He is a crazy man living among the dead. (Mark 5)
But Jesus sees beyond the crazy.
He calls the man’s demons by name and sends them hurtling over a cliff in a herd of pigs.
Now he is just a man.
A man with a story.
The crowd begs Jesus to leave. They are not sure what to do with him here.
Often the call is to follow.
Perhaps the man knows this.
In any case, he asks to go along. To follow.
But today, here, the call is different.
No, no. Jesus says.
Stay here. Go home.
Tell your story.
Not to the ends of the earth (at least not today).
But to your family. To your neighbors.
Tell of God’s mercy here.
I’ve written before of my pull toward wanderlust.
I want to go. To follow.
But this story lodges in my head this morning.
No, no. I hear him say.
Stay here. Go home.
Tell your story.
It doesn’t feel big. Or loud. Or particularly important.
In fact, it feels downright hard in the normalist possible way.
But, friends, it matters.
Telling of God’s mercy here.
When the call is to stay.
