“What have you to do with us?”  That is the question asked by the person with an unclean spirit in our gospel text this morning.

            And we might be asking the same thing: What has this story to do with us?

We all have our spiritual struggles, but I am pretty sure in all my years in ministry, that no one has made an appointment to talk to me about unclean spirits, or at least, they haven’t used that language.

            In the nearly two thousand years since this story was originally told, things have changed somewhat. We aren’t even sure what was troubling this person, but we can guess that it was something beyond his control. Something that others did not understand. Something that disrupted the order of things and injected an element of chaos into the life of this person, and therefore, into the life of the community.  Something that made them nervous, because it mirrored for them their own vulnerability; their own powerlessness. Something like a mental illness, perhaps. Or, another disorder, like Turret’s syndrome.  Or some kind of obsessive-compulsive behavior. We can’t be sure what it was --‘unclean spirit’ could cover a multitude of things. Things for which they did not have names and did not understand in Jesus’ day and time.

            Two thousand years ago, people would label things they did not understand as ‘unclean’ and ‘sinful’ and ‘evil.’ (Surely, in our day and time, we are beyond such labeling.)

            Whatever was going on with this person, we can be sure that it was beyond his control, and we can be just as sure that it made others nervous because it was beyond their control as well, and because it reminded them of larger things that were beyond their control. Things like living in an occupied territory and under unjust economic systems and the chaos and hopelessness all around them. Two thousand years ago, when it felt like everything was going to hell in a hand basket, perhaps singling out a small minority to label unclean and sinful and evil and punishing them for something over which they had no control helped to keep the focus from larger, more complex issues. Scapegoating is an ancient and well entrenched practice. (Surely, in our day and time, we are beyond such behavior.)

            What has this story to do with us? This story of exorcism, of all things?

            Well, it just so happens that I heard about an exorcism of sorts this very week and I know you did, too.

            I have heard much about and saw only bits and pieces of Oprah’s interview with James Frey, the author of the book, A Million Little Pieces. I am also aware that you know what I’m talking about, because it got more press than the elections in Canada, or just about anything else that was going on. Mr. Frey, it seems, authored a book he labeled as non-fiction which has been exposed as being more fiction than fact.  The press went after him, and Oprah went after him and I am grateful when lies are exposed. I only wish the press and Oprah would turn their energies to other folks who claim to speak with authority but who are lying to us. (Like, say, the present administration.)

            I could go for a few more exorcisms along those lines. But it gets us closer to understanding why this ancient text, and these other readings may have some wisdom and guidance for us today.  

            In this world of many voices, this age of information, this age of communication, the real question is: to whom do we listen? Whom can we believe? Who has the truth? We hear so many voices, so many sides to every issue. Who is right? Who has the truth? Whom can we trust? Who will be our authority?

            You see, authority is granted. We are familiar with the voices of small children who are figuring that out, in phrases like these:  “You aren’t the boss of me! You can’t tell me what to do!”

            We choose to whom we will listen, whom we will follow, whom we will trust.

            We long for leaders who speak with authority. We have too many who are like the scribes in Jesus’ day. And they are like the scribes in more ways than we may know. They do not confront the corruption of the system because they are benefiting from that same system.

            Epiphany is a time when we reflect on the authority of God, God’s command, God’s purpose and God’s promise. During Epiphany, Sunday after Sunday, the case is built for us to see that Jesus is the one in whom we can trust, in whom we can find truth. God’s truth. Jesus is the one who confronts the powers and principalities and is establishing a new kin-dom here on earth.  A new creation, a new order out of the chaos.

            The notion itself that we can trust God to be our authority may be odd in this age of individualism, this privatized world where we are used to defining our own personhood, and where we like to be our own authority.

            Epiphany stands against our rampant individualism and challenges us to think precisely and with daring AGAINST autonomy and pay primal attention to the wonder and assurance given by God by this holy authority who stands outside us and wills us good. This is not a popular message in this day of “me-ism.” (There is a fear in us at granting any one authority. Our egos fear their own destruction and we can almost hear them scream: “Have you come to destroy us?” When, in reality, God comes instead to free us, lift us up, make us whole and holy.)

            Epiphany is a time when we look for the extraordinary ways God’s love, grace and truth break into our very ordinary lives. When the layers of our ignorance and disbelief and autonomy are peeled away for a glimpse at what God may be doing in the world. And in us.

            All our texts this morning point to the authorizing power of God to counter the isolation, coercion, and despair that drives a world in which each must be against all.

            Because God is “for us” each is able instead to become a neighbor to the other.

            These texts at first seemed a little disjointed, but they may not be after all.

            Especially if one remembers that God’s grand purpose is true community, a people of light living together in peace, harmony, and justice, where all are heard, affirmed and valued. Our psalm sings of God’s creating and recreating works.

            The Deuteronomy text focuses on the promise of prophets from among us. Prophets to speak the truth of God to us in our own language. Not angels, but human beings, frail and broken as we are, but with God’s truth imprinted on their hearts. 

            Truth that may be hard for us to hear sometimes.

            Our text tells us that God chooses to speak to us through prophets, to use prophets to help us be different from the surrounding cultures-- to lead us in a different way -- the way of God.

            One of the things that fascinates me about this text is that it is still up to the people to discern between true and false prophets.  There are no “easy” answers with God. God’s people must know God, and know the heart of God, the signs of what God is doing, how God is working in our lives, and in the world. The people must still be open to epiphanies, if you will.

            When we look at our gospel text alongside the other texts,  Jesus is teaching in the temple, as one with authority, and they are all amazed. Almost as an aside, an intrusion, we are told there was a man possessed of an unclean spirit in the temple. There are many ways to look at this story. I’ve already spoken of one way to think of it. But, just for now, let’s also try taking it at face value.

             Now, if you are new to the church, you might be surprised that there was a person possessed of unclean spirits in the place of worship. But if you have been around the church for any time at all -- this comes as no surprise to you. There are lots of folks possessed of evil spirits in religious institutions. (And the terms unclean and evil are interchangeable.)

             During one particularly severe crisis in a church in which I was doing some consultation work, helping them with the conflict in which they were embroiled,  I was bemoaning to  a friend what was happening there, and dumbfounded that so many folks, so many really nice people, could be so mean to one another, and do such dreadful things. 

            My friend was forthright. “What we call evil is simply the resistance to good. There is always resistance to any change, even when it is moving from dark to light. Actually, especially when powerful work on the part of the kin-dom is being done, is precisely when we find the greatest resistance.”

            So, where does one look for good and therefore resistance to that good?  It wouldn’t be the places where evil already triumphs. The seedy, dark places of exploitation and greed. Those are already conquered. No, if you want to oppose truth and justice and righteousness -- you go to religious institutions and social service agencies, and volunteer organizations. You go where good still was being done, where truth has a chance -- that is the battle ground. 

            One of the strategies of the domination system is to ‘divide and conquer.”  When we stand for good, when we confront the domination system, we must always be on the watch for ways in which we may be tempted to be divided and turn against one another.

            One of the best ways to resist good is to divide. What we call evil separates people from one another, from God, and -- from our very selves. Evil sets people apart and does violence to community. Violence in the fact that it renders the community helpless, it divides the community into factions. Wherever there is a cutting away, that is violence, because it is not wholeness. God wants us to be whole, and we are only truly whole in community with one another. To cut people out (or to cut ourselves out) of community is to relegate one another to loneliness, isolation, and separation which is not what God wants for humanity. It’s brilliant, really. There is power in numbers, and fear in isolation. That may be why the domination system seeks to divide us and strip us of our power. Fear is the greatest tool of the domination system.

            The worst form of violence is the violence done to us when we are not allowed to be fully who we were intended to be by God. When people are limited because of race, or sex, or age, or religion, or culture, or sexual orientation, or because we may be differently abled or because we are poor, or because we are different in any way. Then -- not only are we cut off from community, but great harm is done to the individual – when we are given messages that parts of us are OK and acceptable -- and parts of us no one wants to deal with or hear about, because then others would have to  struggle with their prejudices. So we hide ourselves or parts of ourselves – seeking to be  invisible, or silent. It is an acceptance of lies as truth. It is a loss of communion with our very selves, and with God.

            That is violence. That is not God.

            An unclean spirit in the temple should not surprise us. The point of this story is not so much unclean spirits or even the healing of the individual. The point of this story is Jesus’ authority: that even ‘unclean spirit’s’ are willing to grant authority to Jesus. That perhaps there are other ways of defining good and evil, light and dark. After all, if the unclean spirit can come under the rule of God, how unclean can it be? So perhaps we can be challenged to reimagine this language in ways that embrace wholeness, including shadows and grays in the realm of God’s creating and recreating work.

This texts remind us that the power of love can conquer any brokenness, can move us from a culture of violence to a culture of wholeness, healing, and hope.  There is nothing that cannot respond to the power of God’s love in Christ.     

            As we turn to our epistle text we may wonder what in the world food offered to idols has to do with us today? When is the last time you knew anyone who struggled with this issue? Seen any editiorials in the New York Times about this lately?

            But don’t stop reading -- stay with this obtuse text -- and read between the lines. Because the issue is not as important as the process.  Paul is writing about a serious difference of opinion. He even takes sides, he lets us know he is on the side of those who don’t have a problem eating any meat. The folks who are “right” in Paul’s understanding. But pay attention now. Because being right -- being righteous doesn’t mean one gets their way in this story.

            What Paul says is that community is more important than individual preferences.

            Paul says -- OK -- you may be right about that -- but don’t let your being right isolate and cut off others. You have a responsibility to stay together in community. To listen to and try to understand those who are not as strong as you are, those who are little ones in the faith.

            Now comes the hard part for us at Mount Auburn. We know we are right about some issues in the church. Ordination and covenant ceremonies, for instance. A table that welcomes everyone.

            But being right is not all there is.  We must be loving. In the most profound sense of the word. And we must be in community – even with those who disagree and who may have hurt and wounded us.

            Here is the point of all these texts: how do we honor the larger community? The Presbytery? The Synod? The denomination? How are we challenged to be in community with our Presbyterian sisters and brothers as General Assembly draws ever near.

            We may be right. I know we’re right.  But we may not get what we want at GA. I hope we do. I pray we do. But it may not be our year. We may not get what we know is right and just and true. Then what do we do?    

            How willing are we to follow Jesus when we are disappointed again and again?  So these questions remain: who will be our authority? To whom will we listen? Whom will we follow?

            Do we move toward true community? Do we take risks? Do we make investments in the kin-dom now? Do we reach out to others? Even when fear may shake us and have us hear those voices. “Do you want to destroy us?” Can our love cast out our fear?

            I think Jesus is calling us. Will Christ  be our authority? Will the love of Christ be our ultimate truth?

            If we were celebrating communion today, we would be coming forward to share the feast that holds for us the vision to which we are moving: that table where all are welcome, the meal that reminds us that there is nothing in this world – not rulings of a governing body, not disappointments in decisions by governing bodies, not even death—that has more power than God’s love to heal and make whole. It is that vision that keeps us in the fight, keeps us working for justice, keeps us speaking up against violence in any form. It is the meal that feeds our spirits and our souls for the work to which we are called. It is that meal that lifts us up when our spirits seem dashed.

            So I ask you again: Will Christ be our authority? Will the love of Christ be our ultimate truth? In all things, and at all times?