Worship, Sun 23 June: 'What is your name?'

READINGS/ Psalm 22.19-28; Luke 8.26-39

SERMON ‘What is your name?’

Let’s pray:
may the words of my mouth and the thoughts of all our hearts, be acceptable in your sight, O Lord, our strength and our redeemer. Amen.

I know I've shared the following story with some  of you over coffee before today, so if you've heard it, bear with me!

It was the first year of high school.
In fact, it was the first week of high school.
Out with the old uniform, in with the new;
out with the old teachers, the old classrooms,
even the old way of teaching –
in with the new:
we were to be guinea-pigs for a new way of teaching.
Everything, shiny and new –
and we were still just young enough
to be bright-eyed, and bushy-tailed and eager;
we weren’t yet quite at the ‘look bored and be cool’ phase.
We rejoiced in giggling at the name of the Head Teacher –
a long, thin, beanpole of a woman who was very, very serious:
we knew this by the way her hair was pinned in a tight, neat, dark grey bun,
and by the way her glasses perched at the tip of her nose...just ‘so’.
We discovered, in that first, fresh week,
that Mrs G. would take us for something called I.S. – Integrated Studies.
This would be taught along with a variety of other, more traditional subjects.
Compared to them, I.S. was all very...‘fluffy’.
And, in that very first lesson, Mrs G. talked about names.
‘If you had the opportunity to choose your name, what would you call yourself?’
We were 12.
Some of us hadn’t ever thought about this –
quietly content, and just plodding along wearing our name.
Others hated their given name, didn’t feel it was ‘them’
and had other names already picked out.
Some just thought the whole thing a bit silly, and just clowned around,
trying to come up with what they thought was
the silliest – or perhaps rudest – name.
But Mrs G. looked into mid-distance, thinking of her chosen name
and talked dreamily of sparkling sea,
and of crisp white sails on a trim yacht... with the name ‘Esmerelda’.
A name none of us would ever have dreamed of choosing –
a name some of us thought belonged more
to the wicked witch of the west than a yacht.
There were many giggles.
To this day, I’m not quite sure what the point of the class was:
perhaps it was about identity...
but it was all a wee bit of a loss to most of us after we heard the name ‘Esmerelda.’

‘What’s in a name?’ asks Juliet, in Romeo and Juliet.
Well, everything.
It’s often the first piece of information we receive about someone –
we first exchange names before we tend to give any other verbal information.
To offer your name is the first step in breaking down a social barrier,
it’s a part of who we are:
the most basic part of our identity.
It’s why, in some cultures, there are whole rituals around the giving of a name...
and back in the day, some even thought that to give your name to readily
was to give away some of your power –
better to keep the barriers up, than find yourself powerless.
There’s something important about a name.

Our gospel passage this morning is both about barriers and names.
It takes place immediately after the story of Jesus calming the storm on the Sea of Galilee.
It’s a story about a fearful crossing by boat –
a boat that I suspect wasn’t called ‘Esmerelda’ –
and it paints a picture of sheer terror.
Just as a wee reminder:
the disciples, most of whom are hardy fishermen and very used to travelling by boat,
are mightily afraid that this will be their time of reckoning –
the storm is too great,
and they’ll be overcome.
It’s a story about outer turmoil –
the powerful elements of nature pitted against frail humans.
In amongst the rain, and the spray of waves, there’s a lot of fear.
And then, all is calm:
the power of nature stopped with the power of a word from Jesus.
It’s an action which has the disciples asking:
‘who is this that even the wind and the waves obey him?’

So, having had this experience, filled with a mix of fear and wonder,
they make it to the other side of the Sea –
and find themselves in the territory of the Gerasenes.
They’ve crossed a boundary.
They’re in Gentile territory now.
They have barely landed,
and even as they walk on the beach feeling the sand crunch underfoot,
even as they adjust the damp clothes that remind them
of what’s happened out there on the water,
the disciples watch as a naked man almost immediately appears before Jesus.
If the storm on the Sea was, in part, about outer turmoil,
the encounter with the man as they land is very much about inner turmoil.
Here is an anguished soul.

Now, with our 21st century sensibilities and our better understanding
of medical science and the human brain, and such,
we might feel more comfortable in thinking that the man
had some kind of mental health issue than think about evil spirits.
Whether you want to go down the route -
of severe mental illness,
or demon-possession,
or whatever,
clearly, the point here is that this man is not well.
And his whole identity is consumed with this.
When Jesus asks the man’s name
the only way that the man is able to define himself
is by what it is that’s ailing him –
by what it is that is causing him to be the way he is;
by what it is that’s tormenting him.
It’s taken him over completely:
there’s so much happening within him that he’s overwhelmed.
His troubles are indeed ‘Legion’,
and he has been utterly broken.
And what I find so fascinating by the use of the name ‘Legion’ is this:
for those who lived in the ancient Roman world,
that name meant something akin to what we might think of as a ‘battalion’...
A legion was a unit of about 6 000 highly trained Roman soldiers...
an occupying army.
The man who approaches Jesus is, essentially, under occupation by his troubles.
He’s in his own personal prison
and no longer knows who he is –
no longer has his own name,
his own sense of identity...
he’s been taken over.

There’s mention of him at some point having been chained and guarded –
presumably by the townsfolk for their, and his own, safety...
but he can’t be contained –
he’s hell-bent on self-destruction
and his demons, his illness, drive him away from the safety net of human companionship.
This take over has cost him his house,
his dignity.,
his life:
it’s as if he were the walking dead –
he spends his days away from the townsfolk actually living in the tombs:
a haunting, haunted creature who lives under a brutal occupying power indeed:
‘Legion.’

From somewhere deep within,
this man who is in completely dire circumstances,
somehow knows that the man who has just got off the boat
and is walking along the beach has power –
power that he's not afraid to use.
For all the strangeness and behaviour of the troubled man,
for all that he may appear quite fearsome,
the fear here is coming not from Jesus,
but from the man who approaches him.
We assume he’s seeking help, perhaps,
given that he’s approached Jesus but, I’m not so sure.
Just as his illness has driven him away from the townsfolk,
perhaps the man is trying to drive Jesus away?
The ‘legion’ wants to keep occupying –
to stay in control, after all, of this one that they’ve reduced to almost a wild animal.

‘What’s in a name?’ asked Juliet...
Identity.
The very first thing that Jesus says to this hardly recognisable human being is:
‘What is your name?’
And by doing so, shows that he recognises that here is a person...
The question is the beginning of Jesus calling the man back to his full humanity -
To his self,
and to his identity as one who
is precious,
is of value,
and who is a beloved child of God –
whose name is known by God.

What about the pigs?
Well, so often when we hear this story, we get a little focused on the pigs...
Sure, it’s probably bad news for those
who were looking after the pigs –
they may have just lost their job,
and their boss may have just lost
a tidy source of income...
nothing to sell to the actual occupying
Romans now.
It's not such great news for the pigs, either.
But in the wider arc of the story, the pigs are a bit of a sideshow:
the main attraction is Jesus
and a mightily troubled man
restored to God,
and restored to himself.
We find him clothed.
We find him calm and in his right mind.
He sits at Jesus’ feet, no longer tormented.
Free at last.

Over time, the townsfolk have become used to the man and his strange ways.
They’ve tried to just get on the best way they could and put up with him.
When they come from the town to the beach,
after the swineherds have told their story to anyone who’ll listen,
what they see is a scene of total transformation,
and it doesn’t fill them with joy –
they’d tried to control the situation:
they’d tried to chain the man hand and foot.
They’d failed, and had resigned themselves to just trying to ignore the whole situation.
Maybe it'd go away in due time.
And now they see power –
a power they’ve never had,
a power that’s released the man,
and they are terrified.
Echoing the disciples who had been terrified in the boat,
you can almost hear them whisper:
‘Who is this who can command the spirits?’
Jesus is not welcomed with open arms –
they beg him to go...
and so he does.
And while the man asks if he can come,
he has a different calling:
instead of following Jesus as he travels with the disciples,
the man stays within his community.
He will still be a disciple.
He will spread the good news –
‘Return home and tell how much God has done for you,’ Jesus instructs him,
and so, he does:
he tells all over the town –
there’s no one who does not know what’s happened to him.
If the townsfolk thought things were awkward before,
things have just got a lot more tricky:
by staying, he is a constant reminder.
This was the wild man,
the naked guy who lived in the tombs...
and through God’s power,
here he is, restored.
Every time he goes to the village square,
every time he goes to the market,
every time he passes by the local inn,
or turns up for a community meeting,
the fact of his very being among them
is a witness to the power of God in Jesus...
of God’s power to restore,
to make whole,
to transform.

We never learn his true name,
but that doesn’t matter – God knows it...
And God knows our name.
What are the things that occupy us –
that occupy our time,
that occupy our attention,
that take hold of us in such a way
that we feel overwhelmed...
that we feel like we’ve begun to lose a sense of who we are?
Think back to Jesus.
Hear him asking:
‘What is your name?’
Hear, in that question, him calling you back to yourself –
your true self –
the one who is known by God,
and loved by God.
In amidst the strange, busy world in which we live,
listen to that voice asking you:
‘What is your name?’
and hear yourself answering:
‘Beloved,’
because you are.  Amen.