The Demons Have a Name
A sermon preached with the people of St. John’s Episcopal Church in Oakland, California.
This morning, we heard the story of a man living naked and alone in chains among the graves of the dead … who is possessed by demons. And those demons have a name. And that name is Legion.
And contemporary hearers of this story would have known only one definition of the word “Legion”: a division of Roman soldiers.[i] The same word is used in all three gospel accounts of this story. It is not an accident, and it is not beside the point[ii].
The horde of demons disfiguring and destroying this human being is a unit of military power. Not individual soldiers, but the unit as a tool; as a manifestation of the spirit of war.
The demons have a name.
Jesus had sailed from his home turf among his own Jewish people, over to Gentile territory. And he had come to Gerasenes, which Luke describes as “opposite Galilee.” Bookends on either side of the sea. Different cultures, beliefs, traditions and religious practices; generally uncomfortable with one another’s differences. Enough so that Jesus’s ministry to these people could be shocking to his own.
But the citizens of Galilee and Gerasenes are joined together in one significant way: they are both living under the same far-flung foreign empire. And that empire is held together by the spirit of war.
The setting here is not vague or “once upon a time.” It’s not a parable. Our gospel writers set it in the real, historical, social and political atmosphere through which Jesus of Nazareth walked. Contemporary listeners would have memories or know stories of Roman legions marching through their communities, and the death and destruction left in their wake.
The demons have a name.
And here is this man. Beneath a fog. Without friends, family, companionship or community Living as the dead. Beset. Lost. Consumed. Until.
Jesus of Nazareth shows up. And those demons immediately know him — they know God when they see God. Perhaps trying to flatter him or curry favor, they address him in princely terms: “Son of the Most High God.” But Jesus is neither flattered nor fooled. He asks these demons causing this destruction to name themselves. And they do. And suddenly, everybody knows.
The demons have a name.
Exposed for who they are, and for what they are, they beg Jesus not to send them to the abyss. Because, friends, demons are nothing without a host. On their own, they are powerless. They are thin air. So instead, they ask to be allowed to enter a herd of pigs, who in their animal innocence reject the chilling presence of the spirit of war by throwing themselves into the sea.
The man is restored to himself. Able to function and thrive and move freely. He sits at Jesus’ feet, clothed and in his right mind. And the community, witnessing this, is … terrified.
Because somewhere along the way, they forgot to name the demons. Somewhere along the way, the unnatural became natural. Somewhere along the way they decided that legions. And bombers. And drones. And every manor of weapon,and the devastation they cause; every manifestation of the spirit of war, is just … who we are: the demoniac is just … like that. Occupying forces … bring order. Colonizing and war is … what we do.
I identify with that response. These demons are so enduring, it is hard to believe that violent conflict is not simply a natural fixture of our lives together on this planet. Another way of being would feel so unfamiliar as to be potentially terrifying.
The demons have a name.
Yesterday, just as we were setting up for the solstice evening prayer here at St. John’s, the news that the United States had entered active military engagement with Iran flashed across my screen. I wondered if we needed to adjust something. Change the plan.
As the news settled on me in the minutes before the service, I sat under a blue sky watching deer prance by for their dinner outing as a hawk gently circled above, and notes of our string trio filled the air.
Soon, a big group of us surrounded our oak-shaped labyrinth, and the evening did go on as planned. We prayed, sang, ate, cried, and laughed together. Some of us — myself included — even wore flowers in our hair.
And, while it is only by some stroke of absurd luck that I got to spend the 2025 summer solstice in community, cleaning up an Oakland school garden in the morning and marking the changing season in the evening, while my neighbors on the other side of the world sought cover, I thought: “This is what we were made for.” “This is who we are.”
And bunker-buster bombs and nuclear weapons? Just new names for old demons.
The demons have a name.
They may be crafty and enduring. But they are not us. They are not natural. Even as embedded as they are, they need not be accepted as par for the course. Or as necessary. And, as Jesus reminds us, they are, ultimately, powerless without a host. They require willingness. And hearts. And minds.
We begin to resist these demons when we name them as demons. When we, like Jesus, distinguish the possessed from the possessing spirit. And when we interrogate ourselves for hints of Legion’s influence. We begin to resist them when we call them out as demons in every way we know how: protest and public action, organizing, calling voting. And we begin to resist them when we remember and believe in our true identity. In who we are: beloved creations of the God peace.
And we begin to resist them when we live that idenity; serving and helping and praying and gathering and caring. Together.
Let us pray for the safety of all the everyday people living under the effects of the demons of war, including our military personnel. Protect them and bring them courage and hope.
Let us pray that we may see and know and love our neighbors next door and on the other side of the world as ourselves, and name the demons that possess us.
And, let us pray that one day the very last of those demons will be swallowed by the sea. And all people will know the peace. Amen.
[i] See Myers, Ched. Binding the Strong Man: A Political Reading of Mark's Story of Jesus (p. 191). (Function). Kindle Edition. and Gale A. Yee. Fortress Commentary on the Bible: Two Volume Set (p. 2571). (Function). Kindle Edition.
[ii] Largely influenced by Myers, Ched. Binding the Strong Man: A Political Reading of Mark's Story of Jesus (p. 193). (Function). Kindle Edition.