Text — Mark 1:32-45

That evening, at sundown, they brought to him all who were sick or possessed with demons.  33 And the whole city was gathered around the door.  34 And he cured many who were sick with various diseases, and cast out many demons; and he would not permit the demons to speak, because they knew him.

35 In the morning, while it was still very dark, he got up and went out to a deserted place, and there he prayed.  36 And Simon and his companions hunted for him.  37 When they found him, they said to him, “Everyone is searching for you.”  38 He answered, “Let us go on to the neighboring towns, so that I may proclaim the message there also; for that is what I came out to do.”  39 And he went throughout Galilee, proclaiming the message in their synagogues and casting out demons.

40 A leper came to him begging him, and kneeling he said to him, “If you choose, you can make me clean.”  41 Moved with pity, Jesus stretched out his hand and touched him, and said to him, “I do choose. Be made clean!”  42 Immediately the leprosy left him, and he was made clean.  43 After sternly warning him he sent him away at once,  44 saying to him, “See that you say nothing to anyone; but go, show yourself to the priest, and offer for your cleansing what Moses commanded, as a testimony to them.”  4

My mother died in 1998 at the age of 84.  During the last 38 of those years, almost half her life, she suffered through many long periods of depression.  A number of those were so severe that she was hospitalized. 

I remember the first time I visited her in a psychiatric hospital.  I was in 7^th grade, and I was shocked to see my mother in what was not a clean, well lighted place, but a place I remember as dark, dingy, and frightening.  And I was shocked to see her among so many patients who looked so unhappy and sick

My mother’s illness wasn’t something my father, my brother, and I could ignore.  You can’t ignore it when your mother spends all day in bed, and you can’t ignore it when she’s in the hospital.  At the same time, we didn’t talk about it much.  We didn’t know how to talk about it and, I think, we were afraid to talk about it.  All of this has a lot to do with why I’ve tended in my adult life to pay attention to mental illness and how we talk about it or don’t talk about it in our society as a whole.

When I read the many gospels stories that include a person tormented by a demon or someone designated a leper, I think of people with mental illness.  Let’s face it, they frighten us.  They might say something strange and we won’t know how to respond.    They might become upset.  They might lose control and hurt someone — or might hurt us.  These fears, like most fears, are way out of proportion to any real danger.  People with mental illness are no more dangerous or violent than the general population.  But these fears do exist, and they make the lives of people who suffer in this way even more difficult.

I also suspect that we’re afraid that we might someday lose our mental or emotional equilibrium and become depressed or desperate ourselves.  We all have our own emotional torments lurking at the door.  We’ve all been “out of control” in one way or another.

When Robin and I came to Middletown in 1990, we quickly learned that this city had two large institutions on a hill.  One was Wesleyan, and one was CVH.  One was a source of pride.  The other, if not a source of shame, was seen as a form of blight on the city.  Actually, there are many similarities between these two institutions, but I won’t go into those now.  I think you see my point.  These two organizations have very different places in the mythology of Middletown.

Back a few years, I was at a meeting of the Main Street Middletown campaign.  One of the questions discussed at this meeting was, “What is the number one problem for Middletown.”  There were people at the meeting who said that the number one problem with our city was the “presence” of people with mental illness.   Not attitudes, fears, misconceptions, or misunderstandings about mental illness, mind you, but the actual presence of people with mental illness.  For me, this was like hearing that the city and the world would be better off if people like my mother disappeared or never existed. 

Not long after that meeting, I visited the old CVH cemetery — a place I highly recommend that you visit if you haven’t already.  It’s an extremely moving place.  For me, it’s the most sacred ground in Middletown.  Approximately 1600 patients of CVH were buried there in numbered graves, as if their existence was a public embarrassment.  As many of you know, the Middletown clergy association conducts a memorial service at the cemetery every year, in which we recognize, name, and honor 100 more of the people buried there.  It’s a way of bringing them back from anonymity and oblivion to say that they truly are a part of God’s human family.  This year, the service will take place on May 19, at 1 o’clock in the afternoon, and I’d love to see you all there.

In part as a result of those services, I’ve gotten somewhat involved inside the hospital, and I see its place in Middletown very differently now.  I really see it now as a place in our city where Christ’s love is concentrated.  Christ is very much alive at CVH, not necessarily named or recognized as such, but very present nevertheless, healing people of torments and demons, and helping people be restored from “leper” standing to standing as full members of the larger community.  This healing, restoring work of Christ isn’t easy. Often it’s slow.  Often it’s painful.  But the love is there in a big way.

In the days ahead, every one of us here will meet, talk to, or encounter someone who has a form of mental illness, or dementia, or an emotional disorder or disability of some kind.  It could be any of us.  It could be a neighbor or a friend.  It could be your spouse, or your child, or your mother or father or sibling.  Or someone else’s child or parent.  It could be you.

I encourage you to be alert for such an encounter, and when it happens, try to see that person as a way in which Christ is coming to you, helping you face your own fears and vulnerabilities, and giving you an opportunity to embody and give Christ’s love to that person.

The presence of people with mental illness is not the biggest problem for our city.  They are the greatest opportunity for all of us to be Jesus for someone else, and to see beyond torments, demons, and fears to the humanity we all share.  What is more important than for Christ’s love to appear in our lives?

Jesus said to his disciples, “Follow me.”  This is a way to follow, a very concrete way, something we can do virtually every day.

Following Jesus usually makes us nervous at first.  We don’t always want to follow.  Jesus doesn’t promise that following will be struggle-free, although he does say “My yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”  But to discover how easy the yoke is, we do need to try it on.

Jesus does promise that, if we follow, we will be blessed.