What Does it Really Mean to Be Free?
Series: Summer Sermons at MAPC
Category: Freedom
Speaker: Rev. Jenny McDevitt
Tags: freedom, unity
It was back around the time I was 6 or 7. We had been studying American History in school, and I was full of newly-gleaned information from my teacher. I was also full of newly-acquired sass from some of my classmates. This all came to a head on an afternoon I’ll not forget any time soon. On the day in question, the bus dropped me off, I walked into the house, I threw my backpack on the floor, and I helped myself to a cookie.
A few minutes later, my mother walked through the kitchen, carefully taking stock of the mess on the floor and the crumbs on my shirt. “Little miss,” she said, “what exactly do you think you’re doing?”
“Having a snack,” I replied, reaching for another cookie.
“Those aren’t for a snack,” she said. “Those are for everyone to enjoy after dinner.”
“Mother,” I replied, with all the confidence of a second-grade scholar, “It is a free country. I can do whatever I want.”
I will leave it to your imagination as to how the rest of that conversation played out.
Now, I hope and pray, and indeed trust, that all of us here today understand that the Declaration of Independence was not in fact drafted and signed in order that I might eat more than my fair share of cookies—even if it does reference the pursuit of happiness as an unalienable right.
There is no shortage of debate and discussion and derision these days about what freedom means in our country, and who has a right to it, and who gets to apply for it, and who gets to enforce it, and who is denied it and who gets to define it. These are critical questions, for today and for the future, and I pray daily for our lawmakers and those whose lives are shaped and scattered by them. But, I am not a lawyer nor a politician, and this is not a courtroom nor a pressroom. I am a theologian, a pastor and a preacher by trade, training, and calling. And this is a sanctuary, a house to worship God, by design and by demand. For this reason, when it comes to any of life’s big questions, in this place, we turn to scripture to hear what the Word of God has to say, and we listen to what the Spirit whispers as she moves through the world.
Our gospel reading this morning has quite a bit to say about freedom. It’s another miracle story. I told you last week Mark is chock-full of them. And this time around, as soon as Jesus steps from the boat onto land, he encounters a man who is anything but free. He is burdened by a demon, one whose strength is obvious. The story is, in some ways, exactly as we expect—Jesus exorcises the demon and heals the man. All who witness this, or hear about this, are amazed and afraid, and the man is sent on his way, told to return home. Introduction, conflict, miracle, resolution, departure. It’s how these scriptural stories are supposed to go.
After all, Jesus comes to set us free from everything that hinders us and holds us back. He proclaims release to captives—regardless of what holds us captive, and he binds up everything that is broken. He feeds thousands, keeps promises, and destroys death. He resists temptation, rages against injustice, offers forgiveness, and constantly pulls our best selves into the light. He turns water into wine and heals the sick. He restores the lonely and abandoned back into community, gives us a new commandment, and loves even when, maybe especially when, nothing could be harder. So, of course, he casts the demon out.
It was because of this demon that the man, whose name we never learn, is forced to live outside the bounds of the city he calls home. Over the years, he has been restrained and shackled and chained. He wanders among the tombs, as good as dead, howling and bruising himself with stones. The demon has stripped this man of every shred of humanity and has cut him off from every possibility of human contact. God created humankind in the divine image, but this man seems to have lost the “image of God” that makes him human. He is a splintered shadow of his former self. Jesus cannot help but intervene.
And that, in and of itself, is an important nuance to notice. Every other time Jesus chooses to heal someone, his choice is in response to a request, a plea by the individual themselves, or more commonly by someone who cares for them. Help me, they say, help us. Make this right, make life, real life, possible again. And, he always does. But here, no request comes. Jesus steps out of the boat, and the man comes to him immediately, but before the man can say anything, Jesus says, “Come out of the man, you unclean spirit.”
In other words, he says to the demon, “Get out of here. This is no place for you. You are not welcome here. You will not be permitted to hurt this man any longer.” The demon—whose name we learn is Legion—Legion listens and obeys. And the man is finally free, free from his demon.
The freedom Christ offers us, it seems, comes to us whether we ask for it or not. It is not something we need to find words for, nothing we need to explain. God, the creator of the world, working through Jesus Christ, reaches into chaos once again, and creates order and beauty and fullness of life, because that is who God is and that what God does. Through the grace of the Lord Jesus Christ, nothing more and nothing less, freedom is yet another gift we receive, another birthright bestowed upon us simply because we are children of God, and therefore heirs of the kingdom of God.
This story comes on the heels of Jesus calming the storm—freeing the disciples from danger, but even more so, from their fear. Even the natural world is no match for God.
This story also comes overflowing with political undertones. When prompted, the demon declares its name: Legion. Legion, we understand today, to communicate a great number or a great strength. It did back in Jesus’ day, too. But, back then, it also communicated something else. Historical evidence has taught us that the 10th Legion was a military entity that had been stationed in the area for years.[1] These imperial powers controlled the region, and they perceived themselves to be the source of civilization and peace. The local population, however, had a very different perception. They had no ability to resist the controlling reach of these powers, and, again, as historical evidence has shown us, these powers were not only oppressive, but dangerous to anyone who dared challenge them.
One last detail. The most common battalion size for the Legion was 2,048. And when “the unclean spirits came out and entered the swine, the herd, numbering about 2,000, rushed down the steep bank into the lake, and were drowned.” It seems that God’s reign cannot be outmaneuvered by anything in the political world, either. There is simply nothing, natural, political, or otherwise, around us or within us, that can interfere with God’s ultimate plan for our freedom. Nothing. Nothing yesterday, nothing today, and nothing tomorrow.
But, you’ll notice there’s still plenty of story left to sift through. And here is where the story is less predictable. After being healed of his Legion, the man doesn’t run home. He doesn’t jump for joy or start imagining what his new future might look like. He sits, quietly, and watches as his fellow citizens still keep him at a distance, still approach cautiously, still have fear in their eyes. Seeing for themselves what had happened, they don’t jump for joy, either. Instead, they ask Jesus to leave. They beg him to leave. The man, in turn, begs Jesus to let him accompany him.
This is where the story surprises me the most, I think. This is the first recorded instance—maybe the only recorded instance—of anyone asking to follow Jesus. The rest were instructed to follow him, and some even followed begrudgingly or hesitantly. This man begs to follow him, and Jesus declines.
Earlier, Jesus did what the man needed without waiting to be asked. And now, when asked, Jesus says, essentially, no. The Jesus I have gotten used to, the Jesus I thought I understood—would have said, “Yes, of course. Come and follow me. Leave these burdens behind. We will travel to new places and I will show you new ways.” Those are words he has said and will say to others. But Jesus, bless his heart (that’s what we say in the south when we really mean something else), Jesus is never entirely predictable. We cannot control what he will do or what we can expect from him. But we can be assured that whatever he does or does not do, it is consistent with the kingdom of God. He always acts in accordance with God’s divine will. Which is to say, he is always working to save us, set us free, and lead us home.
Set us free. There’s that word again, freedom.
If the man in Mark’s gospel shared my second-grade understanding of freedom, he would have pushed Jesus aside and climbed aboard the boat. Or, at least he would have tried. But I think, or maybe I speculate, or maybe it’s even best to say I hope, that anyone who has had a genuine experience of Christ in their lives comes to understand that there is more about freedom than being free from. There is also being free for. Being free from and being free for.
The man is set free from the demon, and, at the same time, then, he is set free for doing exactly as Jesus instructs, for telling others what has happened and how. He is set free for helping to create the conditions under which other’s lives might also flourish.
I know. Being free to eat an after-school cookie sounds like a much better deal than being free to take on more responsibility. But real freedom, true freedom, the freedom Christ offers us, it is never just about me. It’s about me, yes, but it’s never just about me. It’s about all of us. It can be no other way, because the way God made the world, the way Christ loved the world, the way the Spirit still moves in the world, there is no ultimate peace or joy or freedom for any of us, until there is peace and joy and freedom for all of us.[2]
Freedom from, and freedom for.
It’s something like this. You’re familiar with Victor Hugo’s Les Miserables, right? Or, if not Victor Hugo’s version, the musical version? It’s the story of Jean Valjean, imprisoned for stealing bread to feed his sister’s child. After 19 years of hard labor, he is set free—set free in a world where it is not easy to be a former convict. With few options available to him, he finds himself taken in by a local bishop. Despite being well aware of the man’s past, the bishop says: “Come in sir, for you are weary, / and the night is cold out there. / Though our lives are very humble, / what we have we have to share. / There is wine here to revive you. / There is bread to make you strong. / There’s a bed to rest ‘til morning. / Rest from pain, and rest from wrong.”
Yet, in the face of such hospitality, Valjean steals silver from him under the cover of night. He is caught the next morning and brought back to the bishop by the authorities. But, rather than confirm the truth, the bishop lies, and in fact gives him even more silver, to prevent him from being arrested again. Freedom from.
He says, “My friend, you left so early, / surely something slipped your mind. / You forgot I gave these also, / would you leave the best behind? / So Messieurs you may release him, / for this man has spoken true. / I commend you for your duty, / May God’s blessing go with you. / But remember this my brother. / See in this some higher plan. / You must use this precious silver / to become an honest man. / By the witness of the martyrs, / by the passion and the blood, / God has raised you out of darkness, / I have brought your soul for God.” Freedom for.
I recognize the irony of quoting a story about the legacy of the French Revolution at the start of a week when we celebrate American independence, and the freedom as a result. But freedom, I think, when it is truly and fully realized, makes anyone and everyone—apparently even me!—sing.
Now, I said earlier—I am not a lawyer nor a politician. I am a theologian, and theologically speaking, the freedom we find in Christ transcends any and all national distinctions. The freedom we find in Christ—freedom from anything that hinders life, and freedom for helping life flourish—that is a cause far greater, and it is a cause we celebrate each week, gathered here to remind us who we are, to whom we belong, and for what we were made.
The world is a remarkably complicated place. And I think it is pretty much a given that even all of us in this room, never mind all of us in this country, will never agree on everything. That’s okay. We don’t need to. Because when we get it right, the freedom Christ gives us, the freedom we were made for, gives us plenty of room to be our unique selves with our unique perspectives. The Spirit is at work, even now, to overcome all that threatens to divide us and destroy us. Because when we are set free from the expectation that we all have to think the same way, we are set free for working together, the way Christ has called us, no matter what our perspectives, toward the day when every hunger is filled, every war is ended, every hand is held, every tear is wiped away, and every fear is silenced. We are set free for trusting in that day and living toward it.
And, to borrow some words from the founding fathers long ago: It is “for the support of that declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection and provision of Divine Providence, may we mutually pledge to each other our lives, our fortunes, and our sacred honor.”[3]
Oh, great God our king—please, we pray, let freedom ring.
[1] Information about the political implications of the term “legion” come from Ched Myers’ book Binding the Strong Man.
[2] This line, about how there is no peace or joy or freedom for any of us, until there is peace and joy and freedom for all of us, is from Frederick Buechner in The Magnificent Defeat.
[3] Final sentence of the Declaration of Independence, emphasis added.