June 23, 2013

Clay Nelson

Pentecost 5     Luke 8:26-39

We have just heard a fascinating story of Jesus going to the margins of the margins of society, seeking to gather into the community anyone who has ever been an outcast.

The man with unclean spirits, who asks, “What have you to do with me?” had so many things against him in the eyes of Jewish society: He was a foreigner. He was naked. He lived among the dead in their tombs. He had seizures. He was probably suffering from some kind of mental illness, which caused him to behave erratically. And he kept close proximity to pigs! Anyone of these would have assured that devout Jews would have kept their distance, but not Jesus. He did what he could to help bring him back into community that he might no longer suffer isolation.

While scholars question the historicity of the story, they do not question that it reveals the truth of Jesus’ radical compassion. But like many good stories it has other layers of meaning as well. The story also challenges the notion that evil is transcendent, something outside of our selves. That Satan is some kind of principle beside God, a divine sort of yang to God’s yin. Due to this truth the title of the story could just as well have been, “Where the Wild Things Are.”

Any parent or grandparent is more than familiar with Maurice Sendak’s ageless children’s story of mischievous Max in his white wolf suit who is sent to bed without his supper for defying his mother. But strange things happen in his room and fantasies and Max is soon off to where the Wild Things are. They are no match for a kid with courage. When he stands up to them like he did to his mother, they crown him their king. Max then leads his subjects into a wild rumpus that does not end until he sends them to bed without their supper. But conquest is no cure for a homesick heart and Max sails back to his very own room, and lo and behold, to a waiting hot supper.

Joseph Campbell, famous for his study of myths and universal symbols, once told Bill Moyers that Sendak’s description of Max taming of the Wild Things was one of the great moments in literature because “it's only when a man tames his own demons that he becomes the king of himself if not of the world.”

When Moyer’s shared Campbell’s observation with Sendak he was deeply moved because of his obsession with evil. He was somewhat fatalistic about evil because as wonderful as human beings can be, they are capable of unspeakable atrocities.

He came by his fatalism honestly. Many of his family members died in the holocaust. It was probably this family history that led him to create an English version of Brundibár, a children's opera by Jewish Czech composer Hans Krása. It was originally performed 55 times in one year by children in a concentration camp in Czechoslovakia.

What made this more horrific was it was especially performed for the Red Cross who came to inspect the camp. What the representatives did not know at the time was that much of what they saw was a show and that one of the reasons the camp seemed so comfortable was that many of its residents had been deported to Auschwitz to reduce crowding. Later Brundibár was filmed for a Nazi propaganda film that showed what an idyllic place the camp was. When the filming was completed Krása and most of the children were taken to Auschwitz. Most were gassed upon their arrival.

The story of Brundibár is about two fatherless children whose mother is ill. The doctor tells them she needs milk to recover, but they have no money to buy more. They decide to sing in the marketplace to raise the needed money. But the evil organ grinder Brundibár chases them away. However, with the help of a fearless sparrow, keen cat, and wise dog, and the children of the town, they are able to chase Brundibár away, and sing joyously about defeating evil in the market square, saving their mother.

Sendak wrote a children’s book by the same title and added a PS after the happy ending from Brundibár. “They think they have won the fight, they think I’m gone — not quite. Nothing ever works out neatly. Bullies don’t give up completely. One departs, another appears, and we shall meet again my dears! Tho’ I go, I won’t go far. I’ll be back. Love, Brundibár.

Luke’s story is also a reminder that the satanic will be around us always, for part of being human is carrying demons, just as part of being human is fleshing out the divine. Our 21st century minds rebel against the idea of demons, but we do know that our biases and prejudices -- often taught to us or absorbed from our collective unconsciousness, our scars from past experiences, and our fears are the faces of those demons. When we project our demons onto others who we perceive as different from us we are no different than the Gerasenes. We don’t mind others seeing our divinity, but we need scapegoats to bear away the evil in our own hearts that it may not be revealed.

When Jesus dismissed the cultural norms that isolated the troubled man to be in relationship with him, the Gerasenes were less than pleased. In doing so Jesus helped them to see he was not all that different from them. Or — perhaps more to the point — Jesus helped them see that they were not all that different from the man running around naked among the tombs. Whichever way they saw it, they didn’t much appreciate having it brought to their attention, so they told Jesus to be on his way.

Jesus is bringing it to our attention as well. Who do we demonise? Who are the demoniacs that we chain to the margins of our lives? Are we prepared to upset the status quo and unchain them and sit down to talk with them? Are we prepared to discover that they are not much different than ourselves?

Do we have the compassion of Jesus? Do we have the courage of Mischevous Max? “And when he came to the place where the wild things are they roared their terrible roars and gnashed their terrible teeth and rolled their terrible eyes and showed their terrible claws till Max said “BE STILL!”

Only if we have that compassion and courage, and remember that Brundibár is not far away, will the world be a little less evil.