Last Sunday, I told you about my cruise to see some Mayan ruins. Today, we’re talking about Jesus taking a cruise of his own—across the Sea of Galilee—where he meets a demon-possessed man.

Jesus and the disciples crossed over to Gerasene. This area was part of the Decapolis, a group of ten cities shaped by strong Greco-Roman cultural and political influence. It was primarily Gentile territory, which helps explain the presence of a large herd of pigs—an unclean animal by Jewish standards. Archaeological work in this area shows extensive Romanization: forums, colonnaded streets, amphitheaters, temples, and baths.

As soon as Jesus steps out of the boat, a man possessed by demons rushes to him and falls at his feet. Jesus asks, “What is your name?” and the man responds, “Legion”—a word associated with a Roman military unit of 5,000–6,000 soldiers. While there wasn’t likely a literal legion stationed there, the name draws a powerful literary and symbolic connection to Roman oppression. For Jesus’ listeners, “Legion” would have echoed with fear, domination, and occupation.

The demons beg Jesus not to cast them into the abyss but instead into a nearby herd of pigs. Jesus permits it, and the pigs—numbering about 2,000, according to Mark—rush into the sea and drown. The presence of such a large herd is another strong clue that this was Gentile territory.

This story begins with a homeless, naked, mentally unwell man greeting Jesus. Jesus doesn’t rebuke him or run away—he asks for his name. He listens. He heals.

The man, now clothed and in his right mind, wants to follow Jesus. But Jesus sends him home instead, saying: “Go tell your friends how much the Lord has done for you, and what mercy he has shown you.”

It’s Pride Month—a time when LGBTQ+ people celebrate identity, resilience, and community. Some ask, “Why isn’t there a straight pride month?” And the answer is: thank God we don’t need one. There is no country in which being straight is illegal. No systematic refusal of rights. No erasure of straight history. No legacy of dehumanization based on orientation.

Queer folk have existed for as long as people have. And they’ve endured so much. It’s like they’ve been cast out, forced to live among the tombs, chained and shackled. Living in fear, domination, and the state occupied with how they spend their time.

Earlier this month, Meghan and many of us stood on Medina Square offering blessings to all for Medina Pride, as long as there’s been a Medina Pride. There were those who those who’ve never been told they are beloved by religious people. Like Jesus, we blessed the outcasts, and in turn, we were blessed by them. Some who never thought they’d be blessed were—and went and told their friends about the mercy they’d received.

That is powerful church.

And to be crystal clear: LGBTQ+ folks are not possessed. The ones who disparage them are. Those who hate and fear them are. Those who shackle them in shame and exile them from community are. That is not the way of life and restoration we are called to.

When the man has the demons cast out, I’d like to think that the community did too. That in his healing, others were healed. You can’t have a man, naked and shouting in the cemetery and not be affected by it. When the man is healed and he stays, I would like to think is presence changed hearts and minds. Maybe the community was more compassionate to differences. Maybe they would wait a little longer, extend services a little longer, instead of giving up on someone and having them live amid the tombs.

When we encounter difference, we Christians are to imitate Christ. Jesus who literally encountered a LEGION of demons, and politely asked their name and welcomed them. He also had boundaries. Jesus knew what to do, demon belong in the abyss and not people. Yet he was polite about it.

This story marks one of the first times Jesus crosses into Gentile territory. The moment signals that Jesus’ authority—and his compassion—extends beyond traditional boundaries. Over every land, over every soul, and even over the forces of evil.

Religious people often have long lists of “don’ts.” Don’t go there. Don’t drink that. Don’t eat this. Don’t associate with those people. Jesus doesn’t work like that.

He goes wherever. He blesses whoever. And we are called to do the same.

It’s like a story I recently heard. A punk went into churches. He had his jacket with patches. His ripped jeans. His mohawk that was fiery red. This frightened the Sunday morning crowd. They’d freeze… and then eventually someone would ask what he was looking for. He was looking for Jesus, but he was embarrassed to say. And some part of him knew by the welcome that this community wasn’t quite imitating Christ.

Until one church. He walks in and is immediately greeted by two elderly women. “Listen, you’re going to worship and get some spiritual food. Afterwards, we’re going to give you some physical food. You’ll leave here full.” They sat with him at coffee hour. As he was about to leave, the two women asked if he liked pie. He said he did. They asked if he liked blueberry or apple better. He said apple. Then they said, “If you come back next week, we’ll have some pie for you. And I’m going to try to convince you that blueberry is better than apple. But she’s going to try to tell you that you picked right the first time.”

The next Sunday, the young man came back. He decided to slick his hair back instead of the mohawk. The same two elderly women greeted him again. They recognized him and said, “Oh! We’re so glad you came back! We have your pie. And you changed your hair! We liked it the way it was. You’re welcome here no matter what.”

That’s the kind of church we are called to become. Whether we’re going out or welcoming anyone who graces our worship. That’s what we’re called to. When you encounter difference; ask their name. Listen. See what you can heal. Like Jesus. That love changes lives.

In Jesus, every place can be holy. Every person can be family.

The drowning pigs are a dramatic image—meant to show that evil is always self-destructive. And it feels like we are surrounded by a legion of demons today.

First among them: imperialism. Imperialism is when a powerful nation extends its control over others—often through military force, economic pressure, or cultural dominance—to build an empire. In Jesus’ day, that power was Rome. Today, it shows up in different forms, but it’s still about control, exploitation, and domination.

The name “Legion” suggests a critique of Roman violence. From its founding, Rome gained power through military conquest. “They make a desert and call it peace,” wrote the Roman historian Tacitus, critiquing the so-called Pax Romana. Roman “peace” was enforced at the business end of a spear. Jesus stood against this. He called us to love neighbors and enemies. To turn the other cheek. And for this nonviolent gospel, he was executed by the empire.

Still, many Christians today glorify war. Growing up, the rush to war by followers of Christ sickened me. It still does.

And now, we’re seeing something even more disturbing: the rise of Christian terrorism.

Last Sunday, a Minnesota state representative, Melissa Hortman, her husband Mark, and their dog Gilbert were murdered by an Assembly of God pastor named Vance Boelter. That’s not Christ—that’s heresy.

Mark Driscoll, one of the poster boys of this warped faith, once said, “I cannot worship a guy I can beat up.” We follow the Crucified One. Not a cage fighter.

I say it’s not Christ, but it seems to be Christianity. Timothy McVeigh, the Oklahoma City bomber, was raised in Christian Identity ideology. Dylann Roof, who murdered nine Black Christians at Mother Emanuel in Charleston, wrote in his manifesto dripping with bible verses.

As Rainn Wilson wrote: “The metamorphosis of Jesus Christ from a humble servant of the abject poor to a symbol that stands for gun rights, prosperity theology, anti-science, limited government (that neglects the destitute), and fierce nationalism is truly the strangest transformation in human history.”[1]

We must condemn this. We must cast it out. And we must ask God’s forgiveness for letting it happen in Jesus’ name.

This is a strange and difficult story—one with a naked outcast, a herd of drowned pigs, and Jesus being told to leave town.

Yet from it we learn: Jesus welcomes the outcast. Jesus goes where he’s not expected. Jesus casts out the demons.

We are called to welcome, to bless, and to love. That is our calling as Christians. Anything less is unacceptable.

May you be like God—who, upon seeing the rainbow, is reminded of the covenant to do no harm. To never harm another human being. That’s one sign of the promise.

And when you do harm—or when you are harmed—
remember that this Table stands as a sign of forgiveness.
The forgiveness of sin. The beginning of healing. The promise of grace.

Of welcome. Of love. And of service. Thanks be to God. Amen.

Works Cited

[1] https://thequollective.com/free-resource/when-the-assassin-is-a-christian-pastor/