon interrupted by a demon-possessed man, yelling at the visiting preacher, wagging his finger in the direction of the speaker. Imagine the silence broken only by the teacher’s words, speaking not to the man, but the things that possessed him, speaking slowly, but with power, "Be silent, and come out of him!" And as you watched, the man, the man who you knew as crazy, falls to the floor, ‘And the unclean spirit, convulsing him and crying with a loud voice, came out of him.’ Here is a scene we do not see very much in our church, if at all. Demon possessed people do not regularly come to St. Mark’s, if at all. We do not have exorcisms like the one described in Mark, at least I have not seen one.
The world of Capernaum and world of Jerusalem are quite different, one is a large city, one is a smaller town. Much like Greenwich and Williamsburg. The people in the story of Mark, and Jesus in Capernaum are worlds away from you and me, distant in time and language. Much like me and that strange man in the street, what do I have in common with him? Demons do not exist anymore. We call it schizophrenia, or bi-polar disorder, or depression now. If someone acts up during church, we usher them out, kind of like we do anyway, the mentally impaired are always ushered out, out of sight. And, while I know that my post enlightened, post modern, 21st century, reasonable mind will tell me that demons are a thing of the past, a way to explain wha Science calls it now. I cannot help but think that the man in Brooklyn is right, that there are demons down on those docks, and he has seen them. Greenwich, Connecticut is home to some of the wealthiest people in our world. And behind the tall hedges, and well manicured lawns, and the fancy cars and the clothes, there are people, so possessed by demons that their lives are not really lives at all, but jerky movements that look like life as the pain is self medicated by wine, by sex, by money. I have seen those demons. Those demons take hold, and pull you down, and the screams are not diagnosable. There exists among us pain and shame so acute and so well hidden, but down at the docks those demons live, and I’ve seen them. I see them right now.
In our town, a town different in size from New York, from Capernaum, from Williamsburg, from Greenwich, yet the same in its capacity for human frailty. In our town, in this church right now, they exist. They look normal, well dressed, they go to work, and they make a good living. But the havoc they reek when all is quiet, the havoc these demons reek on you and me is often uncontrollable and often life threatening. These demons grab us, throw us to the ground, make us yell, make us drunk, make us gossip, make us thrash, make us foam at the mouth as we yell at the ones we love. As we convince ourselves again and again that we look the part, but we are very far apart, full of pain and shame and demonic possession. We look at the church and we yell out in a load voice, “What have you to do with us, Jesus of Nazareth? Have you come to destroy us? I know who you are, the Holy One of God."
This story in Mark, seems to be about the demons in the synagogue. They take center stage. But what I think the story is about is the power of God to heal, heal in an instant. I think the story is about mercy, and the mercy that God provides even the weakest among us. Demons posses us, control us, warp our sensibilities. But they are also frail, parasitic, and they cannot survive on their own. They are cast out able. They are weak. The story shows how weak they are in the face of God. The ones that posses you and me, they are nothing when confronted by the Holy one of God. There are demons on those docks, and I have seen them. But I have also seen them expelled by a power, that I can only call Holy Spirit. I have seen the addicted and the afflicted and the shame filled and the power less and dis-eased, and the drunk and the high, and the low, I have seen each of these demons cast out by the power of God. Again and again and again we need to proclaim that the demonic are nothing more than paranormal vermin that can be cast out by the Holy one of God. Their power is nothing when compared with the power that we proclaim in the name of Jesus of Nazareth. Each week that we walk up here and kneel and offer yourselves to God, each time that we admit our own goodness and our own self worth. Each time that we hold the hand of our neighbor and see them as created by God. Each time that we look in the mirror and realize we are looking at something holy, that God has made. Each time you and I do that, we are discovering the good news that Jesus brought to the world and that we proclaim in this place and to the world. Jesus came to save sinners, make people whole, cure and love. This happens in Capernaum, Jerusalem, Greenwich, Williamsburg, Houston, St. Mark’s. It happens, and I’ve seen it. Am
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