Authority

Mark 1: 21-28

Jesus has just left Zebedee, with James and John, and they’ve gone to the synagogue: Mark portrays Jesus as a great teacher: a rabbi who’s students don’t yet know that he’s not like any other rabbi.

We learn that Jesus is both a really good teacher: with authority that surpasses others, and who also has the power to back up his teachings. He speaks both for himself and for God.

Mark doesn’t tell us exactly what Jesus is teaching, but it’s quite possible that it’s the same message from Mark chapter 1: 14-15: The good news of God: “The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near; repent, and believe in the good news.”

Immediately after Jesus begins teaching, he is challenged: a man with an unclean spirit goes after him.

It’s ironic that we find this unclean spirit in the synagogue: it’s a sign that there’s already trouble. This demon that Jesus finds is in temple, a church. Not on a street corner or in a bar, but in a sacred place: a reminder that evil can lurk anywhere, that the doors of a temple do not bless you as you walk in . . . we have unholiness in a holy place.

The man is one of those listening to Jesus, and maybe it’s this moment, of beholding the “holy one of God’ that he sees the change he needs to make—but the uncleanliness, part of his will isn’t going to let go, isn’t going to let him follow Jesus like James and John. Jesus is quick to recognize it and drive it out: he performs healing and liberation for this man, right under the nose of those he criticizes.

What if I told you that today, we’re also going to cast out demons. Would you all be up for an exorcism today?

According to ABC news, exorcisms are more popular in the US than they used to be. The Catholic church now has 10 official exorcists: 9 more than they had a decade ago . . . but it’s certainly not something they cover in seminary. The most I really know is from the movie, and I haven’t even seen all of it. I think of people convulsing and turning green. But it’s here, in Mark, and we’d do well to remember the existence of unclean spirits in whatever form they take.

One of the Desert Fathers—Abba Poemen lived the life of an ascetic, in the Egyptian desert, in the 3rd century. When asked if demons attack us he replied: “our own wills become the demons and it is these which attack us.” He thought that as long as we do our own will we are fine, but when we strive for that which is better, when we questions ourselves and what God wants of us, and turn towards God, that is when our struggles begin. This man might have seemed normal—he could slip into the temple unnoticed, but the message of Jesus calls to this man and the spirit isn’t pleased with the change.


There have been times when I have had to choose God over myself. These have been times that I believed in God’s existence: but doubted God’s goodness: thought that maybe God had set me up, was having a good laugh at my pathetic expense. I was getting closer to God: and further from my own will: and I felt my very being being ripped in two. The part of me that it’s charge of self-preservation was not pleased: it slid me into doubt. That part is getting weaker in me: the part that thinks God is really leading me to some lonesome valley of death, instead of carrying me through it. I still worry that God will cost me more than I’m willing to live without.


I met with a woman in a hospital in Atlanta, who had voices in her head that wanted her to kill her husband and she had tried. She was in agony, because she loved her husband and said he was such a good man. I don’t know what her diagnosis was or her treatment, but her brain was doing things to her, that were beyond her control. It seems like it’d almost be easier if someone could perform a ritual and relieve her, instead of the years of treatment she will likely endure.

A member of my family has a long complicated history of mental illness. She’s been diagnosed with different things, in and out of clinics, several suicide attempts: some that she remembers and some that she doesn’t . . . She’s been completely out of it, quiet and daydreaming, or sitting and acting like a child, but with the right combination of medicines she can be alert and happy.

I don’t mean to say that people with mental illnesses are possessed, just that perhaps that’s the kind of thing Mark is describing: the way that an addiction or chemical imbalance in the brain seems to hold a power and sway over us.

It’s irresponsible to say to someone that they just need an exorcism. We wouldn’t need 12 step programs if a simple prayer could do it. I think the ritual for an exorcism would still be in our hymnal.

Regardless, I know I’ve had experience with people who seemed: almost evil? Who had a certain gleam to their eye, who were doing terrible things: ruining lives, tearing apart families, and seemed not to care, seemed almost pleased with themselves . . . there is a reason we call these “the spiritual forces of wickedness” a reason we personify them in the form of demons. Because how else could people be so awful? And maybe it’s their experience, personality, or past, maybe it’s an addiction or compulsion, or maybe something more, far more sinister . . .

The point is: that in Mark: Jesus spends a great deal of time healing and casting out unclean spirits: he heals the sick, the lame: things like leprosy and blindness, diseases that affect the body, mostly. And then he casts out the unclean spirits: diseases that affect the mind: things like depression and addiction: things that keep our spirits from being whole and good, things that stand between us and God.


Whatever it is, Jesus is taking it on.
The first of his miracles:
The first of his healings:
Is to take on the spiritual type of healing.


Jesus has authority: when we follow Jesus, there’s trouble: there’s parts of us that may shriek with disdain for the light of God—parts of us that we have to test and question and overcome and cast out: or ask Jesus to cast out: We all have limitations, I’ll leave that up to you whether or not you call them demons.