Healing a Little at a Time

Reflections on Luke 8:26-39

I was ready to be sought out by those who did not ask. Isaiah 65:1a

It was in the midst of one of the difficult and darker moments of my life — I was struggling with work that was impossible and completely out of balance and also some more tender things with my family — I met a woman, I’ll call Liza. She lived on my street a couple blocks up and we had dinner one night at her house and got together a few times. It was really fun. 

But then a whole bunch of things happened. Her mom died after a long struggle with cancer and everything in my new friend’s life got thrown upside down. She cleared some things up, and suddenly, quickly, she made some major life decisions and in the span of just a few months, she was happy like she’d never been in her adult life. 

As I sat on the sidelines (I wasn’t part of her inner circle) watching her life unfold, mostly on social media, hearing about her new freedom, job, partner, and house, I felt vague jealousy. In that season of my life I was stuck and I couldn’t figure out how to extricate myself. I was in a season of waiting, of yearning for something different, and when I saw her living her “best life” as they say, I just wanted it. I wanted the crisp decisions, the easy outs, and so instead of moving closer, I moved further away. 

Honestly, I liked her more when she was a mess than when she had it all “figured out.” (I can’t help but say here, that no one really has it figured out and that obliterating a life might not have been a good choice long term. But let’s not lose the point.) 

I wonder if this was how it was with the people on the other side of the lake. 

Our gospel story is a crazy one. As my colleague said last week, it would make a good horror movie. It might have been a better story line than the Exorcist 2. There’s the man possessed, living among the graves — that unclean place according to the Jewish law and customs. There’s the ones who possessed him, “Legion.” There’s the abyss. Does anyone else wonder about the abyss? There’s the herd of pigs, also unclean according to Jewish law and customs. There’s the drowning of the pigs. If it were a Hollywood movie, that’s where it would end. 

But it’s not. It’s a Luke story, so we get yet another layer. 

Instead of rejoicing that the man possessed was healed, instead of wondering who could have been such a healer, instead of delighting with his family(I hope) when they saw that beautiful man healed, clothed, and in his right mind, sitting at the feet of Jesus, they were afraid. They didn’t wonder if they too could be healed. They didn’t like the healing. They sent Jesus away and wanted nothing more to do with him. 

I have a lot of wondering about this today. I wonder the obvious — why were they afraid of Jesus? I mean, they might not have had a whole lot to do with the possessed man when he was living among the graves, but were they afraid of him? It doesn’t seem so. This seems like a strange choice. 

I guess there are always going to be people who would prefer it the old way. Instead of rejoicing when someone is healed, they’re going to want us to remain the same way we used to be, bound by the same demons they are, afflicted by the same wounds they are, trapped in the old ways, kicking against the goads, still bound. Or maybe they’re not trapped but seeing someone sick, someone possessed, makes you feel a little better. At least we’re not like Bob, who spends all his time in the graveyard naked. At least my life is a little better than Bob’s life; I actually talk to my family. At least I’m not possessed by a legion of demons. At least Jesus didn’t have to heal me, like he did Bob, because I was so bad off. 

But y’all, the time is short. There’s no time to waste. It’s not worth another day sitting with the graves, or in our houses even, and as for healing, we’re all being healed a little at a time, and the way I see it is that when I see one of you being healed, I remember that I too can be healed; when I see one of you living their “best life,” I remember that way is also open for me; when I see one of you stuck, I pray for you, because often the realization of stuck-ness is the beginning of another way. 

I say this today knowing that last night, we went to war. I say this today, yearning for peace. I say this today, living in a time that seems altogether foreign to me, knowing what I can’t do (bring peace to the world, change the hearts of our leaders, etc), and wondering what I can do. I say this today with hope and with clarity. 

Because it’s not the time to sit in our houses being afraid, especially being afraid of Jesus. It’s not the time to be offended by someone else’s healing. It’s the time to yearn, to pray, to hope, to change, to heal. 

I want to tell the story of a beloved woman, one who passed just as I was moving to Michigan. She’d struggled since having a stroke, so was in the nursing home, or “health care” as they called in Richmond. She and I talked a lot about freedom — one just isn’t free when you’re in “health care.” No one would have called her family loving. In fact, they were often unkind and even mean. But one time, she discovered that if she brought guests to family gatherings, they behaved just a wee bit better. So she brought more guests and more guests. In fact, she planned it so that she was never alone during a family holiday and she chose the ones who didn’t have family in the area as her guests. Two stones, one bird. Not only did her action protect her, it also blessed her guests and her family.

I say this to remind us that it isn’t always the big things that we do, not always the big decisions, not always the huge changes that bring about healing, but it’s the little things. Stopping the conversation before things get really heated. Refusing to hate. Remembering all the little ways to love and then doing them. Telling the stories of God’s faithfulness. Listening with our hearts. Inviting all. Reminding others of their belovedness. 

The world needs us more than ever.