As One Having Authority

They say confession is good for the soul. We’re going to test that today. You might think differently of your pastor after this, and that’s okay. This is not the final word, this is the beginning of a dialogue.

I’m still stuck on the events of January 6th. That’s not the confession. That part is coming.

I don’t like what it has shown about us as a country. Mostly, I don’t like what it shows me about myself.

I’ve always doodled and was a day dreamer in class. I remember I would get so lost in drawing and doodling that the world would just fade away. Once, in 8th grade a young woman asked, “What are you drawing?” I didn’t want to show her.

It didn’t matter anyway, she didn’t want to see what I was doing, she wanted to put a sign that said “I don’t know this is here” on my back as a joke. That’s not the confession either.

The confession was what I was drawing. It was a picture of myself at a podium speaking to a crowd.

I felt so invisible in my little class of 20. Which is weird, I was the tallest kid in class. You couldn’t miss me. But I felt so small. Unseen. Unheard.

Part of this was being shy. Another part of this was my communication style. I would be so lost in my own world, it was hard to describe it to someone else. When it all came out, they must have been overwhelmed or shocked or just simply confused. I started to get angry. I started to feel like there was some vast conspiracy against me. I would doodle pictures where they had to listen to me. Like I was the one with authority.

In 8th grade, we studied WWII. I became obsessed with Hitler. I read the Rise and Fall of the Third Reich.  Not for the best of intentions either. I wanted to figure out how Hitler made people listen to him. I wanted that absolute power. It disgusts me to tell you today. I was living in my own little world. I didn’t want to learn about the wider world who was disinterested in me. I had an antagonistic relationship with the wider world.

I was fearful. I was hateful, and it was reinforced by some people I knew. A family friend collected the same style of shotgun the southern police used on the civil rights movement in the 1960s because, quote, “In case it happens again.” Another family member had a book about how the Illuminati were taking over the world in a giant globalist conspiracy. These little object lessons taught me to be fearful and distrustful and prejudiced against all sorts of people. But as long as you were a conservative white Christian, you were good.

I yearned to be understood, but not to understand. I wanted to be listened to, but I didn’t bother to listen. Basically, I got the entire prayer of St. Francis backward.

Something else happened in 8th grade. I was persuaded to join Power of the Pen, a creative writing competition for middle-schoolers. My English teacher finally convinced me to join. Mrs. Dugan said, “Look. You can write. Your mind is always working on a story. You’d love it.”

Two buddies of mine were on the team, so I guessed it wouldn’t be so bad. We went to the big competition. And then a smaller group went to regionals at the College of Wooster. I was amazed at being on a college campus. It wasn’t at all like that family friend who collected the guns claimed it would be It wasn’t like Animal House at all! At least, not the part I saw. It wasn’t a place to be feared, crawling with pinko-commies… at least not the part I saw.

I learned two things that day. The first thing is that maybe adults can be wrong. The second thing was that I was going to the state competition.

I was the first person from my school to qualify for the Power of the Pen State competition. It was held at Denison University in Granville. We in Dennison (with two “n”s) know of that institution in Granville. We know it because every now and then, we’d have some poor college kid looking for their dorm, and we’d have to inform them that they were 100 miles from their destination. Other than that, I don’t think many people from my hometown ever set foot on that campus.

My class sent me off to state with a little parade. They made a banner, and it was signed by my classmates. We had a little party. After all that time wishing and hoping to be seen and heard, now that I had the spotlight, I found that I was very nervous and self-conscious being inside it. Maybe that’s every middle-schooler. Maybe it’s just me.

But something broke in me in that moment. My classmates did know me. They affirmed my gift of storytelling and writing. They wished me well. I was seen. I was heard.

I went to state. I didn’t make the finals. I was angry at first but as I heard the quality of writing that made the finals, I slowly put aside my wounded pride and became inspired.

I have a rich inner world in my brain and can entertain myself forever. A few folks are able to break into that world and help me see the wider world. They help me embrace the wider world, and not just those who look and act like me and check all the boxes I have.

So many teachers and mentors, coaches and family have poured love on me. Especially when I didn’t deserve it. It reminds me of that verse in Romans, “but God shows love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” I am so thankful for those who were like Christ to me. Mrs. Dugan. Mr. Baxter. My mom. My sister. Those who would not put up with my reality distortion field. Those who punched through and reached me. And my most worthy opponent, Kate; who is presently undefeated in political and social disagreements we get into.

So many have broke open my world. Turned my heart of stone into one of love alone.

It makes me think of how I think of authoritative teaching. The crowds were astounded at Jesus’ teaching, for he taught them as one having authority. When I was a child, I thought like a child. I used to think authority came from the top down. Or through force.

Like Hitler, yelling his story and persuading a whole country to commit acts of atrocity. But I’ve never learned like that. At least, not anything good.

The best things I’ve learned in my life have been through a more effective means: relationship. I don’t think we humans are rational. Not in the least. We are reasonable, which means we have our reasons for our beliefs and actions and some of those are logical. But mostly, we’re relational.

Jesus had authority because he was in relationship with people. Even the evil spirits. They were the first to recognize him. “I know who you are, the Holy One of God.” Jesus silences and commands those spirits to come out.

I think about last week’s sermon about tone. How tone matters. I think Jesus would have used a harsh tone here. Jesus says to the evil spirit, “Shut up and get out of him!” and that’s the Pastor Luke paraphrase.

Sometimes it takes that tone to cast out an unclean spirit. Later on, the disciples are trying to cast out an unclean spirit, and they can’t. Jesus says, “Nah, that doesn’t work for this kind. This kind only comes out through prayer and fasting.”[1]

How did the unclean spirit of prejudice and hate and fear get cast out of me? I’m still a work in progress. Sometimes it has been through harsh tones. “I can’t believe you think that!”

Sometimes it is through laughter. “You believe that?! Are you being serious right now?! You’re joking!”

Sometimes it is through praying and fasting.

It’s been a long hard road. And I know I still have miles to go. As one convinced of his own authority and angry that others didn’t see it who had started to idolize all the violence and white supremacy groups out there… I was broken of that. Ones with authority cast that out of me.

The most effective authority has always been relational. Sometimes it has been rational, through logic and statistics and science. Sometimes reasonable through good stories or someone understanding where I’m coming from and showing me a better path. However it has happened, it has always been through relationships.

When I watched the storming of the nation’s Capitol, I saw who I could have been. I saw the unclean spirits in the American consciousness. It has been nearly twenty years since 9/11 and during that time much of the media coverage and government attention has been directed at the threat of radical Islamist terrorism. Yet, during that time, it has been domestic terrorism from armed, mostly white American men, that has posed the bigger threat.[2] And that could have been me. By all means, it SHOULD have been me. We need to cast out this demon. We’ll do so by accountability. Not sweeping it under the rug. Many ask if I think Hitler is in heaven. I’ll let better theologians than I debate that. I’m more concerned about if Hitler is in me. How do I cast him out?

Heather Cox Richardson reported this past Thursday, “for the first time, the Department of Homeland Security issued a national terrorism bulletin that warned of violence from domestic extremists angry over ‘perceived grievances fueled by false narratives’ and emboldened by the January 6, 2021, attack on the Capitol. The bulletin expires at the end of April.”[3]

I could have been by all rights at the Capitol on that fateful day. Angry over perceived grievances fueled by my false narrative. It could have been me this year, because it was me in previous years… If not for a class of 8th graders celebrating their geeky daydreamer to wake him up. Know that he’s cared for. Or for a 7th grade teacher’s encouragement. And other English teachers. For the love of Kate and her sharp mind not putting up with my ignorant thinking. In our first major debate, she said two words: “Prove it.” I found that I couldn’t.

You never know what impact you’ll make. Sometimes, we don’t know until we’re well down the path, and we stop and notice how different the scenery is. My history now includes the work of black people. And LGBTQ+ friends. I don’t have any fear anymore. I don’t wish for the removal of any certain group in the world. I do wish, however for the unclean spirits of hate, prejudice, and violence to be cast out.

We do that by claiming our authority. There are a million small ways to do this.

When someone says something rude, speak up and say, “Rude.” That’s it. Sometimes that’s enough to cast out an unclean spirit.

I recently heard a podcast about how our tone and language help us claim authority. I have heard this from Vicki Marty and her keto diet. If you listen, you’ll hear her say this little phrase, “I don’t eat that.” She doesn’t say, “I can’t eat that.”

This is called semantic framing.[4] How we frame the language we use helps us think about how we act. If we are tempted to do something, we often will say, “I can’t do that.” That’s a disempowering stance. It means whatever is tempting us has the upper hand. Yet if we say, “I won’t do that” it means we are in the driver’s seat. It’s a little thing that helps us claim our authority in the decision-making process.

We’ll claim our God-given authority to spread the Good News of God’s love for all. How we each can think differently after hearing this good news. We have been given the authority by Christ, and the gates of hell can’t prevail against us!

So go forth and cast out some unclean spirits. Online. In your home. In your family or friends group. And in yourself. Sometimes, certain unclean spirits won’t come out except through fasting and prayer.

When our authority is rooted in God’s love, amazing things can happen. We can heal. We can find family from groups we were taught were dangerous, unclean, and evil. When we act as ones with authority, all sorts of unclean spirits are cast out.

Works Cited

[1][1] Matthew 17:21

[2][2] From NPR’s Through Line: The Modern White Power Movement. https://www.npr.org/2020/12/01/940825490/the-modern-white-power-movement

[3] https://www.facebook.com/heathercoxrichardson/posts/2584620505015333

[4][4] https://www.npr.org/2015/11/24/456824538/how-to-survive-and-maybe-even-enjoy-thanksgiving-dinner

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