Sermon for Sunday, June 22, 2025 || Proper 7C || 1 Kings 19:1-15a; Luke 8:26-39

We have come to the part of our church year when I wear green for about six months. The weeks that stretch from Pentecost to Advent are known as “Ordinary Time” because no particular season falls during them. But I prefer the way Godly Play describes these next six months – the “green and growing Sundays.” As we begin these green and growing Sundays, I’d like us to spend this sermon time taking a deep, cleansing breath.

There is so much going on in the world – so much division, so much violence, so much uncertainty – that collapsing our personal worlds into smaller and more controllable ones becomes an attractive option. Most of us are personally insulated from the largest sources of upheaval, which makes this ability to retreat into ourselves possible. However, while managing our mental and emotional health in the midst of turmoil is definitely beneficial, ensconcing ourselves in bubbles of isolation is not a long-term lifegiving approach.

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In lieu of complete isolation, I invite us all into the spiritual discipline of the deep, cleansing breath. This discipline keeps us engaged in the challenges facing our communities, our country, and the world, while at the same time acknowledging our need for rest and renewal.

Let’s start with our Gospel reading for this morning, the story of Jesus ridding the man of the unclean spirits known as “Legion.” We’re going to dwell on a particular word in the story for a minute and look at the word in the original Greek language. (I double-checked: I haven’t delved into a Greek word in a sermon since last August, so I hope you’ll permit me this little excursion.)

In the passage, the writer describes Legion both as a demon and as an “unclean spirit.” The word we translate as “unclean” is really interesting. It is ακάθαρτος (akathartos). Now, just stick with me for a second, because I guarantee you know a version of this word in English. The word akathartos means “unclean” or “impure.” But like many Greek words, akathartos is built on its opposite. Adding an “a-” to the front of some Greek words flips their meaning: for example, “biotic” and “abiotic,” “aerobic” and “anaerobic.” The English words “agnostic” and apathy” have this construction too. So if akathartos is “unclean,” then kathartos is “clean.”

And this is where we can find our English word: catharsis. A catharsis is a cleansing, a sense of relief, a purging of stress and negative emotion. When Jesus banishes Legion into the pigs, Jesus offers this sense of relief, this catharsis, to the suffering man. The man had been wandering naked among the tombs, gripped by madness, but now, when the cityfolk come out to see, “they [find] the man from whom the demons had gone sitting at the feet of Jesus, clothed and in his right mind.”

Jesus offered the man catharsis, a cleansing of his spirit, a deep sense of relief from all that had tormented him. Will the man ever fall into turmoil again? Perhaps not through demonic possession, but through other forms of tragedy, most likely, yes. When he does, hopefully he will remember how the catharsis Jesus gave him felt and will breathe deeply of that relief anew.

In our reading from Hebrew Scripture, Elijah experiences his own cathartic moment. The prophet is fleeing for his life from the evil King Ahab and Queen Jezebel. Elijah goes a day’s journey into the desert, where he sits down under a tree, ready to die. He falls asleep, only to be awoken by an angel who bids him eat. Elijah does so, then he sleeps again and eats again and goes “in the strength of that food” forty more days until he reaches Mount Horeb. Somewhere I read something funny about these verses – that the story of Elijah says that when you are feeling overwhelmed by the weight of the world, sometimes what God provides is a meal and a nap.

Elijah’s food and rest brings him to the mountain of God, where the prophet makes camp in a cave. God asks why Elijah is there. Elijah responds that the people of Israel have been led astray and the rulers are seeking his life. Elijah is in hiding. He doesn’t know what else to do. His inner turmoil – his fear, his failure, his fatigue – prevent Elijah from perceiving God’s presence. So God brings Elijah to the mouth of the cave. Elijah feels the gale of a rock-breaking wind, the tremble of an earthquake, the heat of a fire…but God is not in any of these extreme moments of outer turmoil. When the fire dies away, Elijah hears a sound “thin” and “quiet,” a “still small voice” whispering into the “sheer silence.” The wind and earthquake and fire have sucked away all the deafening pieces of Elijah’s inner turmoil, leaving only an emptiness for God’s holy silence to fill. The silence is so present as to be full of possibilities. Elijah knows God is in this whispering fullness, so he listens intently. And God gives him a new mission.

Following the cataclysms of wind and quake and fire, this moment of silent clarity is Elijah’s catharsis. God whispers into his heart and Elijah is ready and able to hear and heed the whispered invitation.

As we begin the green and growing Sundays, I invite you to pray about what kind of catharsis you need in order to remain in the struggles that define our age. Since complete retreat is not an option, how do you remain physically, mentally, and emotionally healthy enough to stay engaged? Perhaps your catharsis, like mine, is a deep, cleansing breath. Perhaps your catharsis is a period of time each week away from your devices, away from your need to scroll through newsfeeds. Perhaps your catharsis is a simple prayer that helps you stay grounded in the love of God.

Whatever way you discern that you can receive a cathartic moment of relief from God, build that moment into your schedule. Don’t wait until complete burnout comes to seek catharsis. Don’t wait until you are teetering on the brink of stepping into the isolationist bubble. Jesus cleansed and relieved the spirit of a madman. Jesus offers us this same catharsis. And Jesus gives us a meal like the one Elijah ate in the narrow shade of a desert tree. Each week, Holy Communion sustains us in our service to God’s mission of healing and reconciliation. Recall the wisdom of our current Eucharistic Prayer: “Deliver us from the presumption of coming to this table for solace only and not for strength, for pardon only and not for renewal.” We reach out empty hands and receive a small piece of bread, not only for comfort and clemency. We reach out are empty hands for the presence of Christ to empower with strength and renewal. And in this renewing strength we are able to meet the challenges in our world with the love, the peace, and the justice of God.

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Photo by Amir Reza Mansouri on Unsplash.