NOTES for Luk 4:31-36

Is it possible to distinguish an unclean spirit from mental illness? Unfortunately, this question comes before us again and again too often. But let us ask another question: do we need to do this? Yes, you will be told, it is necessary in order to know whether to take a person to exorcism prayers or to a psychiatric hospital for the strongest medications. We will not be able now to give a general rule that fits every case in life, but we know with complete certainty that among people whom doctors have recognized as ill there are good poets and deeply believing people. And today's fragment of the possessed man's confession also sounds like a certain testimony in favor of this.

But perhaps these are only flashes against the background of madness? In some cases, yes, and then the person must be drawn both to Christ and to medical treatment, because madness is dangerous both for the person himself and for those around him. But let us think about another kind of "madness." Let us remember Blessed Xenia of Petersburg. Truly, the beginning of her path of blessedness, marked by her husband's death, can be understood as real madness. She dressed in his clothing, said that she was the one who had died while her husband had not died, and asked to be called by his name. But, as is sung in the kontakion of Blessed Xenia, tone 7: "having exposed the madness of the world by supposed madness, you received the power of God through the humility of the cross." And this is no longer madness, but blessedness. How can one distinguish it? Very simply: by its fruits. In Petersburg it was considered a good sign to give something to Blessed Xenia; people were drawn to her. But if the fruits of madness are sin and temptation for others, then this is a genuine unclean spirit, even if it dresses itself in the garments of reason.

So is it necessary to distinguish an unclean spirit from mental illness? The point is not to distinguish those two, but to distinguish the fruits of the spirit. And if they are poisonous, then psychiatry and spiritual means of struggle should both be brought in, for example exorcism prayers, or better simply frequent participation in the Divine Liturgy. But if their fruits are sweet, then here is truly a treasury of the spirit, even if it is clothed in the form of madness; let us not be afraid of this.

It is interesting that the more religious a person is, the more often he suspects the people around him of being possessed. Most of these suspicions are unlikely to be justified, but possession certainly does occur. It happens that damage to the sphere of the will, which can already be regarded as mental illness, is accompanied by the intrusion into a person of an alien will which at certain moments takes control of him. The Gospels describe quite a few encounters between Jesus and such sufferers, and in most cases the possession manifests itself when the bearer of that alien will, the demon, cries out upon recognizing the One who is approaching. Jesus never rejoices in such recognition or in such testimony about Him—for can the testimony of a demon be accepted? Instead, He forbids the evil spirit to speak or act and drives it out of the person. This would seem to be an unequivocal victory of good over evil, yet people's inner corruption is such that they fail to recognize good even when it is plainly casting out evil.

In Christ the prophecy was fulfilled. But whom is it speaking about? It is still possible to understand why healing is given to the broken, release to captives, and sight to the blind. But why is joy promised only to the poor, and freedom only to the oppressed? And what does that have to do with me? Of course, I am sometimes oppressed, but not all the time!

It is no wonder that not everyone in the synagogue reacted properly... Or should we still try to reread this passage once more and try to enter into the meaning of these words, to discover in ourselves the need, the thirst for freedom and healing? Otherwise Jesus will have to go to another town again...

Today's reading prompts us to reflect on the truth expressed in a well-known saying whose Gospel origin, however, is far from universally known today: no prophet is accepted in his own country (v. 24). By quoting a messianic passage from the Book of Isaiah, Jesus quite plainly identifies Himself as the One of whom the prophet spoke (vv. 17-21). At first glance, His listeners' reaction seems paradoxical: on the one hand they agree with Jesus, but on the other they immediately begin to doubt. How could their fellow townsman, whom they had known since childhood, make any claim to be the Messiah (v. 22)? They demand miracles from Him not as signs of the Kingdom but as proof of His messiahship (v. 23). It is then that Jesus speaks the bitter words about a prophet in his own country (v. 24).

Yet the paradoxical reaction of Jesus' listeners was actually quite understandable, and not merely because “great things are best seen from a distance.” The issue here was ordinary familiarity, which often proves to be one of the most serious obstacles on the spiritual path. Their doubts are justified, not by chance, with the thought that they have known Him since childhood: “Is not this Joseph's son?” So how could there be any question of messiahship? Of course, if Jesus had been recognized by respected people or official authorities and they had directly identified Him as the Messiah, He would undoubtedly have been welcomed with joy and celebrated as a famous fellow townsman. But there was no official recognition, and the townspeople had to decide for themselves. The force of habit weighed upon them.

Fallen human beings tend to see reality not as it is but as they are accustomed to seeing it. Clichés are common and widespread, and they arise for a reason: reducing reality to patterns and using ready-made models to describe it form a kind of psychological mechanism by which human beings adapt to the world—a mechanism without which, after the Fall, they can no longer manage. Yet this same adaptive mechanism often prevents a person from seeing what is new and unusual. It offers ready-made patterns and models where they do not apply, where the realities involved fit no pattern and can be described by no model.

The Kingdom to which Jesus bears witness is just such a reality. It fits no familiar framework. Yet Jesus' fellow townspeople do not want to lose that framework; they are prepared to defend it at any cost, and Jesus simply will not fit within it: an unrecognized Messiah, a disturber of the peace, someone passing Himself off as no one knows whom and claiming what no one in their small town had ever claimed or would ever have dared to claim. This is how He appeared to the people of Nazareth. They were left with only one remedy: to rid themselves of their excessively troublesome fellow townsman. And they would have done so if they could (vv. 28-30).

As we can see, it is not only the hatred of religious rigorists and the maneuvering of politicians that lead Jesus to the cross. He is driven there also by the narrowness of fallen human nature.

The problem of insiders and outsiders has always existed, in every society and every culture. Everywhere and always it has turned out that it is better to be an insider than an outsider. But then the Messiah came into the world, and it turned out that everything was not so simple. It turned out that an insider is not necessarily someone we know. Most often it is someone we think we know. And this is understandable: we perceive our own people as part of the familiar and known world. There is no need to look closely at them, and no need to listen carefully to their words. In general, we already know more or less what our own people can tell us.

Outsiders are another matter. An outsider is always someone you do not know. Someone who is not part of the known and familiar world, and here it does not matter where he is from: another continent or the neighboring village. Outsiders are often rejected, but they are always looked at closely. People listen to what they say. Not necessarily in a friendly way, but always attentively. After all, an outsider has to be understood. Or at least explained to oneself. Explanation is often an illusion of understanding. Understanding presupposes the perception of another person as he is. Explanation begins when we perceive this other person as we want to see him, so that he will fit within the bounds of our perception of the world familiar and known to us.

Christ can and must be accepted as He is. And He can and must be understood too - also as He is. But He does not need to be explained. Not to ourselves and not to others. Provided, of course, that we want to communicate with Christ and not with our images of Christ. And here it turns out that it is easier for those to whom He is an outsider. They know nothing about Him. His own people also know nothing about Him, but they think they know everything. Unlike outsiders, who at least are not mistaken about their ignorance. And it is this way not only with Him.

It is this way with God too. With His heavenly Father. It is no accident that Jesus gives examples from ancient Jewish history of God's not being recognized by His own people. A failure to recognize Him that separates people from God. And from the Messiah too. For God or the Messiah to begin to act, a person must want it. And must turn directly to God. Directly to Christ. But not to those images of God or Christ that he has invented for himself. Otherwise even the Kingdom may turn out to be unreal. Imagined. And so may life in it.