Once upon a time there was an agricultural community called The Land of the Gerasenes. This country was on the eastern side of the Sea of Galilee and was Gentile territory so the people there had no problem with raising pigs and eating pork. There was a Gerasene man who was different from other people. As people reacted to him his differences grew worse and worse until, finally, he was ostracized from the community. They bound his hands and feet so he had limited movement. He could not live among the others so he lived in the cemetery. To the people of the community, this man, whose name was Legion, represented everything that could go wrong in everybody's life, all rolled into one person. He was their worst nightmare. He was the manifestation of all their secret shame.


He was the man everybody loved to hate. Now, the man's existence served a very important function in that community. For example, whenever somebody felt like they were going crazy, they could always compare themselves to Legion and say, “It could be worse. I could be like old Legion out there.”


Having Legion as a bad example was useful in rearing their children. They would say, “If you don't stop that, you could grow up to be like Legion.” Anytime anything went wrong, they could always blame it on Legion. Legion played a vital role in maintaining a kind of equilibrium in the community. They projected their own problems onto him so they didn't have to deal with them. Marginalizing Legion made them all feel better about themselves. They improved their own self esteem by stealing it from him.


Then, one day, something happened that completely upset this delicate balance. Jesus sailed across the Sea of Galilee, a trip of only about 5-6 miles. When his boat landed on the beach near Gerasa, this wild man broke his bonds and went rushing at Jesus. Perhaps it was the lack of an expression of fear or maybe it was a look of compassion, but Jesus stopped Legion in his tracks. According to the text, the many demons living in Legion cried out through him, “Jesus, Son of God, what do you want with us?” Jesus knew that when you can name something, you gain a kind of power over it. So, he asked, “What is your name?” The man said, “Legion.” Then the demonic voice cried out for mercy. Jesus commanded the demons to leave the man. When they did, they invaded a nearby herd of pigs. The pigs rushed headlong to the water and drowned.


The pig herders were so shocked by all this that they ran to tell all their neighbors, and the entire community ran out to see what had happened. When they arrived, imagine their surprise at seeing Legion, washed and dressed in clean clothes sitting with Jesus. Now, some have argued that they were upset about the economic calamity that had befallen them when their pigs drowned and that was the reason they asked Jesus to go away. But the gospel says they were seized by great fear. I suspect their fear was grounded in the fact that the exorcism of this man had completely upset the equilibrium of the community. They wouldn't have Legion to kick around anymore. Their own secret demons would now be exposed. The man wanted to go with Jesus. But Jesus did an interesting thing. He made the man a missionary to his own people. Why? I believe it was because Jesus was concerned that the healing work he had started among these gentiles be carried to completion. The healing of Legion was only the beginning. If the mighty power of God could heal the sickest of the sick, the craziest of the crazy, he could heal everybody in the community. Here was an opportunity for a new, healthy equilibrium to be established. 


An equilibrium based not on harboring the demonic influences in the community and projecting everyone's self-loathing onto a single outcast individual or getting self-esteem by stealing it from another. But an equilibrium based on the saving, positive effects of the power of God at work in human lives and in the life of a community of people. That was Jesus' way: he always went to the victims of society's ills. He cared for the least, the last, the lost, the most vulnerable, the outcast, the marginalized people. Their amazing testimonies to the power of God, which brought life out of death, joy out of sadness, health out of sickness, changed entire towns. And that is Jesus' way today. Today as then grace is never so amazing as when the recipient is totally surprised to receive it. When we are feeling self-righteous and smug in our relationship with God, we usually are in serious danger and we usually have someone we can point to who is, in effect, our community Legion. Maybe our Legion is that homeless person we saw living in squalor in the doorway of an abandoned downtown building yesterday. Maybe our Legion is residents of the county jail. Could our Legion be somebody closer to home? Somebody who may have made a mistake or violated some community standard and we won't let them forget about it. Somebody who is of another racial or ethnic group we can look down upon. Somebody of a different sexual orientation who makes us feel more secure in our own sexuality when we condemn them. Somebody who is an immigrant. Somebody who isn't washed and scrubbed.


Consider the opening acclamation for the baptismal liturgy: “There is one Body and one Spirit; There is one hope in God’s call to us; One Lord, one Faith, one Baptism; One God and Father of all.” Scholars believe these words from Paul’s Letter to the Galatians are from a very early baptismal creed. Stephen Patterson writes, “The creed was originally about the fact that race, class, and gender are typically used to divide the human race into us and them to the advantage of us. It aimed to declare that there is no us, no them. We are all children of God. It was about solidarity, not cultural obliteration.” Later in the liturgy are these questions: “Will you seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving your neighbor as yourself?” “Will you strive for justice and peace among all people, and respect the dignity of every human being?” And, what is our answer? “I will, with God’s help.”


Healing is not only for the marginalized, but for us as well. We need God’s help to heal us from our hatred, our discrimination, our revulsion, our prejudice, our racism, our sexism, our xenophobia, so that we can reach out and be the healing hearts and hands of Jesus Christ as extensions of his incarnate love, participants in the ongoing redemption of creation itself. Jesus’ way with our marginalized people is to accept them and heal them in ways we can't imagine and send them back into our midst to tell us that if God could do it for them, he can do it for us. This is frightening at first because it threatens the sense of equilibrium we have constructed for ourselves. It is frightening because if Jesus Christ ever got hold of our lives we'd have to change. We'd have to come face to face with our personal demons, and actually name them: fear, greed, prejudice, lust, hatred, ego, antagonism. We can't imagine life without our pet demons.


But Jesus says such a life is not only possible, it is better. He's in our midst today, the Healer. He's reaching out to the one among us who feels there is no way on earth to ever live in a right relationship with him, with other people, or with himself or herself. He speaks to those demons, calls them by name, takes power over them and says, “Come out of her, come out of him.” And, then, he sends the one he has embraced and healed to tell the rest of us how much God has done. Does it frighten you? Do you want to send him away? Go ahead and try but let me warn you; Jesus Christ won't give up on you that easily. He continues to set a feast for us. We can try to tell him not to. We can turn away from his offer. We can run, but we can't hide. He pursues us and sends people he's healed to pursue us so that we too might live the abundant life. Is it scary to you to be loved by such a love?

By Paula Jefferson November 2, 2025
It has only been a few months since we last heard this particular Gospel reading. While I was driving up and down Highway 35 last week, I thought about how we might approach the text differently…especially on All Saints Sunday. This is the day we remember all the faithful people who have gone before us…ordinary and extraordinary folks who lived lives of love, mercy, courage and hope. I began with questions: Who is a saint? Who is not a saint? The second question is much easier to answer. We can all think of people throughout history who would definitely not fit any definition of sainthood. But the other question is harder. It brought to mind a character who wears a red suit, big white beard, moves around in a sleigh pulled by reindeer. Santa Claus is an icon of generosity. But is that the fullness of a saintly life? We often admire people for what shines outwardly: strength, beauty, power, fame, athleticism, traveling the globe on Christmas Eve delivering millions of gifts…because that stuff is easy to see and easy to glorify. But Luke is reminding us that true blessedness looks very different…it is found in the poor, the hungry, those who mourn. Blessed are those who are rejected or marginalized because they embody love…feeding the hungry, forgiving enemies, speaking truth to power. Paraphrasing Jesus: Blessed are you who are living in such a way that your life looks like mine. So what are the signs of a Christ-shaped--or saintly--life? To answer that, I drew from Jesus’s sermon on the Plain and a few well-known saints. 1. Humility —Jesus said, “Blessed are you who are poor, for yours is the kingdom of God.” Richard Foster devoted his life to guiding Christians into deeper spiritual formation. He described humility as the freedom to see ourselves truthfully, to rely fully on God, and to serve others without seeking recognition. [1] Humility reflects the blessedness of those who recognize their dependence on God. 2. Courage —Jesus said, “But I say to you who hear: Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who abuse you.” Dietrich Bonhoeffer devoted his life to following Christ faithfully in a world that was in moral and political crisis. He said that moral courage is nurtured in the context of faithful Christian community. Courage is faithfully doing what is right, trusting God’s guidance, even when it costs us. [2] His moral courage exemplifies living faithfully in the face of evil. 3. Joy —Jesus said, “Blessed are you who hunger now, for you will be satisfied…Blessed are you who weep now, for you will laugh.” Henri Nouwen devoted his life to helping others encounter God’s love through prayer, presence, and compassionate service…especially alongside the most vulnerable among us. He said that joy does not simply happen to us. We have to choose joy and keep choosing it every day. It is a choice based in the knowledge that we belong to God and have found in God our refuge and our safety and that nothing, not even death, can take God away from us. [3] 4. Love and mercy in action — Jesus said, “Do to others as you would have them do to you.” Mother Teresa devoted her life to making Christ’s love tangible through service to the poorest, sickest, and most marginalized people in the world. For her, love was not an abstract idea—it was what you do with your hands and heart every day. She incarnated mercy in action, making tangible the call to bless and serve others. 5. Faithfulness in difficulty —Jesus said, “Blessed are you when people hate you, and when they exclude you, revile you, and defame you on account of the Son of Man.” Martin Luther King, Jr. devoted his life to pursuing justice and equality through nonviolence and love rooted in faith and moral conviction. He said, “The ultimate measure of a [person] is not where they stand in moments of comfort and convenience, but where they stand at times of challenge and controversy.” [4] His nonviolent witness and moral perseverance reflect Jesus’ promise of blessing for those who are persecuted and remain steadfast in their faith. There’s something of a paradox here that drew my attention. Each of these Christ-shaped lives emerged in response to real suffering, injustice or need. If Christianity had not moved through a period of superficial evangelism in the 20 th Century, we would not know Richard Foster. Without Adolf Hitler and the evil that surrounded him, we would not know Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s name. He would be a little-known academician teaching systematic theology. Without societies that toss aside people with disabilities, Henri Nouwen would have been a Roman Catholic priest none of us knew. Without human class systems that devalue whole groups of people, Mother Teresa would not be a household name. Without systemic racism, Martin Luther King, Jr. would have been a Baptist preacher in an Atlanta Church. We would not know his name. Each of these people responded to the wounds and injustices they saw in their own time in their own backyard. They took up the cross of love and carried it just a little farther. And I wonder if that quality is the benchmark of sainthood? As I look around this congregation, I see 100 saints: people who walk into classrooms every day, prepared to teach growing minds; people who walk with friends going through difficulties like loss of memory; people who feed the hungry: with meals on wheels, Union Gospel Mission, food pantries in Fort worth, and in leper colonies far away; people who make bed rolls for the homeless; Sunday School teachers who faithfully prepare to help children, youth, and adults grow in faith. People who extend hospitality to us and to St. Matthew’s and to families who gather here to celebrate the lives of their saints. Friends, we live in a very challenging era of American life. Everywhere we look, we see signs of division, misunderstanding, and an inability to work together for the common good. It is, I think, a reflection of a deep dysfunction in our culture….an incapacity to listen well, to negotiate in good faith, and to compromise for the sake of the whole. In times like this, the calling of the Church is extraordinary. We are called to embody the values of God’s reign: faithfulness, humility, courage, joy, and love---showing the world what it means to live differently, even when society struggles to do so. We, too, must take up the cross of love in our own lives, carrying it just a little farther each day. And as we do, we join the great communion of saints who have walked before us, who have borne witness to God’s love in times of trial, and who now cheer us on as we continue the journey. [1] Richard J Foster; Celebration of Discipline: The Path to Spiritual Growth [2] Dietrich Bonhoeffer; Life Together [3] Henri Nouwen; Spirituality & Practice [4] Martin Luther King, Jr; Strength to Love 1963
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