And he went throughout Galilee, proclaiming the message in their synagogues and casting out demons.

One of my favorite social media memes is an image, taken from a medieval manuscript, showing the Virgin Mary hitting the Devil with her fist. The caption is “Hail Mary full of grace, punch the Devil in the face.”

Apparently Jesus came by his demon-fighting ability honestly—from both sides of the family.

The casting out of demons by Jesus is a characteristic of Mark’s Gospel. The word, “demon” appears four times in this short passage alone. In last week’s lesson Jesus cast out demons in the synagogue (on the Sabbath!), and his fame began to spread throughout Galilee. Today he is doing it again—demons, demons, demons, demons.

In the first century the existence of demons was often how people explained illness, whether mental or physical. Even the fever of Simon’s mother, while not directly described as being demonic, was given a degree of volition in that the fever “left her.” This concept of volition, of being a separate entity, was important; it wasn’t that someone would specifically say, “This person is exhibiting aberrant behavior or symptoms of sickness; therefore, I will describe their malady metaphorically as demon related.” Rather, they would say, “This person has a demon, which is why they are exhibiting these symptoms.” The distinction is small, but significant; demons were not metaphorical. They were real. Demons were part of the cosmic conflict between good and evil. Hence, the news that Jesus was casting out demons spread like wildfire throughout the surrounding countryside. It was a huge deal. In the words of the Rev. Dr. Ofelia Ortega:

“Christ show[ed] his intervention in the field dominated by evil, death, and illness. It [was] the messianic victory over the forces of evil, the radical invitation to the kingdom of God.”

Jesus journeyed from place to place, house to house, person to person, encountering people where they were. He came face to face with demons who knew him and named him. He silenced them and sent them packing one by one. The people who experienced this were witnessing the inbreaking of the longed-for Dream of God, and it was not through the conquest of a metaphor, but of something real.

Demons are real. 

These are strong words in this post-Enlightenment world that many have described as dis-enchanted; in a time when speaking of spirits and demons is viewed as woo-woo and fringy. But, when someone says that demons are real, our mind focuses in on something, doesn’t it? Something other than divine, an archetype of evil. Regardless of whether we envision a particular horned-and-tailed form or simply experience a chilling twitch of recognition at the mention of the idea, and regardless of whether or not we actually agree with the statement that demons are real, we know at a core level what that statement connotes: Something, not of God.

Now this can be problematic. History is full of examples of what happens when one group of people, claiming righteousness, decides that someone who doesn’t conform must therefore be possessed of evil spirits. So, we are right to be cautious about making such judgments without proper discernment, because in that direction lies exactly the evil that we say we deplore. But at the same time, it is appropriate to name those things and forces that separate us, and our society, from that which is loving, compassionate and just.

Demons are real. And yet we don’t live in the first century, and we know that mental and physical illnesses are not caused by demons. So how do we read Mark’s Gospel in a way that shows us a path forward in a time when we can’t help but wonder what is at work in all of the trauma and disfunction of our time? Where is God to be found in what many see as conflicts between good and evil in the world? How can Jesus help us to confront the very real demons of our day?

We can experience demons on both the personal spiritual level and on the broader cultural/societal level, the former being, for example, the demons of self-doubt, self-loathing, isolation and anxiety that may strike at any point, but may particularly haunt the interminable time slot beginning around 3:30 a.m. and that never, ever, ever have anything constructive to say. My spiritual director describes these voices as “not of God” and I’m learning to picture the pugilistic Blessed Virgin as I remind myself that God calls me beloved as I return to sleep. It can be helpful and effective on the micro level. But it is only part of the story, isn’t’ it? It’s only part of what we are called and challenged to face in the wider world during our waking hours, sometimes threatening to send us fleeing back under the covers. 

So, we can name Despair as another of the demons; not just on a personal, but on a collective level. It is despair in particular that seriously threatens to upend our ability to deal with any of the other demons. Because the product of despair is apathy, and that way lies only deeper and deeper chaos.

It was while I was recently reading the headlines and feeling taunted by Demon Despair that I encountered a book titled, Dancing in the Darkness: Spiritual Lessons for Thriving in Turbulent Times, by Otis Moss III, pastor of Trinity United Methodist Church in Chicago. 

I’m only scratching the surface of this book today because it goes much deeper into stories of resilience and the importance what Moss calls “spiritual audacity”—the inner resources that help us “punch holes in the darkness.” It’s a really worthwhile read and we will be exploring it later in the year as part of our Wednesday Book Group series. But for today I’d like to touch on what I found helpful and hopeful regarding confronting today’s demons.

Moss sees our present moment from the perspective of the Black community; through a lens that has a lot to teach a privileged person (like me) for whom this anxious time feels like something relatively new and traumatic. Rather than seeing it as something new, though, the Black lens reveals this fear and anxiety as nothing more than a continuation of 400 plus years of hard history. Moss points out that the hard history experienced by the Black community has over time helped to equip them with wisdom to confront and transform the chaos of our time–with its demons of hatred, violence, fear, despair, denial, complacency and complicity (for starters)–into a new story of Beloved Community rooted in the weaving of love and justice. Moss emphasizes that the two must be woven together because love without justice is just idealism, and justice without love is just violence. It is love and justice together that confront the demons of despair and hatred, rendering them powerless. 

In his forward to Dancing in the Darkness, Michael Eric Dyson offers this story:

A young woman confided to her mother her despair over something that was troubling her. In response, her mother told her to get some carrots, some eggs, and some coffee beans and put each in a separate pot of water, which she then put on to boil. After a time, she turned the heat off and asked her daughter to consider the contents of each pot. They had been subject to the extreme stress of the boiling water, but each reacted differently. The carrots became soft and mushy. The eggs became hard inside. But the coffee was different; it actually transformed the water around it into something fragrant and delicious.

The mother said to her daughter, “Which are you?”  

In the face of trouble, she had a choice; to be softened by demon Despair, to be hardened by demon Resentment, or something else: Rather than being controlled by the chaos, instead to transform it into something new and invigorating.

In these anxious days, which are we?

Jesus, one day at a time, one step at a time, one person at a time, offered healing grace; sent the demons of evil and despair packing, and bit by bit began transforming the chaos around him into the Dream of God. It is not beyond us; one person, one act of care and compassion, one act of justice, at a time, to do the same.

Which are we?