"reality theology"

Anna Blaedel
First UMC, Osage
February 1, 2009
Psalm 111; Mark 1:21-28


One day a bus driver was driving along his usual route when a great big hulk of a man got on. He was six feet eight inches tall, built like a wrestler, and filled the doorway of the bus. He towered over the driver and hold him, “Big John doesn’t pay!” Then he walked to the back of the bus and sat down. The driver, barely five feet three inches tall, thin, and very meek, didn’t argue with Big John. But he wasn’t happy. The next day the same thing happened, and then again the next. Over and over, the same interaction. The bus driver seemed to shrink smaller and smaller. He began to lose sleep, and feel ashamed. How could he let Big John take advantage of him, day after day? Why did fear get the best of him, over and over? He even considered quitting his job. Finally, he could stand it no longer. He signed up for bodybuilding classes, karate classes, jujitsu classes, and self-esteem classes. After a few months, the bus driver had become stronger and more confident. When Big John entered the bus one day and again declared, “Big John doesn’t pay!” the driver finally confronted him. He stood up, faced Big John, collected his courage, and almost bellowed, “And why not?” Big John looked surprised. After a moment he replied, “Big John has a bus pass!”

Poet and prophet Alice Walker writes, “The most common way people give up their power is by thinking they don’t have any.” People convinced of their powerlessness cower. The power of the gospel confronts.

Let us pray: Come, Holy Spirit, Come. Come as the fire and burn. Come as the wind and cleanse. Come as the light and reveal. Come as the bread and nourish. Confront, convert, and consecrate, until we are wholly thine.

The bus driver’s confrontation was a long time coming. When he finally gathered his power and stepped into his authority and spoke his piece…well, I imagine he was amazed with what unfolded. Astounded. Weren’t we? What did we expect?

The conversation needed to happen. The build up was brutal. And, when the timid bus driver stepped up, showed up, summoned some fierce courage…suddenly everything shifts. Big John is no longer a bully, cheating the system, but a regular rider carrying his pre-paid pass. If only the bus driver had known. If only he had asked.

What conversations need to happen in our lives? What conversations need to happen in this community? How much energy do we spend dreading, avoiding, fearing these conversations?

One theologian claims the greatest sin of the church is that it is a place where people are not free to tell the truths of their lives. The greatest sin of the church is that it is a place where we are not free to tell the truths of our lives. To share our stories. To have fierce conversations. To cry out. To confront demons, and be restored. Because we’re scared. Because we feel powerless. Because these truths might create conflict. Because they interrupt. Because they confront.

In this morning’s gospel story from Mark, we meet Jesus at the beginning of his public ministry. And Jesus is doing anything but cowering. On the Sabbath, Jesus walks right into a synagogue in Capernaum, and begins teaching. Teaching as one with authority. Jesus makes no appeal to authority. He teaches, in word and action, with authority. And his message has power. And the people listen.

And, then, right in the middle of his teaching, comes a noisy interruption. A rukus. A man with an unclean spirit cries out! Noisily names Jesus as the Holy One of God. And Jesus rebukes him! Confronts the unclean spirit we are told has taken possession. Jesus knows his power. Performs a miracle. Casts out the demon. Heals the man everyone calls crazy. Right there in the middle of it all. And the people take notice. They respond. In fact, the story tells us they were amazed! “What is this? A new teaching—with authority!”

In Eugene Peterson’s translation of this text, the people witnessing this confrontation in the synagogue ask, “What’s going on here? A new teaching that does what it says?”

“A new teaching that does what it says!” And, to show this is a shift, the people are amazed!

We don’t actually know what Jesus is teaching. From the rest of Mark’s gospel, we can assume it is something about the Kingdom of God. A new kind of power, and new kind of relating. Building beloved community when and where there is division and fear. But, the details are left out. There is no Sermon on the Mount, as in Matthew. Nor the plethora of parables we find in Luke. We don’t know what Jesus was teaching, but we are told how he was teaching. As one with authority. One willing to see a destructive force, and call it out. One willing to have fierce conversations, with humans and with demons. One willing to address and reveal the truths of people’s lives. Including the unclean messes.

And it’s a teaching that does what it says. A teacher who practices what he preaches. Confronting demons. Naming them. Casting them out.

To cast out demons, we’ve got to be real. With ourselves. With each other. With God. In our prayers. In our worship. In our conversations.

Yesterday morning, people gathered in the chapel downstairs for Legislative Forum. For the 22nd year, people came to this church to hear locally elected officials discuss the issues impacting our community. People asked questions, and offered opinions. People disagreed with one another. People challenged each other. About cell phones, and whether to restrict their use while driving. About the gas tax, and how much it should be raised to keep investing in infrastructure. About a bicycle bill of rights, and sharing the road, and paying attention. About hog confinement and water quality and outside investors controlling and destroying community natural resources. About struggling schools, and children in need of health care.

Now, no one stood up shouting. To my knowledge, no demons were called out or cast out. Even to call it fierce is perhaps a bit of a leap. But. And. People talked about what matters. People listened to each other. Told the truths of their lives. Talked about what our community needs. What is broken, and what needs care. People learning how to live in community. A new teaching that does what it says. It was a community forum, not a worship service. There was no opening prayer, no bulletin, no benediction. But there was the power to create the Kindom of God.

In this gospel story in Mark, Jesus has a fierce conversation with the unclean spirit. And this conversation hints at something holy. A new teaching, a new kind of living, which values people, real people and their real lives, over rules or traditions or abstractions.

This can be scary. Can make us uncomfortable. Or, to speak for myself, this scares me. And can make me uncomfortable.

If, in the middle of this sermon, a person walked through the doors of this sanctuary, convulsing and crying out, “I know who you are! You are followers of the Holy One of God!” How many of us would squirm a little? Shift in our seats?

Or, if during joys and concerns someone here named their addiction, cried out for help, testified the truth not of a demon they’ve already conquered but one that is alive and conquering. Would we wonder why they hadn’t waited to make an appointment with the pastor for Monday morning?

Or, if during announcements a woman showed her bruises and asked for this community’s help for herself and her children, leaving a violently abusive spouse? Would we want to avoid getting involved and wish we could move along to the opening hymn as printed in our bulletins?

As nice Midwestern Methodists, any talk of demons tends to make us at least a little uncomfortable. But, as Fred Craddock writes, “Not believing in demons has hardly eradicated evil in our world.” Not acknowledging our hurts hardly helps us heal. Not sharing our stories hardly sets the stage for our salvation. And, if not here, where?

A new teaching, that does what it says. That teaches us that God meets us in the messiness of our lives. God reveals redemption already at work. God offers healing and help. And, sometimes, God does it publically. Noisily. Fiercely. On the Sabbath. In the middle of Jesus’ teaching. When it interrupts us.

At the communion table, we confront the demons of death and destruction. We partake in Jesus’ final meal. We are called to remember the power we hold. The power to betray, and to build up. Collectively, we cast out the power of crucifixion, and call on the reality of resurrection.

In this morning’s text, we don’t know what Jesus is teaching, but we know it is a teaching that does what it says. Where good news changes lives, and forgiveness restores souls. Where hope dares us to do it differently. Where pain is shared, and eased. Where an aching, hollering, unclean man is no longer ignored, but attended to and embraced.

Thanks be to God. Amen, and amen.