the devil you know

These two guys were terrifying.

They were strong. They were irrational. They were unreasonable. They were random. They were full of it, if it means evil. They lived among the tombs, making funerals frightening. They waited just off the road, making travel troubling.

These two men may not have understood why everyone stayed away. They may not have understood why no one trusted them, why everyone turned around.

And, of course, Jesus is by the tombs. Making a string of unlikely pearls, Matthew adds another story mentioning death. And it isn’t just about the tombs. A herd of pigs die as they are filled with demons and plunge into the lake.

That is the beginning of the story that the herdsmen tell to the people of the town.

Our pigs died. This guy from across the lake made it happen. Oh yes, it looked like he was talking to the tomb-guys. But our pigs! He killed our pigs!

The town came. A herd of pigs over a cliff is a big deal. And they begged Jesus to go away.

It seems to us like a good deal. Two guys can have civilized conversations for the first time in what seems like forever at the cost of a heard of pigs.

For the people of the town, however, the pigs were the big deal. They had learned to walk around the two men. They had written off the lives of those two me to unfortunate circumstances. It was hard on the guys, but bad stuff happens.

Jesus turned the local economy upside down, giving human life the value of 100 pigs. It was a bigger price than the people were willing to live with.

Rather than talking to the savior the didn’t know, they prefered the devil they knew. I understand. Unfortunately.

storm

Commercial fishermen understand weather.

Commercial fishermen understand water.

That understanding is their salary. That understanding is their life.  That understanding can mean their life, when a storm comes up unexpectedly.

One day Jesus climbs in a boat. His disciples follow him. A storm comes up. They are scared to death. They are scared of death.

I have to wonder if there was any time between Jesus climbing in the boat and the conversation that is recorded immediately before. Because if the one happened immediately after the other, at least one of the disciples had to be thinking, “‘follow me’, he says, and we follow him into a boat and now we’ll die. And if we die out here, only the dead will be able to bury the dead.”

And that’s how it works. We heard a lesson on Sunday. We heard a sermon. We taught a lesson. And in the process we decided that we were going to follow, we were going to get in the boat when Jesus dis. We were going to be there with him.

Sometime overnight a storm kicked up. It’s there in your email this morning, or on your voicemail, or in your mind when you wake up at 4:00am to let the dog out. You get in the boat, there is a storm, and Jesus decided to sleep in.

At least that’s what happened for the disciples. There is a storm, the kind that makes even commercial fishermen scared and Jesus is not paying attention, not caring, not waking up.

But if he’s in the boat, is he really going to let it sink? Really?

Or is he allowing enough storm that no one on the boat can handle it without him? No one, on their own, can ride it out.

But with him?

on burying

It seems to be a simple statement.

“First let me go bury my father.”

The response seems simply abrupt.

“Follow me, and let the dead bury their dead.”

This conversation between a disciple and Jesus is one that forces us to the commentaries. We can’t believe that Jesus would be that demanding on the day someone’s father died.

It would have to be right on the day, after all. Bodies are buried the same day as a person dies in the hot weather of Israel.

But maybe it wasn’t on the day, because we know that in the culture there was a time between burying and then reburying the bones.

But maybe it wasn’t even in that period, because there was a clear commandment to honor parents. Maybe this man’s father was ill, needing care. Or maybe this man was just wanting to wait.

I’m fascinated that we have no clue about the context. We have no clue whether or not the man had what seemed to be a good reason for his statement. All we know is that in response to what seems to be a perfectly reasonable request, Jesus said, “follow me.”

So I need to switch to the father’s perspective.

If my child says, “but who will take care of you?” I want to say, “follow Jesus.” If my child says, “but who will do the funeral?” I want to say, “follow Jesus.” If my child says, “but if I’m called across the country because that’s where God needs me, I might miss that holiday,” I want to say, “follow Jesus.”

Because as a dad, the last thing I want from my child is to hear them say, ‘Dad, I had to choose between following Jesus no matter what or you…and aren’t you glad? I picked you.”

except at night

“I’ll follow you, Jesus”

That’s what the teacher of the law said.

“Wherever you go, I’ll follow you.”

Jesus doesn’t really answer him. I mean, he tells the man that he doesn’t have a home, that he doesn’t have a place to lay his head, that he doesn’t have a family room or a garage or a  recliner, that he doesn’t have a home phone number or a twin-size bed or monogrammed pillowcases that he got for his wedding.

Jesus tells the man that to follow him is to be homeless.

And there is no response from the man.

Which means, of course, that we have no option but to wrestle with Jesus’ statement.

I mean, if we knew that that man walked away, we could feel proud because we would never do that. If the man had said, “I don’t care. I’m with you whatever,” we could feel proud that we are the same way.

But there isn’t any response. There isn’t any room for pride. There isn’t any possibility of comparing our response to his.

All we have is the opportunity to look in the mirror.

“I’ll follow you, Jesus.”

That’s what we say. That’s what we want to say. That’s the commitment we make. And then Jesus looks at us and says, “animals even have places to stay. But I don’t own anything.”

And we have to decide how much we are going to own, or how much we are going to let own us. How lightly can we travel? How quickly can we move? How much can we walk away from?

I don’t think that the next step is just words: “Yes, Jesus.” I think that the next step for the man was whether he literally walked behind Jesus as the sun was setting that night.

a short course in healing

If you are around people who pray, you have heard people asking for prayer about healing. “Someone is sick, pray that they will be healed.” “Tell as many people as you know to pray.”

And yet, in spite of all that praying, there are still sick people. There are still people dying.

It is a challenge for the followers of Jesus. Why some, not others? Why were you healed and I wasn’t?

And then we look to the Bible for the rules, for the guidelines.

In Matthew 8, we read three specific healing stories.

“If you are willing. “
“I am willing.”

“You can do it at a distance.”
“Look at this faith.”

[Jesus sees a sick woman]
[healing]

[bringing people]
[healing]

So what are the principles? What can we learn that will help us get healing every time we ask? (Because that’s our goal, right?)

1. Jesus doesn’t have to physically touch, but sometimes he does.

2. A specific request isn’t always given, but sometimes it is.

3. When there is a request, it isn’t a formula.

4. It can be the sick person, someone else, or no one asking.

5. Many people can know about the request or no one can know.

6. The problem may be disease, an injury, or a short-term illness.

7. The social status of the requester doesn’t matter, though all three stories have people who, in that society, were at the margins  (leper, gentile, servant, woman)

So how do we summarize this?

Jesus heals who he wants to, when he wants to, where he wants to, how he wants to. But he heals. And it doesn’t hurt to ask. And he really likes confidence, not in his ability to be amazing, but a confidence that he knows what he is doing.

While it’s not about how many prayers, he’s open to requests.