Christ the King-Epiphany Church, Wilbraham

The Rev. Martha S. Sipe

June 22, 2025 / Second Sunday after Pentecost / Lectionary 12C

Galatians 3:23-29; Luke 8:26-39

Since it was my brother from whom Jesus cast out the demons, and having lived my whole life in the Gerasa region where the story in the gospel took place, I will say that I’ve heard the story told more times than I can count.  And you want to know what the first thing everyone always asks me when they find out who I am and where I’m from?  “Why did Jesus kill the pigs?”  And I just try to stifle an eye roll.  Because really . . . that’s what you want to ask me about this story?  You don’t want to ask me about how Jesus healed my brother?  You want to ask me about . . . the pigs?

“Was it because Jesus was Jewish, and Jews don’t eat pork?” I hear that one a lot.  But that’s just silly, in my opinion.  Shellfish aren’t kosher either, but you don’t see Jesus killing clams along the Mediterranean, do you?  

And then there are the farmers and the business-minded people.  They get indignant about this story.  The most common sentiment I’ve heard those folks express is:  “Who did Jesus think he was, destroying their livelihood?”  See, we were mostly Gentiles there on the other side of the Sea of Galilee, not Jews.  And we liked our pork.  The way St. Luke tells the story, it was a large herd of pigs, but when Mark tells the story, he nails it down more precisely.  It was 2,000 pigs.  That’s a lot of bacon that didn’t get taken to market or brought home and fried up in a pan.  

And then you folks – from the 21st century – you get all hung up on animal rights.  You say that God loves the whole creation, and pigs are God’s creatures, too . . . and you’ve got a point.  But that’s not something that people in my day got too worked up about.

And anyway, friends, let me remind you:  it wasn’t Jesus who killed the pigs.  It was the demons.  Demons cause death and destruction wherever they go.  And while I grant you, it is a little sad about the pigs, can I just say . . . while I’m sorry for the pigs, I was thrilled to get my brother back.  For me, this story is all about how Jesus rescued my baby brother from a life of sheer torture and gave him back to our family.

I sense that you’re a little surprised to learn that the guy with the demons had a sister.  How could you have known?  He isn’t even named in the story.  Luke says his name was Legion, but that was just his “nickname,” if you will.  And not even a very nice nickname, at that.  A legion has about 6,000 soldiers in it.  So what people meant by calling him Legion was that he had such a ridiculous number of demons that he was considered a hopeless case. “Legion” was just another way of saying, “Loser.”  And what’s even sadder than the nickname itself is that my brother just accepted the name because he knew that’s what people thought of him.  That’s why when Jesus asked him his name, he didn’t say the name that our parents gave him; he used the cruel nickname that others used for him because he had come to believe that that’s who he really was . . . beyond redemption.

The nickname isn’t the only slur that was used against my brother.  If your Bible has subheadings, this story is probably called “The Gerasene demoniac.”  Honestly, being known as a demoniac is not much better than being called “Legion.”  It’s a label, not a name.  If you struggle with addiction, would you like it if people called you “the addict?”  If you were unhoused, would you want others referring to you as “that homeless person?”   Of course not!  We are, all of us, more than our labels.  

And that, friends, is the good news that I hope you will take away from this story:  we are more than our labels, and more than our afflictions.  While others just saw an outcast who was actually a danger to the community, Jesus really saw my brother for who he was.  He saw beyond my brother’s labels – Legion, Loser, Less than – to see the beloved child of God.  Jesus saw more than his demons.  And whether you believe his demons were spiritual, or mental, or physical – and believe me, I’ve heard all the interpretations (that he was possessed, that he suffered from mental illness, that he had some sort of physical condition) – no matter the cause of his suffering, Jesus saw the person who needed rescuing, who needed release from the chains and shackles that bound him.  Jesus saw my brother.

And he sees you, too. 

Jesus sees beyond how the world labels us.  Isn’t that what St. Paul was talking about when he writes:  “There is no longer Jew or Greek; there is no longer slave or free; there is no longer male and female;” and I would go on:  there is no longer rich or poor; there is no longer able-bodied or disabled; there is no longer gay or straight; there is no longer conservative or progressive; there is no longer Black or white . . . those labels, while they may very well be important to us here below, do not define us whatsoever in heaven, for we are all one in Christ Jesus.  We are all beautiful and beloved in his eyes.

What is more, Jesus sees what we truly need.  Just like he saw my brother’s suffering, saw how much he needed to be made whole by returning him to home and family, so he sees what we need to make us whole.  No matter what keeps us bound and shackled, no matter what holds us back or holds us down, whether it’s illness or addiction or depression or anxiety or abuse or poverty or grief or isolation or stereotype or prejudice – whatever it is that keeps us from being all that we were created to be, Jesus wants to bust through those barriers and set us free – free to enjoy the benefits of belonging to him, free to tell the world what he has done for us.

You know, the funny thing about my brother’s nickname – Legion – it started out as an insult because people thought he had so many strikes against him.  But after he met Jesus, after Jesus set him free from the army of forces and factors working against him, my brother actually decided to keep the name and give it a new interpretation.  I guess it’s a little like the word queer used to be used as a slur, but some people actually use it with pride.  It was the same way for Legion:  he wanted to be known as the person who told a legion of people about the love of Jesus.

May you find comfort in knowing that Jesus sees you like he saw my brother – beyond the way the world labels you.  May Jesus free you from whatever keeps you bound.  And may the Holy Spirit empower you, like Legion, to tell lots and lots of people what God has done for you.