Deuteronomy 18: 15-20; Psalm 95 (RM) or 111 (RCL); 1 Corinthians 7: 32-35 (RM) or 8: 1-13 (RCL); Mark 1: 21-28.
A word of warning: our Reflection on this week’s Gospel is going to take us to a dark place, before it takes us to a brighter one. And yes, it has to do with demons.
This story is a challenging one anyway because of the way demon possession has become popular in scary movies (think flying pea soup) and accounts that make the Catholic Church look positively medieval (think exorcisms.) But preachers and commentators can do a workable dance around the mythical cast of the story by highlighting how Jesus emerges as a figure who “teaches with authority,” not derived from an official appointment, but in his own right. The forces of evil recognize him before others do, and they flee from his presence at his command.
While demon talk is squirm-worthy for us educated folks who know that mental illness is due to other, more diagnosable factors, the more pertinent issue here is one that few commentators touch – the “unclean” spirit in verse 23. One who did address the issue of impurity was Lutheran scripture scholar Werner Weinreich, who wrote,
“Unclean spirit – pneuma akatharton – A Jewish formulation which may be related to the fallen angels of Genesis 6:1-4; 1 Enoch 6-11 where Enoch is told by God to rebuke the fallen angels who had defiled themselves with the blood of women, and [the Book of] Jubilees states that one of the causes of the flood was the impure demons who had lain with women.”
So: in the early founding myths the demons were male, fallen angels defiled by the blood of women. Defiled because they had had sexual relations with women.
Weinreich goes on:
“As Jesus begins his ministry, there is [an] immediate confrontation by the unclean spirit who ought not to be in a holy place at a holy time. … It seems that in Mark’s view possessed persons are polluted and unfit for worship.”
We’ve spoken before in a Reflection about the idea that women’s bodies and blood cause defilement to men and desecration of the holy places. It served as a hidden motif in the old rite of the blessing of a mother after childbirth, and in an ancient but persistent practice by which menstruating women were not to attend the Eucharistic assembly. The rationale varied but was usually coupled with a denial that Christian women were obliged to follow the Jewish religious customs from the book of Leviticus. That deep core belief, that defilement of the sacred was caused by women’s bodies and blood, was rarely named or acknowledged.
Weinreich adds,
“The diseased (possessed) man, as in all exorcisms does not ask for help. He is himself helpless under the influence of the spirit.”
Now a feminist theologian might say, this story illustrates that Jesus, coming forward as an all-powerful patriarchal figure, frees the man from his helpless and contaminated state, and restores him to full masculine autonomy and dignity. In effect, Jesus has the power to free the man from the weakening, evil-making influence of what is female.
A saying I used to use in teaching was, “Once you know, you can never go back to not knowing.” This is not a threat. It’s a promise of liberation. Knowledge gives freedom, clarity, strength, or at least the preconditions for strength.
So where do we go from here? How do we make justice and bring good news in the face of deep prejudice? For that matter, what does it mean to use, exert, or teach with “authority?” And how does authority differ from power?
One conclusion that lies on the surface is that of hope in the face of fear: the hope that comes from a deep spiritual rootedness in what is Holy, in the recognition that the Holy is the source and indwelling support of all creation. This means not only hope for this tiny planet Earth, not only a spiritual component in our own personal inclinations, or our own community, or our own country, and certainly not limited to our own gender identity. The call to justice rooted in the Holy infinitely surpasses all that.
What would it look like for our world today: “A new teaching with authority!” In Mark’s story the people recognized it as soon as they saw it. Where do we see it? And how shall we take part in bringing a new teaching about?
© Susan K. Roll
Susan Roll retired from the Faculty of Theology at Saint Paul University, Ottawa, in 2018, where she served as Director of the Sophia Research Centre. Her research and publications are centred in the fields of liturgy, sacraments, and feminist theology. She holds a Ph.D. from the Catholic University of Leuven (Louvain), Belgium, and has been involved with international academic societies in liturgy and theology, as well as university chaplaincy, Indigenous ministry and church reform projects.
One of your closing statements has given me much to reflect on: “What would it look like for our world today: “A new teaching with authority!” I do hear differently when someone speaks from an inner/experiential authority. I want to take in, and be part of amplifying those voices.