Binding the Strong Man
As Jesus arrived at the country of the Gerasenes, a man possessed by demons met him. An outcast, wild, untamed, and living naked among the tombs, this man was kept shackled and under guard. But no chains could hold him. Time and again, the man would break free, to be driven out into the wilderness by the demons that possessed him. Why did the townspeople seek to chain and guard this man? Luke doesn’t tell us. But the account that unfolds speaks volumes about his would-be captors, and if we listen carefully, about ourselves as well.
When Jesus commanded the unclean spirits to depart, the man shouted at the top of his voice: “What have you to do with me, Jesus, Son of the Most High God?”(v.28). Afraid of being cast back into the abyss, the demons begged to be allowed to enter a nearby herd of swine. With Jesus’ permission, they came out of the man and entered the pigs, causing them to rush down the bank and drown themselves in the lake. When the people living nearby heard the reports of the swineherds, and saw the man sitting with Jesus, clothed and in his right-mind, they were afraid and asked Jesus to leave.
While fear in the face of the awesome and holy power of God is understandable, many nagging questions come to mind. Why was there no celebration at this miraculous exorcism? Why was there no joy that one of God’s chosen people could now rejoin his family and society? From these questions, other questions arise. How would the townspeople feel about having the man live amongst them, knowing that they had always sought to keep him bound and chained? How would the man feel toward his former captors? But the question that haunts me the most is: what value do we place on an individual life? How far would we go, or what would we risk, to save a life? In essence, how do we weigh the needs of society against the needs of individuals?
This dilemma is captured brilliantly in movies two and three of the Star Trek series. In Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan, when the starship Enterprise is about to be destroyed, Spock sacrifices his life to save the ship and crew. As a Vulcan, Spock adheres to the utilitarian ethic: “the needs of the many, outweigh the needs of the few, or the one.” In Star Trek III: The Search for Spock, meanwhile, Captain Kirk communicates the opposite ethic: “sometimes, the needs of the one, or the few, outweigh the needs of the many.” In Star Trek III, Captain Kirk and crew risk court martial and even death to return Spock’s katra (his mind/soul/spirit) to his body.
While this latter ethic feels good to us in the abstract, it is much harder to live out when faced with actual sacrifice. How did the family members feel whose pigs had drowned? Did they feel the possessed man’s liberation was worth the cost, or did they feel the price was too high? Did their heirs rejoice with the man, or begrudge the loss of their inheritance? Would we fare any better today? If we knew that a sizeable tax increase would mean that those with mental disorders could lead normal lives, or that no one would again get Alzheimer’s or Parkinson’s, would we vote for it? Or would we rather keep our taxes low, and keep mental patients chained by their delusions or by the numbing side effects of psychotropic drugs? If we knew that people who suffered from the demons of alcohol and drug addiction could kick their addictions once and for all, but it would mean the bankruptcy of a family business, would we embrace our personal loss for the sake of the greater good?
And what about the townspeople? How would they feel about the prospect of daily interaction with a man they had habitually guarded and bound with chains? Would they be able to meet his eyes? Would they resent him for what he had made them do to him? Is it any wonder that they were seized with great fear?
As one who majored in philosophy and religion, I enjoy the ethical dilemma of whether “the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, or the one,” or whether “the needs of the one, or the few, outweigh the needs of the many.” But I find no evidence in scripture, especially in Luke’s gospel, that Jesus found this to be a dilemma at all. Jesus heals people because he can do no other. Whether or not Jesus foreknew that his exorcism would result in a family losing its herd of swine, or in feelings of discomfort and shame by the townspeople, I cannot see Jesus acting any differently, or giving those considerations any weight. Are not the sons and daughters of Israel of more worth than a family’s wealth, or a community’s comfort? Are not we? Are not the least of those in our midst?
The good news in today’s gospel story is that God seeks to free us from all that binds us. Jesus Christ comes to us to save us from our demons: whether they be drugs, alcohol, the need to be right, the need to look good in front of others, the need for social status, or other demons. The challenge in today’s gospel story is to celebrate victories of human liberation, even if they come at a high personal cost. Celebrate we must, for we are all being saved from our chains by Jesus, the Son of the Most High God.