THE REV. E. WAYNE ROLLINS

​ You will be hearing the word “liberty” a lot this week. You’ll also be hearing a
lot about how that liberty is gained, along with phrases like “freedom isn’t free” and the
like. Most of what you will hear is not biblical, and at most only marginally Christian.
Paul speaks a lot about liberty in his letter to the Galatians. Primarily, he
counters some who came to Galatia after Paul introduced them to the way of Jesus.
These new teachers tell the Galatians that in order to be saved, they must enter into the
same covenant of Abraham and follow the law of Moses.

Paul is furious that some have adopted these teachings, despite what he taught
them. After venting some of his anger, he reiterates what he said in the beginning. He
reminds the Galatians of the source of their true freedom as well as defines what that
freedom means to them.

Many want to define freedom as the liberty to do what you want when you
want. That attitude just raises Paul’s blood pressure. He reminds them, and therefore
us that following Jesus isn’t just a “get out of jail free” card. That’s not what baptism is
about.

It’s also not about ensuring our way through the pearly gates, as if the time
between baptism and death is a libertine free-for-all. That idea isn’t new; it led many
during the first centuries of the church’s life to wait almost until their last breath to
receive baptism, because if you sinned after baptism, then it couldn’t be repeated and
you were doomed forever. I don’t know if there were any who woke up in eternity
saying “oops, misjudged that one,” but the mind wonders while it wanders.
“For freedom Christ sets us free.” Free to be free. Free for what?

Today’s Gospel doesn’t give us any warm, fuzzy answers. Jesus is moving out of
Galilee on his way to Jerusalem. His disciples try to tell some Samaritans about him,
and face rejection because of the deep enmity between Samaritans and Judeans. That
goes back to the destruction of the northern kingdom of Israel during the time of the
first prophet Isaiah, some seven centuries before Jesus’ time. When we get to it, we’ll be
reminded of the shocking quality of the Good Samaritan parable. It’s like telling
extreme followers of either political party that there are good folks on the other side,
and not just those who agree with us after they’ve done something that just seems
wrong even if they support us or our side of the issue.

Christ sets us free to be in relationship with those who might be outcast and
avoided because of who they are. “Foxes have holes and birds have nests but the Son of
Man has nowhere to rest his head” means that, in effect, God is a wandering, homeless
being seeking refuge, which is to be found in the hearts and communities of believers.
But Jesus doesn’t accept refugee status as being free for himself. What he is free to do,
by his example and his crucifixion, is reveal to us just how we all too often treat our
homeless God.

But there’s another aspect to the freedom Jesus gives. His death on the cross and
his resurrection from the dead by God’s hand sets us free from fear of punishment,
allowing us to do the right thing for all those whom Christ died to save.
He sets us free to love.
​To love those whom our culture despises.
To love those who think themselves unlovable because others lack the Spirit of love.
To be blunt, Christ sets us free by loving the hell out of us so that we find the freedom
to stop living in and even creating hell for ourselves and others.

And when others try to sustain that same fear, that hell on earth through threats
and outright retribution, Christ ultimately sets us free to live forever in God and God
living forever in us.

And, finally, the Son of Man has somewhere to rest his head along with the foxes
and the birds. Those in whom the risen Christ lives, whom he sets free from fear of
death, are free from sin that wants to keep us enslaved, which the only thing sin can do
because sin itself is never free, in any sense of the word.
​
So how and where do we find that freedom? In the same way Christ did—by
offering freedom to any and all whom sin enslaves, despite the diligent work of some
who cannot accept true freedom and keep denying it for others. We are only free when
we find ourselves at liberty to offer and allow freedom, even if we think some don’t
deserve it. Because if they don’t know true freedom, neither do we.

THE REV. E. WAYNE ROLLINS

Each lesson today presents a variety of topics for the preacher. And, since we
come to these without the “back story,” we could spend a lot of time building up to
where we want to be. It’s a good thing that it’s summertime, and none of us have
anything to do for the next, say, 50 hours.

Now that the high holy days are completed, we return to the Gospel of Luke and
the story of the demon-possessed man in the Gerasene region. He lives in caves on the
eastern side of the Sea of Galilee, a geographic distinction that tells us Jesus, for the only
time in Luke’s Gospel, goes into Gentile territory.

The interpretations of this story are, to borrow a term, legion. The man, who
remains unnamed, is almost unrecognizable as a human being. You might compare
him to the creature Gollum from the Lord of the Rings, a being changed from the human
once known as Smeagol. He is a hobbit by birth, but his obsession with the ring of
power changes him, to his destruction on many levels.

We can make much use of our time talking about the pigs. They are an obvious
sign that this is not Jewish territory, and that their presence means they are also a vital
part of the livelihood of the residents. The response to the pigs’ failed attempt to
imitate Esther Williams or Michael Phelps contributes to that conclusion.

A bit of ancient Middle Eastern mythology is at work here. Evil spirits were
believed to be intolerant of water, as it would lead to their destruction. I can imagine a
whole evening’s discussion about baptism beginning with that idea. Or, you can let
your mind wander over to the scene where the Wicked Witch of the West is dissolved
in The Wizard of Oz. It’s a whole other discussion of that movie’s slightly hidden
purpose to be a parody of religion itself. It also presents the pigs as having the wisdom
to do what’s necessary to rid themselves of demons, something human beings don’t
seem to be able to do.

I come to today’s Gospel with a bit of puzzlement. The demons know who Jesus
is. His companions on the boat aren’t quite so sure about him. Jesus asks who the
demons are as if he doesn’t know. Another aspect of ancient thought comes to the fore.
By calling someone by their proper name, we exercise not only familiarity, but often
assume a position of authority over them. Notice that idea when we call those with
some authority over us by their given name, even a nickname, and not by title, which
recognizes their authority. I’ll refer you back to commandment number three to begin
that discussion.

That leads me to wonder whether we might be able to name the demons in our
own lives who know very well who we are. We each have many identities in our
1relationships with others. Son, daughter, husband, wife, aunt, uncle, grandchild, sister,
brother, friend, neighbor. You get the idea. Those identities help us navigate our
relationships and act appropriately while living in them. Names are different. They go
to the core of our being and remain with us throughout and in every aspect of our lives.
I’ve sometimes questioned what that means to the choices made in changing names
because of the marriage relationship. Again, only the beginning of that discussion.

There is a name given to us that we often forget. It was given to Israel as a
reminder when they were much farther from their home than in today’s Gospel. Li-
attah. Mine. It’s a name given to us in Holy Baptism when the priest marks us with a
special oil, called chrism. The words you are sealed by the Holy Spirit in Baptism and
marked as Christ’s own forever are said at that time. Isaiah’s words are from God—I have
called you by name. You are Mine. Capital M. It is a name given to us by God, whom we
call Father, at our rebirth in baptism, much as our own names are given to us by our
parents at birth.

Legions of demons want to obscure that name by replacing our God-given name
with their own. Hatred, greed, selfishness, jealousy, power, wealth. The list goes on. It
might also include “past-clinger,” whether it be fondly remembered or manifest as a
growing anger. All of these want to prevent us from living the truth of our name given
in Baptism. Christ’s own. Mine. A name given at rebirth, a name of promised new life.
The waters of Baptism are a sign of our redemption by the same God who spoke
to Israel by the waters of the Euphrates and that cleansed a wild man by the sea of
Galilee. The font stands at our entrance here to remind us not just who we are, but
whose we are by virtue of God’s word made present in the sacrament.

We carry the presence of the One by whom we are named when we offer
compassion and healing and new life wherever we find ourselves stepping out of our
safe boats. It can be overwhelming at times, and not everyone will join us in agreement.
After all, sometimes the demon of self-preservation, often referred to as “the devil we
know,” causes us to reject the healing love found in the risen Christ.
​
And when that happens, and all else fails, follow the lesson in today’s Gospel.
Return to the font, remind yourself of your baptism and its sign of the removal of all
that stands between us and God. In other words, in some life-giving way, be the pig.

One of my first seminary courses was Church History. Near the end of the first
semester, we re-enacted the Council of Nicaea, held in 325. Constantine was the
emperor, and he had recently declared Christianity an accepted religion in the empire.
However, friction remained as a threat to the pax Romana, because rival sets of belief
caused real fighting among many followers of the Prince of Peace.

The result of the council in 325 was the framework for what we now call The
Nicene Creed. At issue was the nature of Christ. Was the man Jesus of Nazareth both
human and divine, or was he human and made divine at the resurrection or ascension,
or both, or was he always divine and somehow only appeared to be human flesh? Real
battles ensued over how those questions and related ideas were answered, and the
council hoped to settle the issue once and for all.

In that seminary portrayal, I played a major part. I was Arius, a presbyter who
held that Jesus was only human, not coeternal wih God, but created by God. The
Arians among those gathered found themselves the losers when the final votes were in,
and Arius was declared anathema, and banished from the sacramental life of the
institutional church. It’s important to note that, while much biblical and revelatory
foundation for what we say we believe is true, the “official” documents were decided
by a vote among gathered leaders. Some may wonder whether God had a vote, or even
paid attention. The lasting qualities of the outcome suggests that the answer is yes.
Later on, when Arian-friendly leadership returned to the institution, Arius was
to be reinstated into the life of the church. However, on the night before he was due to
receive the sacrament again, he was poisoned and died. So, as you can tell, the work of
the council didn’t really settle things in everyone’s mind. Contentious politics didn’t
develop in our own time. Indeed, several centuries lapsed before actual military action
forced what’s called “Arianism” to the sidelines.

It was actually a bit fun being the chief heretic at that re-enactment, and
occasionally, still is. I do try to avoid blasphemy while tip-toeing through the tulips of
heresy, mind you. I think that’s an important distinction to be made.
Having said all that, let’s take a look at that creed we now take for granted, and
see if there’s still something to be learned from the words we often say without really
thinking about them.

One of the more important phrases comes at the beginning. “We believe in one
God . . . .” As opposed to the older Apostle’s Creed, this one speaks of community. We
believe, not “I” believe. Setting aside the meaning of belief itself, the next important
word is not God, but “one.”

Scripture tells us time and again that there are many gods. The life of Israel is a
continual struggle with their devotion to rival gods. Indeed, their name, Israel, means
“strives with God.” You can read through the historical books of Kings and Chronicles
and find them straying from the God who brought them out of Egypt. The Psalms, too,
point us to the knowledge that there are many rivals to worship of the God whose name
first given to Moses is, “I WILL BE WHAT I WILL BE.” Take an honest look at how we
treat, even revere some we call celebrities, or political or business leaders. In some
communities, especially poorer ones, that applies to anyone who seems wealthy. We
haven’t strayed too far from ancient Israel’s worship of the baals. We’ve just renamed
them.

But we say believe in ONE God. Emphasis on “one.” Then we go on to confuse
things by naming aspects of this one inclusive and expansive God by how we know this
one God, including in three persons.

We believe in one Lord. This title, given to Jesus of Nazareth, the risen Christ, is
carried from an ancient name for the God of Israel. In order to avoid taking the proper
name of God in vain and keep the third commandment, a word, Adonai, is used in
Hebrew scripture. We see it translated in our widely used version as LORD, using small
capital letters for the word. You’ll see that in this morning’s first reading and the
Psalm. That way of writing “Lord” is also used to indicate a different Hebrew proper
name for God—Elohim, although then it could be for the word “God” instead of Lord,
reading as Lord GOD. It keeps proofreaders off the streets and out of trouble.
​
Our creed, therefore, states a belief that Jesus of Nazareth is the cosmic Christ
who existed with God before creation, and who not only reveals, but is the activity of
God, as things happen when God speaks at the moment of creation itself. It’s what
John’s Gospel points us to with his words, “In the beginning was the word, and the
word was with God, and the word was God.” Whole sections of libraries exist with
attempts to explain what that means. Then God speaks again, and another book or,
eventually, a whole new shelf is added.

The Creed goes on to begin to explain who Jesus, the Christ, is. Then there are
statements about the Holy Spirit whose work continues to reveal God’s presence in the
world and in our lives. Particularly, the Creed points to that work as seen in Christ’s
church. The origin of the Spirit became a later issue in the church, resulting in the
East/West schism in the eleventh century.

We can spend a lot of time debating whether the Creed means the institutional
church or the body and community of individual believers. But there are always those
who will channel their inner Torquemada, so some caution might be advisable. That
leads me to a question that I continue to try to answer. Which is more important—what
we say we believe or what God has done before those creeds were developed?
I think you know the answer I lean on. It’s related to Paul’s statement in Romans
regarding the faith of Abraham and the giving of the law. In a nutshell, the earlier
event is what saves us. The later writings help us by guiding our lives, but they alone
cannot save us. That is Paul’s point in today’s second lesson.

Constantine tried to keep the peace. We all know how that worked out. That’s
due to the practice that, in order to be part of the institutional church, one had to adhere
to a statement of faith. That became more important, in the eyes of many, than the
work accomplished on the cross of Jesus and God’s answer to all that by raising him
from the dead.

My hope is that this will lead to further discussion. For now, as I said earlier, it’s
still sometimes fun to be the heretic.