Salvation in the Decapolis
Salvation in the Decapolis
What follows is an experiment. The lessons appointed for Sunday, 22 June 2025, included the story of the Gerasene demoniac as found in Luke 8. In this experiment I explore what it would be like to preach a sermon in which the demoniac himself would speak. This is not a sermon which was delivered, but the idea of allowing a character to speak intrigues me; hence this trial balloon. (Note: The lessons are assumes to flow from Track 2—the Gospel-related track of the Revised Common Lectionary.)
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It was the noise. It started out as a low, hollow sort of buzz, almost like the “ocean” sound you hear when you place a cup over your ear. At first, I thought that there was something wrong with my ears, but I could hear well enough. The noise, though, would not go away, and as it grew it started to separate into distinct currents, into whispers that filled me with dread. The noise grew, and as it grew I could feel a great weight being placed on me.
I struggled; I yelled and raged, but the noise and the weight upon me grew. I could feel myself sinking, sinking down into a dark place in which I could hear one little voice–mine–which cried out “Save me! I am drowning!” amidst the whispers that had now become cries and hisses. They had me. They drew me and threw me about. Through my eyes I could see the horror in others’ faces as I scrambled toward them. When I fought it hurt more; but I fought. And so I shambled on, on into the tombs, into decay and further darkness, my movements jerking between how I fought and how they moved me like a puppet made out of meat, my voice the voice of one drowning, surrounded by the other-worldly animal cries of those who now made their home in me and animated this creature.
And then the dark and the coldness quivered. The hate of those whom I fought with, and who fought each other within me flared. But they were scared; they were scared and contended with each other in their fear and hate, and I fought all the harder, all the harder so that I could get closer to the One who so frightened them. I tried to speak. I struggled to cry “Save me!” but they threw their weight upon me again, and the voice which strangled out of my throat was theirs, their voice which cried, “What have you to do with me, Jesus, Son of the Most High God? I beseech you, do not torment me” (Luke 8.28).
The same Almighty God who says, in Isaiah, “I was ready to be sought out by those who did not ask me, to be found by those who did not seek me. I said ‘Here I am, here I am’” (Isa. 65.1); the same Lord whose universal kingship is extolled in the psalm, is the One who stands before the man possessed by the legion of demons. This same God is the One who, by the prophet, speaks of judgment, saying “I will measure into their laps full payment for their actions” (Isa. 65.7). He speaks of judgment but states, as well, that God’s servants will inherit His promises (Isa. 65.8-9).
The same Almighty God who stand before the possessed man is the One to whom the psalmist cries out from oppression and danger, and even the demons stand before the author of all creation and address a person. All creatures relate to the Creator, and our being is defined in relationship to the One who made us and who made all. Relationship: the “I and thou” relationship between God and each one of us allows us the choice, the free will, to define how we stand before God, and the free will to change our standing. And so in looking at deliverance and healing I want to focus not on the authority and power exercised by God, but on our response.
The demons recognize Jesus for who He is. They even know His name. They know He is their Judge, and so they beg permission to go into the swine, seeking to avoid the lake of fire which we learn in Revelation is prepared for them. And Jesus gives them leave to enter the pigs, knowing that by this they will be destroyed. He judges them, for they have turned their backs forever on God and cannot turn to Him. The demons can’t change, but the man possessed by them can and does. Luke tells us he is there, sitting, “... clothed and in his right mind ... [begging] Jesus that he might be with him ... [then] proclaiming throughout the whole city how much Jesus had done for him ...” (Luke 8.34-39).
The noise is gone. The great weight and darkness upon me has been lifted, like I have climbed at last from the bottom of a deep pit, that my ears–my very head–have become unstopped; that my voice no longer strangles in a desperate struggle to cry out. I breathe and move without pain, without fighting the weight pressing against me, without my mind screaming within, screaming “No!” to the voices which hiss that I am a foul beast which revels in filth and decay. I see no longer as through a dark fog, but clearly. I see my own foulness and bruises, but focus not on these but on the man who stands before me, the same man who has put the voices to flight, who has lifted the weight and darkness from me.
This man knows me; how, I do not know. He knows me, for when he commanded those who pressed upon me, he spoke to me also, and for the first time my heart leapt, I lifted my heart up to him, crying for joy. He knows me; me, the one inside of the foulness out of which I have been called and delivered.
The man freed from the demons is not the same as he was before. No one of us is ever the same after God’s power has acted in our lives, after any healing, for healing is transformative. We don’t just return to the status quo ante. Whatever has been lifted from our lives, whether this be pain or hurt, the scar of hate or debility of disease, has left us changed. More importantly, we are changed by the fact that what has oppressed us has been lifted, that God has healed us, and it is in this change that we lift our hearts up to proclaim God’s love, God’s greatness; to let all others know that there is a God and that He knows each one of us.
God’s power is expressed in relationship. We have never (thank God!) been oppressed to the level of the man possessed by Legion, but each one of us bears some scar of past hurt, or bears the burden of hurt which exists now; and when we offer our hearts to God, when we thank Jesus for how He has healed us, or when we are grateful for how Jesus now helps us to carry our heavy burden, then like the poor fellow bruised in broken fetters in the tombs we cannot but want to follow our Lord. And that’s Luke’s point. When the man asks to be with Jesus it is in the context of the herdsmen and townspeople expressing fear and amazement; fearing this powerful one, and asking that He leave the neighborhood. The words that the man uses are ones that indicate he wants to be a disciple. He too–indeed he most of all–recognizes God’s power expressed in Jesus, but in this recognition he is not afraid. He responds in adoration.
The words Luke uses are translated that the man begged Jesus “that he might be with him” (Luke 8.38). These are the same words Mark uses when he describes Jesus appointing His twelves disciples “to be with him” (Mark 3.14)[Trust me, this is a lot clearer in Greek!], twelve appointed “to preach and have authority to cast out demons” (Mark 3.14-15). In other words the man begs Jesus that he, too, might now so lift up his heart to God that God might appoint him to do God’s work. He knows God’s power. He knows this power in relationship, and he responds by offering his heart to God, to cement this knowledge of God and relationship with God in a life of love and service.
The man who saved me, “they” knew His name, “Jesus,” “God saves”. God saves; God has saved me. They knew and were afraid, for all of their foulness could not stand in the light which He brought. I want to be with this Jesus. I want to be in this light. I want to follow Him, knowing that His great power is expressed in how He saves and heals. But He tells me that I must go back to those who knew me, knew me as one covered in filth, howling like a beast, breaking chains against rock. They knew me as one to run from, as one unclean and frightening, and it is to these people that Jesus would have me go, to tell how much the Lord has done for me, and what mercy He has shown me.
The Lord has done all for me. His mercy is everlasting. His love heals all, lifts up all. His power is in His love, love expressed in how He knows me, and I must express my love in how I know Him. The people are amazed. Throughout the Decapolis the people are amazed, for they see healing they had not thought possible. They see wholeness and health where before there was only darkness and decay. But as amazing as this change is, their amazement is that of those who now can see that the power of the Most High, the power of the One who laid the foundations of the earth is expressed to each of us. This power is expressed to me in creation, but especially in the love which has redeemed me. I have seen “the power of the dog ...the lion’s mouth” (Ps. 22.19-20), but I have been freed from this power, from this evil, called out of darkness by the One who has made the light, who brings the light, who calls me into the light, that I might call all others into the light.
How much has Jesus done for you? How will you tell others what He has done?