It is Sabbath morning in Capernaum,
and the smell of last night’s catch
still lingers on the breeze
and rises from the boats
anchored along the shore.
Observant Jews,
travelling on the Via Maris,
the road connecting Damascus
in the north
and Egypt in the south,
have stopped for the day—
the prosperous
settled in the comfort of a
roadside inn;
the poor
huddled under trees
or sheltered beside a stone wall.
On this Sabbath day,
even the beasts may cast off their burdens,
bow down,
and take their rest.
It is Sabbath morning in Capernaum,
and the elders of the synagogue
drape their shawls carefully across their shoulders
and prepare for the scribes
to read the scrolls of Moses and the Prophets,
and interpret their meaning for the community.
It is Sabbath morning in Capernaum,
and a working man,
born in Bethlehem,
raised in Nazareth,
blessed in the Jordan,
tested in the wilderness,
stretches out his calloused hand to grasp the threads
of his true work--
launching his Father’s mission
in a village that would become his own.
It is Sabbath morning in Capernaum,
and despite the impression of quietness and peace,
unseen forces churn beneath the surface.
Despite the air of calm,
unclean spirits are on the prowl—
binding,
manifesting,
claiming,
defiling,
piercing the air with screams,
occupying real estate and realities,
burrowing deep to occupy,
inhabit,
establish a home,
even in the presence of the Holy.
It is Sabbath morning in Capernaum
and demons are loose in the Synagogue.
What have you to do with us, Jesus of Nazareth?
Have you come to destroy us?
The unclean spirit shouts boldly,
confidently,
as if
It
and the Man
are one.
Co-joined.
Inseparable.
United.
The unclean spirit speaks as if
the man has already been consumed.
Dissolved.
Devoured.
We...
Us...
But Jesus immediately rejects this claim,
quick to make a distinction between
the man
and the spirit that torments him.
Yes, the unclean spirit is part of the man’s reality.
It damaged his body,
affected his relationships,
and warped his life in countless painful ways--
but it cannot consume his humanity,
and in the presence of Jesus,
it will not destroy his soul.
Quiet!
Come out of him!
In one of his first acts of public ministry,
Jesus boldly confronts the evil that seeks to harm us.
The people of Capernaum see Jesus
as the worker with the calloused hands,
the son of Mary,
the son of Joseph—
an ordinary man from an ordinary town—
a man who teaches with rare authority,
but a man, nonetheless.
In a moment of stunning clarity, however,
the unclean spirit sees what they cannot—
or will not—see.
The spirit sees Christ, the Cosmic healer,
the Lord of Spirits,
Commander of Real Estate and Realities;
the Holy One.
The Unclean Spirit sees that
God
is loose in the Synagogue, too.
In this powerful moment, Jesus teaches God's Word,
but not as a scholar,
or a scribe,
or the student of a famous rabbi.
He speaks with authority,
unlike any authority they have yet to see or hear.
Jesus evokes no higher power--
calls on no other name.
Instead, Jesus teaches and casts out
on his own authority.
He commands
and spirits obey.
He wills
and chains disolve.
He speaks
and the enslaved are free.
It is Sabbath morning in Capernaum,
and in Cincinnati, and South Bend, and Stillwater,
and Bogata and Shengyou.
It is Sabbath morning
and in the clatter and hum of a busy life,
in the journeys of pilgrims
sheltered in the shadow of stone walls,
in the waiting silence of holy places and holy people,
Demons and unclean spirits
and caged wild things
wait, too.
They appear under many names, these demons:
Illness, despair, depression, addiction, sin, psychosis, traumatic stress,
atavistic fears,
dangerous memories.
They affect young and old,
faith-filled and questioning,
the bold and the hesitant.
They respect neither position nor power.
Left unchallenged,
these unclean spirits would devour us--
Deny our humanity.
Steal our ability to love and laugh.
Crush our dreams.
Destroy our hope.
Yet, every Sabbath morning,
Every. Single. Morning.
In every time
and every place
in each and every circumstance,
the One with calloused hands,
this worker from Nazareth
reaches out,
and grasps His mission anew.
He stands ready to cast out.
Ready to command.
Ready to heal.
Ready to uncage, unwrap, unbind.
Ready to turn over rocks
and open up tombs
calling us to step into the light.
His authority rebukes every evil that plagues us—
reminds us that we are always more
than the sum of our sins
or the number of our sorrows.
He reminds us
that we are not our demons,
not our addictions,
not our mental illness,
our fears,
our failures.
We are not our scars,
no matter how deeply they cut;
no matter how disfiguring they might be.
We are not the chains that bind us
or the cages that imprison us.
We are not our tears,
no matter how bitterly they fall.
His authority claims us for something more.
Something bigger.
Braver.
Blessed.
His authority empowers us to sing songs
sweeter and louder and more enduring
than the sound of our demons,
shrieking in the night.
Yes,
it is Sabbath morning in Capernaum,
and everything is changed.
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