Demons and the stuff of unclean spirits play the villains in this morning’s Scripture lesson.
And if we’re being honest with ourselves, we have an uneasy alliance with such sin and brokenness. We’ve grown quite comfortable naming the demons and unclean spirits in others, while demonstrating far less fortitude in wrestling with our own. Thanks be to God, the Lord wields commanding authority in the face of evil: “Be muzzled, get out, be gone!”
Jesus and his newly minted disciples – Simon and Andrew, James and John – went to Capernaum. When the sabbath came, Jesus entered the synagogue and taught. They were astounded at his teaching, for he taught them as one having authority, and not as the scribes.
Just then there was in their synagogue a man with an unclean spirit, and it cried out, “What have you to do with us, Jesus of Nazareth? Have you come to destroy us? I know who you are, the Holy One of God.” But Jesus rebuked him, saying, “Be muzzled, and be gone!” And the unclean spirit, convulsing him and crying with a loud voice, came out of the man.
All who saw this were amazed, and they murmured among themselves, “What is this? A new teaching – with authority! He commands even the unclean spirits, and they obey him.” At once Jesus’s fame began to spread throughout the surrounding region of Galilee. (Mark 1:21-28)
Alexander was having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.
Yes, it’s a popular children’s story – but who among us hasn’t had a no good, very bad day: Like when every turned knob breaks, or when every taken step soaks, or when every wad of chewed cud gums up your person.
Maybe, like Alexander, we self-soothe with notions of moving to Australia, where everything will be better. But it really isn’t. Terrible, horrible, no good, very bad days happen in the land down under, too. Like they do everywhere; they are not uniquely American experiences. This, then, is the tale of Alexander’s horrible, no good, very bad day. Feel free to find yourself in the story.
That’s not a very happy ending; there’s no feel-good moral of the story.
Some humorous truth-telling leaves you hanging, with no clear explanation why certain days are just terrible, horrible, no good, and very bad: Sometimes you’re the windshield, sometimes the bug.
Would that every day be so merciful that gum in your hair or mud on your clothes were your biggest challenges on the long, hard slog of discipleship. Indeed, immense cruelty prowls everywhere, and we all know it. Psalm 14 offers bracing lyrics in a minor key for days like these:
Fools say in their hearts, “There is no God.” They are corrupt, they do abominable deeds; there is no one who does good.
The LORD looks down from heaven on humankind to see if there are any who are wise, who seek after God. They have all gone astray, they are all alike perverse; there is no one who does good, no, not one.
Have they no knowledge, all the evildoers who eat up my people as they eat bread, and do not call upon the LORD? There they shall be in great terror, for God is with the company of the righteous. You would confound the plans of the poor, but the LORD is their refuge.
O that deliverance for Israel would come from Zion! When the LORD restores the fortunes of his people, Jacob will rejoice; Israel will be glad. (Psalm 14:1-7)
Fools! Evildoers! Everywhere! The whole world is going to hell in a hand basket! Because none is good, not one. Not a single, blessed one. The psalmist is having a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day: His country is crumbling; his nation is in uproar. The poor are ignored; the government is careless. The enemies of the state are gaining power. By definition a truly bad day. A zombie apocalypse of cinematic proportion.
And someone needed to write the soundtrack, and thus arises Psalm 14 – such a top-selling, No. 1 single that a remixed, cover version wails nearly verbatim in Psalm 53. It is not a psalm of unbelief but rather a hymn of the relentless cruelty that God for whatever reason nonetheless allows. As they do so well, the psalms scream of helplessness, as life comes apart at the seams.
As both boy and man, I’ve had dreams dashed and hopes denied. As both person and pastor, husband and father, I too have wrestled with profound sadness.
Along the way, my several identities learned that there’s nothing necessarily wrong or unusual about wrestling with one’s demons. But here’s the kicker. Evil easily tricks you into believing that somehow you are the only one: The only tortured soul and broken spirit in your lonely, little room.
Then, as another observes, when you start to recover, you awaken from the nightmare of staring at yourself in the mirror, or keeping your head in the sand, only to discover that you are just like every other saint and sinner on the planet. You are just like everyone else – except that you are really bad at it. Or so evil leads you to think.
It’s silly, the title of the children’s book, Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day, and its lackluster ending points to what we know full well by experience: “Terrible” becomes terrifying; “horrible” becomes horrifying.
Terrified and horrified: Sometimes at myself, sometimes by others. And my heart grieves with the psalmist, “There is no one who does good.” Best bury my head in the sand, pull the covers over my head, and pretend that everything is okay. Time for insulation, isolation: Doing whatever it takes to keep “those people,” whoever they are, as far away from me as possible.
Time for running, hiding, denying the reality of the world, as it has always been, and for pretending that I can keep its violence and cruelty at bay – somehow, someway.
But then – then, along comes the Lord, with a commanding voice of celestial authority. To my demons and to yours, “Be muzzled, be gone.”
In swoops the Lord to scoop sin-sick souls from pits of despair, of self-imposed isolation, of fear and trembling. Elsewhere the Gospels paints us as that one lost sheep, the lost coin of a desperate woman’s frantic search, the prodigal welcomed home with arms wide open. Jesus comes as a friend who knows me, as the wife who lets me wallow in self-pity longer than is healthy, as the encouraging bit of music, as acts of beauty and reverence, grace and peace, love and mercy. Jesus comes to me as the little who hugs my leg or grabs my hand as palms burn.
Lamenting is healthy; mourning brings healing; reeling in horror and terror is instinctive. And then God comes. In strolls Jesus, with an invitation to surrender it all, let it go, and let the Spirit carry us. The tattooed, sometimes profane, but often profound Lutheran pastor Nadia Bolz-Weber writes:
“God’s grace is not defined as God [forgiving us] even though we sin. Grace is when God is a source of wholeness, which makes up for my failings. My failings hurt me, and others, and even the planet, and God’s grace to me is that my brokenness is not the final word. My selfishness is not the end-all.
“Instead, it’s that God makes beautiful things out of even my own [stuff]. Grace isn’t about God creating humans as flawed beings, and then acting all hurt when we inevitably fail, and then stepping in like the hero to grant us peace – like saying, ‘Oh, it’s OK, I’ll be a good guy and forgive you.’ It’s God saying, ‘I love the world too much to let your sin define you and be the final word. I am a God who makes all things new.’”
That’s the Good News for someone whom God has scooped up, someone whom God has found, someone whose demons are at least well contained and soon to be shunned. In the end, faith doesn’t make things easier; it makes things possible. Because we follow the Christ who speaks with the authority of heaven to drive out evil and wipe clean the fallen human spirit.
The Word of the Lord – for every terrible, horrible, no good, very bad days: “Be muzzled, be gone!” Thanks be to God.
Pastor Grant M. VanderVelden shared this message during worship on Sunday, March 2, 2025, at First Presbyterian Church in Waukon, Iowa, USA. Scholarship, commentary, and reflection by Renada Bey and Tripp Hudgins inform the message.