“Whole Hearts”

Fourth Sunday after Epiphany

RIC: Mental Illness & Addiction

January 28, 2024

Psalm 13

Mark 1:21-28

Children’s Message:

Iodine/Bleach/Water experiment: I have three cups here. One has plain water. One has water with some bleach. And one has water with some iodine in it. Today, we’re talking about mental illness and addiction. Mental illness can be things like depression or anxiety. It can be something with a bigger name, like schizophrenia or bipolar disorder. But regardless of the names, it means something in our brains and our bodies isn’t working the way it was designed to work. It makes life a bit more difficult.

Mental illness can be like this iodine water. It’s difficult to see through. For some people, it might even feel impossible to get through the day and do what they need to do. For others, it might feel like they’re mad at everything and everyone. But it’s this iodine—this illness going on inside that creates those feelings. And when that illness is experienced by a person (pour iodine water into plain water), it can muddy up everything in their lives, including how they behave with friends and family.

But they don’t have to do it alone. There are people they can talk to. There is medication they can take. There are groups that can help—like this bleach water (pour bleach water into what was plain water). It helps clear up some of the murkiness. It helps people see through the darkness and find some light.

In today’s story, that help came in the person of Jesus. There was a man who had what they called an unclean spirit that clouded is mind and made it impossible for him to function. Jesus told the spirit to leave the man alone—and it did. And the man was able to be himself again.

Let’s pray. Dear God, help us ask for help when we need it. Help us offer help when someone asks. Amen.

Message:

Mark’s gospel account feels a little like watching an episode of Emeril. He’s a chef whose big tag line refers to how he seasons his food. BAM! He throws in this seasoning. BAM! He throws in some other seasoning. BAM!

Mark’s urgency in telling the Good News of Jesus Christ is like this explosion of larger-than-life stories that happen in quick succession. “Here’s the Good News of Jesus Christ. The heavens were torn open when he was baptized. BAM! He was thrown out into the wilderness to be tested. BAM! Disciples up and walked away from the fishing boats and nets when they saw him. BAM!” And today… “Jesus speaks with unprecedented authority. BAM! An unclean spirit violently left a man when Jesus told him to. BAM!” And we’re still in chapter 1!

This urgency of Mark’s leans toward an apocalyptic focus—a deep and pressing need to uncover and reveal the story of Jesus as quickly as he can so that people who read his account can know, from the start, that this is no ordinary teacher. No ordinary healer. This is the Son of God, and he has power that has never been seen before. And that power, that authority, will be wielded only to heal and save, never to hurt or violate or take or seek revenge. And the whole thing will leave his followers and his enemies in awe and wonder. His gospel account ends with an empty tomb and the disciples running away in fear, telling no one.

It is this Godly power that is at the forefront of today’s reading. Jesus begins by teaching. But everyone recognizes a quality in his words and presence that far exceeds that of the regular teachers and rabbis. So that, when the possessed man comes into the holy place—when the unclean enters the clean—Jesus’ authority takes precedence. Where other leaders would have quickly forced the unclean out of the holy space, Jesus engages. He connects. He doesn’t turn the man away but steps closer.

This is the challenge of the demonic: Whether it comes in the form of mental health, addiction, or something else, it always separates. It convinces us that we are alone. It takes away our agency, our ability to function, our ability to be our truest selves. This unclean spirit took away the man’s voice and spoke through him instead. It took away his agency in movement and convulsed him instead. It took away his community and forced him into isolation. It took away his humanity, dehumanizing him in the eyes and minds of the community.

All this worked together to keep him from seeking or getting help. Until this day. This Sabbath day. This holy day. The day that God became recognizable in the synagogue. And this day, Jesus shows us that the place where we encounter the holiness of God is ALWAYS also a place where we encounter human uncleanliness. Because no one is immune.

The difficulty in seeking help is that there are always hurdles—in the forms of social stigma, personal agency, professional accessibility, and even our own beliefs about ourselves, others, and God. When we take our demons into the holy space of Jesus, those demons are going to fight back. They fight back against wholeness and healing. They fight back against the God who deigns to call them what they are, to tell them to be quiet, and to compel them to leave.

But here’s the good news—the very good news. Jesus meets us there. Jesus meets us in the fear and in the sickness and in the nightmare of pain and illness in order to bring us safely back to ourselves. This is the apocalyptic urgency that Mark incites. He calls the pain in this world what it is. He demonstrates that following Jesus isn’t about seeking escape from the world and its challenges but about seeking healing for the world. Healing for the people. Healing through community.

Several years ago, scientists performed an experiment on rats that led to new understanding about addiction. For years, they studied individual rats. One rat in a cage with two water options—one plain and one laced with heroin. Time and time again, the rat would eventually drink from the heroin-laced water until it died.

But when scientists put rats in a community—a series of interconnected cages with good food and interactive toys, the rats stuck with the plain water even after trying the heroin. Because they had health in other aspects of their lives, they were less inclined to become addicted. They simply didn’t need the heroin to fill their lives. Their conclusion—disconnection drives addiction. We are bonding animals. We need connection and love, and mental illnesses can often cut us off from both—through our self-beliefs, as well as our behaviors. We can drive others away at the very moment we need each other.

Our world today has been coined the ‘age of disconnect.’ We stare at phones, computers, TV’s. We text and email rather than call. We have lost the ability—even the desire—to be connected. It’s no wonder so many in and coming from the prison system struggle with mental health issues. The prison system is designed to disconnect. But WE are designed to need each other.

What Jesus does—what a Church community is meant to do—is bring us together. In all of our illness and brokenness. Regardless if we wear rags or a 3-piece suit. No matter whether we managed a shower that day—or even that week. Even when we had a drink that morning. Or took a hit the night before. When we’re hearing voices no one else can hear. When we’re lucky to have made it out of bed. When we’re angry and fidgety and can’t sit in one place for long. When being surrounded by people gives us panic attacks, so we step back—sit apart. This is still a place where the brokenhearted gather. Where we find community. Where we reconnect. Where the murkiness might clear, even if just for a moment, and we can find ourselves again.

I’ll leave you with a poem by Jan Richardson called “Blessing for a Whole Heart.”

You think

if you could just

imagine it,

that would be a beginning;

that if you could envision

what it would look like,

that would be a step

toward a heart

made whole.

This blessing

is for when

you cannot imagine.

This is for when

it is difficult to dream

of what could lie beyond

the fracture, the rupture,

the cleaving through which

has come a life

you do not recognize

as your own.

When all that inhabits you

feels foreign,

your heart made strange

and beating a broken

and unfamiliar cadence,

let there come

a word of solace,

a voice that speaks

into the shattering,

reminding you

that who you are

is here,

every shard

somehow holding

the whole of you

that you cannot see

but is taking shape

even now,

piece joining to piece

in an ancient,

remembered rhythm

that bears you

not toward restoration,

not toward return—

as if you could somehow

become unchanged—

but steadily deeper

into the heart of the one

who has already dreamed you

complete.

Pastor Tobi White

Our Saviour’s Lutheran Church

Lincoln, NE