"transformed"

“Transformed”

Mark 5:1-20

Jesus and His disciples got in a boat and crossed the lake to the region of the Gerasenes.

In doing this, Jesus was taking His ministry into non-Jewish or Gentile territory.

The biggest clue to this is that the people raised pigs and Jews wouldn’t have had anything to do with pigs—pigs were “unclean.”

And Non-Jews were considered to be “unclean” according to Jewish laws as well.

“Unclean” means to be “morally impure or evil.”

And anyone who comes in contact with the morally impure or evil, becomes “unclean.”

So, the Gentiles were considered to be “unclean,” pigs were “unclean” and so were graveyards.

They were considered to be places of contamination.

For a Jew, contact with the dead or graves made you “unclean.”

So, this poor guy who rushes out to meet Jesus is about as “unclean” as you can get.

Driven by a legion of demons the man seems hardly human anymore.

He had lost his identity.

In the eyes of the townspeople and the man’s family—he was basically an animal.

He was completely out of his mind, dangerous and violent.

The New International Version of the Bible says that “he would cry out and cut himself with stones.”

Some versions say “he was always howling and bruising himself with stones.”

That makes me think of a werewolf or something, not a human being.

But, but he was a human being.

He was created in the image of God.

He was a person of sacred worth.

He was a person loved and pursued by God.

But his life was essentially out of his control.

And perhaps one of the most heartbreaking verses in Scripture comes when He responds to Jesus’ question about his name…

…because he had no name…

…or, more accurately, he says that his name is “Legion,” that is, “a multitude.”

He was oppressed by too many demons to count; he had lost himself in the racket of their insane voices and had stopped being a self, an individual, a person.

This miserable man is truly the ultimate outcast.

He is homeless, even among his own people.

And, sadly, he is not unlike many of our homeless people today who wander the urban wastelands of our bridge abutments, alleys and woods.

According to the Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration, 20 to 25% of the homeless population in the United States suffers from some form of severe mental illness.

Serious mental illnesses disrupt people’s ability to carry out basic but essential aspects of daily life, such as self-care, household management and keeping down a job.

Mental illnesses may also stop people from forming and maintaining stable relationships or cause people to misinterpret others’ guidance and react irrationally.

This often results in pushing away caregivers, family, and friends who may be the force keeping that person from becoming homeless.

And, of course, homeless people are at a much greater risk of being victims of assault, rape and murder.

And the homeless are in a sense considered “unclean” and unwelcome in most places.

Chattanooga has its Garasenes.

They are our neighbors.

And Jesus calls us to love our neighbors.

But of course, not all Garasenes are homeless.

They might be a suicidal teenager or adult.

They may be a depressed mother living within walking distance of this church building or the alcoholic father trying to self-medicate his demons, only to find himself in deeper and deeper trouble.

Or, the Garasenes may be you; they may be me.

What is the controlling factor in our lives?

Is it Jesus or is it something else: our addictions, our selfishness, our money or our desire for it?

What controls us?

What ultimately leads us to places of extreme loneliness and despair?

What is our identity; where does it come from?

What names and claims control us?

It is said that whenever Martin Luther felt oppressed by the devil, he would take courage in shouting, “I am baptized!”

In this way, he grounded his confidence, his identity, his sanity in the loving salvation offered him through Jesus Christ the Lord.

When I became a teenager, I sort of lost my way and I felt very lost.

I had allowed my identity to become that of a scared, rebellious teenage heavy metal fanatic.

When I was a freshman in college I took a public speaking course.

For our first speech we were asked to compare and contrast two different things.

I brought a boom-box to class that day along with a bunch of cassette tapes, and I proceeded to compare and contrast—for the class—what was, in my opinion, good heavy metal music versus not so good heavy metal music.

For our second speech we were told to give a speech, in first person, about our hero.

So, I came to school with my face painted like Gene Simmons of Kiss and gave my speech.