He didn’t really just appear in the synagogue, the man with the unclean spirit. He’d been there all along, hovering in the doorway, torn between in or out, coming or going. It was just that had no one noticed him. No one ever noticed him, it was one of the benefits of being an unclean spirit, you could come and go as you pleased, no one paid any attention. He wasn’t sure why he’d come to the synagogue that day, curiosity, maybe.
The unclean spirit didn’t bother him, he’d gotten used to it with time. Somedays it was loud, a steady pounding voice, judging him, condemning him, demanding him. You don’t belong, you don’t matter, you are unwelcome, you are unclean. Those days were hard. Most days it was not, most days it just ran like a steady hum in the back of his attention. But always, every day, it was noise.
He’d heard all about this teacher Jesus. Everyone in town had heard about Jesus. Simon and Andrew, James and John were not exactly quiet about it. How this Jesus had just appeared one day in the wilderness to be baptized by John, and when he was coming out of the water, how the heavens were torn apart and a voice from heaven declared, “This is my Son.” How Jesus had been going all around Galilee, proclaiming the Good News of God, and saying, “The time is fulfilled and the kingdom of God has come near; repent and believe the good news.” And of course, the favorite story, how Simon and Andrew, James and John had come to follow him, how they’d been just standing on the seashore, minding their own business, when suddenly, out of nowhere, Jesus appeared and commanded, “Follow me,” and how seemingly despite themselves, they’d followed.
The stories were so amazing, the words so powerful, that when the Sabbath came around, and the word spread that Jesus would be teaching in the synagogue, everyone came, even the man with an unclean spirit. Came to see what Jesus would have to say.
Standing in the doorway, the man with the unclean spirit could see the astonishment on the face of the crowd. He could hear their murmuring, about how Jesus taught with authority and not as the scribes. He was not amazed.
Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. And he pushed through the crowd to where Jesus was teaching, shouting, “What have you to do with us, Jesus of Nazareth?” His voice dripped with distain, thickening with false bravado as he tried to keep steady. Truth was, he was afraid. Afraid to have come flying out of the safety of anonymity. Afraid of the attention suddenly focused on him. Afraid of how Jesus might respond to this outburst. Could Jesus see through him, through his uncertainty, through his pride, to the desperate broken humanity within him yearning for a taste of hope, yearning for the promise that Jesus just might have the authority he claimed. Begging for relief from the disillusionment of false prophets and failed beliefs, impatient for a break from the cynicism. This question was both a challenge and a prayer, a challenge that Jesus prove this authority, a desperate, hopeful prayer that he would. Caged in fear, unwilling to be disappointed again, he pushed on, daring to voice the only possibility he could imagine. “Have you come to destroy us? I know who you are, the Holy One of God.”
The crowd around Jesus let out an audible gasp. How had this man with an unclean spirit gotten INTO THE SYNAGOGUE. This was a house of worship, a holy place of God. This man had no presence being here, no right to invade their holy space. In the midst of the crowd’s whispering, Jesus stood still. He faced the man with the unclean spirit, focused on him, with his full attention. Then the man with the unclean spirit began to stir uncomfortably. It felt like this teacher could see right through him.
Then like a clap of thunder, like the slamming of a gavel, Jesus spoke. His voice cut through the noise in the man’s head, and rebuked him. But it wasn’t a rebuke like the man had experienced before, it wasn’t harsh or painful or judgmental. It didn’t even seem to be directed at him. Rebuke wasn’t even really the right word, it was more like a command. But not even a command really. There was honor in Jesus’ voice, like he saw the man he was speaking to and respected him. The words were firm, there was no question of obedience, but gentle? It was like nothing the man with the unclean spirit had ever quite experienced.
Jesus spoke, and said, “Be silent, and come out of him!” And man with the unclean spirit’s mind was filled with a silence so loud it was deafening. And even the turmoil within him, the doubts, the fears, the questions, the uncertainty, that had always been a part of him, that had always run like a low din in the back of his mind, could not be heard over the sheer, overwhelming sound of silence. The silence echoed in his mind, pounded through his eardrums, he’d never heard anything so silent. Pressed against the silence, the noise inside his mind convulsed and like a rush the unclean spirit came out of him.
The crowd was amazed and kept asking one another, “What is this? A new teaching—with authority. He commands even the unclean spirits, and they obey him.” But the man who had had the unclean spirit was not amazed. The pressure released, the noise dissipated, and he was silent. For the first time in a long time, he took a deep breath and inhaled nothing but sheer, sweet, silence. It was a healing silence, gentle and soft. It washed over him like peace, filling every nook and cranny that had once held the noise of fear. As the crowd pushed and marveled he once again found himself pushed to the outside, overlooked by the crowd. But this time he was alone, blissfully alone and not afraid. “What have you to do with us, Jesus of Nazareth,” the man had asked. He had his answer now, in the silence. Amen.
No comments:
Post a Comment