Sermon at Parish Mass Trinity 4 2013

Isaiah 65:1-9

Galatians 3:23-end

Luke 8:26-39

“They found the man from whom the demons had gone sitting at the feet of Jesus, clothed and in his right mind. And they were afraid.”

Why were they afraid? This seems a strange reaction when a good thing has happened, someone has been healed and restored to his place in the community. And yet, the community is afraid.

There is a curious reversal here. At the start of the story, it seems that it is the man himself who we should be afraid of. He is scary, uncontrollable, living naked among tombs. And yet it seems that the fear of the community had been dealt with by the fact that he had been driven out from their city. He has been excluded, so their fear has been excluded with him. But when he returns, suddenly they are afraid again.

This in fact is how human communities often function: what is threatening, what people are afraid of, is dealt with by its being projected onto a scapegoat, someone who is different or an outsider in some way, who can be victimised or excluded. The problem isn’t with us, oh no; it’s that person over there, the one who is different from us, they’re the source of all our troubles - so get rid of them. 

So this man at Gerasa, who is described in the language of Luke as having demons, has been cast out from his society, a scapegoat for their underlying fear. What was that fear? What was it that was really threatening and oppressing that society? The man himself gives us a clue: he says his name is “Legion”. That’s an odd word for a large number. It’s not “crowd” or “mob” or “tribe”. It’s a specifically military word - a legion was a large unit of the Roman army, several thousand men. 

And the region where the man lived was a heavily militarised area, as it is today - it’s roughly where the Golan Heights are. Then as now it was a border zone, where different races, cultures and religions rubbed up against each other. The tensions between those communities, which were real, were kept under by Roman military might, which could be brutal and ruthless. 

When you read Luke’s gospel you can see that he is very conscious of the political realities of first century Palestine and the Roman Empire, and he often links the oppressive power of the Empire with that of Satan or the demons - it’s as though he can see the spiritual realities behind the facade of events.

So this man at Gerasa, who has demons, in his disorder and illness acts out and names the real nature of the oppressive power which is affecting his whole society. And perhaps the fact that he names it is too dangerous for them to deal with, naming it brings that power too close to the surface. Perhaps that is why he was selected as the scapegoat to be driven out.

We in our context might ask about fear in our own communities. We might ask how people are made into scapegoats for the ills and oppressive powers of our own day. When an Islamic cultural centre is burned down, or a British soldier murdered in the streets, these are of course terrible things which can never be justified. And we must work to build strong and cohesive communities, to grow closer to our neighbours, as different faith communities have been doing in Muswell Hill these last two weeks. We will have an opportunity today to take part in such an act of building a good and human society with the solidarity walk to the Bravanese Centre.

But Luke’s gospel also teaches us to look behind the scenes, to ask what is the oppressive power at work behind events in the world. To ask, in his terms, what is Satanic or demonic in our own society. That is, what it is that keeps people trapped in mechanisms of violence, that prevents them from being human, from flourishing in peace and love. 

So we need to look behind the scenes. If extremist groups such as the EDL become more significant and threatening, that shouldn’t stop us also noticing how sections of the working class are being ignored by politicians and vilified in the tabloid press, when the reality for many is poverty, bleak hopelessness and lack of opportunity. And incidents of Islamist extremism shouldn’t stop us attending to the effect of Western policy and interventions in the Middle East on increasingly disempowered, alienated and traumatised populations. Of course, none of this justifies a violent reaction. But like the Gerasene man it is those on the pathological extreme, those who have become demonised, who enact their fear with violent results.

But of course, we are reading the Gospel, and “Gospel” means “good news”. The good news is that it doesn’t have to be like this. The good news is that Jesus frees us from fear and violence and makes it possible to be human again in a wholly new and creative way. 

Because Jesus has conquered the powers that demonise human communities and destroy human lives. The Gerasene man is not simply healed of his demons, he is re-humanised: seated, clothed, in his right mind, not afraid. In fact, he is seated at the feet of Jesus, which means he is a disciple. A very important figure, actually: he’s the first Gentile disciple. And Jesus makes him stay with his people. 

He wants to follow Jesus, of course, as most people do in the gospels. But unusually Jesus says, no, stay here with your people. The people who are now afraid of him. The people who are unable yet to believe in the Creator God who is simply overflowing love and generosity for all. But they have to learn not to be afraid, they have to learn the new way of being human that Jesus makes possible, free from fear, free from the need to find scapegoats, free from the demonic powers that turn human communities into destructive machines. And they can only learn that from him. So he has to stay with them, and tell them all that God has done for him. 

This is radical and demanding discipleship! Not to retreat into a comfort zone, but to stay with the people who need to hear the Good News and can only hear it from him. For him, to run off after Jesus would simply reinforce their casting out of him when he was ill. They would not then learn about the new life that Jesus makes possible, free from the old mechanisms of violence and exclusion. So he must stay.

There is a deeper meaning to this story, too, for it contains an image, a prefiguring, of the Resurrection. How do we know that Jesus has conquered the powers of death and hell? Because he was raised from the dead. Jesus too, on Good Friday, was cast out, naked, placed among the tombs. He too returned to his community - who were afraid, hiding behind locked doors - with the greeting of peace, to free them from their fear. It is the Resurrection which shows us that we do not need scapegoats, that God is on the side of the excluded and the victim. The Resurrection shows us that we can make the supreme adventure of being disciples of Jesus, of following in his way which trusts completely in the overflowing love and goodness and creativity of God. 

And this is our task as disciples of Jesus in our community - to be not afraid, to enact the Resurrection in our lives instead of the community’s fears. To enable those who are afraid, who do cast out, to be healed and fully human too. This is radical and demanding discipleship! But we can trust in the great things that God has done for us, and not run away, but tell them in the world in which we live.

Sermon Corpus Christi 2013

Genesis 14:18-20

1 Corinthians 11:23-26

Luke 9:11-17

Like so many things in life which are really great fun, the feast of Corpus Christi started with a nun having visions. (Think of The Sound of Music if you want another example.)

The nun in question was Juliana of Liège, a Canoness in Belgium in the 13th Century, who started seeing visions of the moon disfigured with a single dark spot. After puzzling over this for some years, Christ revealed to her that this represented the Church, luminous with many feast days but sadly disfigured by the lack of a solemnity in honour of the Holy Eucharist.

Juliana then started to campaign for such a feast, as you would, and after much opposition eventually enlisted the support of her bishop and her archdeacon, who providentially became Pope Urban IV. But the Pope was distracted by political intrigues and failed to give the matter his full attention until a Eucharistic Host at Orvieto, where he was staying, started bleeding during Mass. The Pope soon readjusted his priorities and quickly established a Feast of the Blessed Sacrament, on the Thursday after Trinity Sunday, for the whole Church. 

The idea was to give thanks for the gift of the Eucharist in a more celebratory way than was possible on Maundy Thursday, the day of its institution, overshadowed as that day was by the suffering and sorrow of Good Friday. And soon the feast took the form that we recognise today, a festal celebration of Mass followed by devotions to the reserved Sacrament. In countries with more reliable weather, the Sacrament might be carried in an outdoor procession, with music and fireworks and rose petals billowing in the wind. And the celebrations conclude with benediction, which is a blessing given from the Real Presence of Christ himself in the consecrated Host.

Now we might think that’s all very well, but isn't it just a bit far from the last supper in the upper room, that straightforward meal with Jesus and his disciples together? Or the Apostles meeting for their simple gatherings to break bread together on the Lord’s Day, as we read in Acts? Isn’t it just all too complicated, too fussy? Aren’t we drifting away from the simple commandment of Christ to eat the Lord’s Supper in memory of him? 

But I wonder. What do children do, when someone who loves them enormously gives them a really great present? Do they scrupulously fold up and discard the shiny wrapping paper and ribbons? Do they carefully read the instructions to the letter in order to make sure they only do exactly what it says on the box, and nothing more? Do they then put the gift away in the cupboard, and get it out, say, just once a month, for fear that otherwise they might be making too much of it? Do they indeed. And if they did, wouldn’t the person who loved them enormously, and gave them such a wonderful gift, be rather disappointed?

The Eucharist is a gift from the loving and generous heart of God in Jesus. And God’s generosity is huge! We see that in today’s Gospel reading, the feeding of the five thousand, where from just five loaves and two fishes everyone had as much as they wanted - and there were twelve baskets of broken fragments left over. What use were those scraps? Was that just waste? Or was it rather a sign of God’s abundant generosity, giving more than anyone can possibly need or want?

We know, of course, that the Gospels were written originally not for private study but to be read aloud in the weekly assembly of the faithful for the Eucharist, in addition to the Hebrew scriptures which were carried on from the synagogue meeting. And that’s just how we read the gospel this morning. The Gospels contain many scenes whose layers of meaning emerge more fully as they are read at the gathering for the Eucharist.

The story of the feeding of the five thousand does just that. It is the story of a great crowd, of all sorts and conditions - just like the Church spread throughout the world. It tells of miraculous feeding, without limit. It tells of food which is inexhaustible because it is Jesus who provides it. It tells of the Apostles, the Twelve, literally “spreading the table before the people”, finding their mission by presiding in service, in giving to all, just as Jesus did. And even the word used in Greek for those baskets of scraps, klasmaton, is the same word used in the earliest Eucharistic liturgies we know, for the fragments of consecrated bread kept for the communion of the sick. 

The feeding of the five thousand is a Eucharistic meal in the broadest sense, a thanksgiving, a joyful celebration of God’s abundance which never runs out, in which all eat and have enough. It is a prophetic sign of the banquet in the Kingdom of God.

Jesus enacts that prophetic sign with the crowd in that desert place, to show them that he has come to open the way to God’s Kingdom of generosity, love and peace. And Jesus at the Last Supper instituted the Eucharist to be the sacramental sign and foretaste of the same banquet, in which in fact we already begin to partake of the joys of the Kingdom.

Today’s feast in honour of the Eucharist invites us to celebrate with unrestrained joy the unrestrained generosity and love of God. It invites us to go beyond the merely necessary, and to delight in the exuberant abundance which God delights to give to us. There is more than enough for everyone, but still there is no excess, for the enlarging of God’s generosity does not lead to greed or surfeiting but to the enlarging of our joy, and the increase of our thanksgiving.

There is so much we do in church that we don’t actually need to do. We don’t need beautiful buildings to celebrate the Eucharist, we don’t need candles, incense, vestments, music and all the other things with which we adorn our liturgy. But our delight and generosity reflect God’s delight and generosity. The special devotions of this day are part of that exuberant delight. They are not indeed essential to the Eucharist, but they are if you like the baskets that we weave for the fragments left over.

The joy and grace of the Eucharistic celebration is not meant to be contained within tight boundaries. It is meant to spill over, and does so in all the extra devotions with which God’s children like to adorn this wonderful gift.

It is meant to spill over, too, into the rest of our lives. The Eucharist is a sign and foretaste of the banquet of the Kingdom of God, in which all of human life is to find its fulfilment. It enlarges our joy, and it should also enlarge our charity, our generosity, and our justice. The Eucharist breaks open all boundaries so that those on the edge can be welcomed into the centre as the most honoured guests. The Eucharist refashions human society, transforming the world into God’s Kingdom just as it transforms bread and wine into the risen Lord.

This feast invites us to rediscover a more childlike joy in the greatness and goodness of God’s gifts. It invites us to trust and rejoice in the promises of God. It invites us to great joy and celebration. Because joy is infectious. Because if we celebrate others will want to join in. 

God has invited us into his Kingdom, and given us a foretaste in this holy meal. This is not just for when we are in church, but for the whole of life. It is not just for us, but for the whole of humanity, all sorts and conditions, the whole motley crew of them. And we, the disciples of Jesus, we are to spread the table for the feast. Welcome to the party.