What have you to do with us, Jesus of Nazareth?
So, the other day I got a call from an unknown number in Knoxville. When I listened to the message it was from a social worker at Blount Memorial in Maryville. Blount is the main hospital in that area that serves severely mentally ill patients. Seems an former parishioner, Pat, had been committed there, and I was listed as one of the people who had her power of attorney. They were wanting me to make some decisions about further committal to a local assisted living facility.
As the social worker rattled off a series of things my parishioner had done, I started to remember her. I first met Pat in her home in Sevierville. For those of you who need directions, that's essentially Pigeon Forge, the home of Dollywood. She lived in the back of nowhere, up one mountain, down a holler, up another mountain, down a holler, then up a mountain, down a washed out gravel driveway, and into a double wide trailer.
Her house and her clothes smelled like urine, and there were feces on the floor where her mangy German Shepherd went to the bathroom because Pat was to heavy to move about much, so she didn't take the dog out very often.
Her house was a maze of boxes stacked on boxes forming walls of boxes, and paths between them, that you would have to wander through to get from one end of the room to the other. The boxes were all from the same place – the Home Shopping Network. Most of them hadn't even been opened. See, among Pat's many problems, she was a shopaholic. She just needed things around her.
For some reason, she took a shine to me, probably because I was the only one at the church who could stand to be around her for any length of time. And most of the time I'd be straight with her. When she wanted to join the choir, I told her she couldn't unless she washed her clothes...and herself. When her dog died and she wanted a new one, I told her NO, and if she tried to get one, I was going to call Animal Control on her.
After some time with this weird pastoral relationship, Pat decided she wanted to make a life confession and reconciliation with God and the Church. So, I worked with her on getting ready to do that. Now a life confession is a complicated thing. It can take days to work up to, remembering things long buried. It can be soul-scouring, but in the end, it can also be soul-freeing. The day came, and we went into the church for me to hear her story. And she began...
And it was, frankly, crazy. Do you remember back in the 90's when there was a spate of fantastical reports about child-care agencies and clowns and knives and aliens and children being abused? And come to find out almost none of it was really true and based on faulty child psychology techniques? Well, her confession was an amalgam of these reports, along with some stories about her wicked grandparents, some occult rituals, and some scenes from Rosemary's Baby.
Now I'm not an expert, but even I can recognize mental illness when it's that obvious. But I could also recognize a spirit of malign evil that was keeping her from reaching out for help. Her odors and hygiene, her sometimes aggressive attitude, her unwillingness to even begin to listen to others, all those things would become issues just when she was thinking about seeking help, and I am convinced to this day there was a demonic element, constantly knocking her back, filling her with fear of taking a step toward something better because it means giving up the companionship of misery.
And I think of our gospel reading today. People hear Jesus' words and they are astounded at his wisdom. This guy is brilliant, they mutter, there in their synagogue. This guy has got it going on, they think, there in their pews. He's smart, he's clever, he has that “It” factor, they comment, there in the safety of their four walls.
But only one man stands up and speaks a contrary truth. And alternative fact, if you will. “Have you come to destroy us?” A man with an unclean spirit. An unnamed man among them. I'm willing to bet that this was not just some demon-possessed man who wandered in early one day just this one time. I bet he's been a member of this congregation, and everyone knew him.
And I wonder if maybe the others saw a dim reflection of themselves in him, living in fear.
I think this man is possessed with that demon that seems to be taking over every corner of the world these days – the demon Pat had. Fear of what's going on around us. Fear of losing our grip. Fear that we've lost our way. Fear that God has abandoned us. And just like that man, we sit in our pews and in our homes and pray and then hope against hope that that's enough to hold it all at bay. Hoping that, at least here. . . we are safe.
But it's that man, no one else, but that man that asks the key question of Jesus. “Have you come to destroy us?” And Jesus doesn't answer. But he acts – he casts out that demon. But I think in the casting out, Jesus answers after all. “Have you come to destroy us?” And the answer Jesus gives is, “Yes.”
If you think it's good enough to go to church, to Zoom church, I've come to destroy that notion, Jesus is saying. If you think you can hide from it all, I've come to destroy that notion. If you think those problems out there are not your problems, I've come to destroy that notion. If you think you can't make a difference, I've come to destroy that notion.
I come here to this church rejoicing , Jesus is saying. I come here residing in hymns and scriptures, in prayers and communion, Jesus is saying. I come here dying on the cross and at the altar, Jesus is saying. I come here defeating the forces of evil and death, Jesus is saying. I come here so you can free your souls.
But none of that matters if you don't use what you've gotten here today. None of that matters if you don't go out into the world, one person at a time. Loving God. Loving your neighbor. Listening to your neighbor. Engaging with your neighbor. Sharing God's amazingly good news with your neighbor. The news that Jesus is who he claims to be, and that claim on your life can change it . . . and always for the better.
What have you to do with us, Jesus of Nazareth? Have you come to destroy us?
I have to admit, most of the time, I found it hard to like Pat. Ours was a hard, difficult relationship. But I would remember something Dietrich Bonhoeffer once said before he was executed by the Nazis: You can't hate those you pray for.
So that day in church, I said a prayer for Pat, wrestling with her own demons. And as we concluded the Rite of Reconciliation in the Prayer Book, I got a tear in my eye when we got to the part where I asked her to pray for me, a sinner. And she looked at me and said she will pray for me every day, and wanted to know that I would pray for her every day, too. And I said a prayer for her the next day. And the next. And adding her to my prayers became a habit for a while. And apparently it became a habit for her, too. Why, after all these years, she would think to want me to serve as her Power of Attorney, speaks to that.
Pat is not healed, not by a long shot. But she is healing. God willing, she is healing. And I know God's church will be healed and our nation will be healed and our world will be healed. And I know that healing comes from Christ, and God is holding her close and will guide her through.
What have you to do with us, Jesus of Nazareth?
Everything. Everything.