The ministry of reparations and restitution
By the Rev. Canon Lindsey Ardrey
You and your friends have just spent a harrowing night on the waters of the sea and step foot on land just as day breaks. If you’re being honest with yourself, you’re still a little shaken up reliving the memory of watching your teacher command the natural elements. But you press on, following Jesus and your comrades into the country of the Gerasenes. No sooner have you collected yourself when a man with wild eyes and immense strength meets your crew. Your heart drops into your stomach as Jesus steps to the front, coming face to face with this man marked with bruises and draped in tattered clothes. Even though he is mere feet from the group, the man shouts at the top of his voice, strong and unwavering, “What have you to do with me, Jesus, Son of the Most High God? I adjure you, by God, do not torment me!” (Mark 5:7) It seems as though his voice is coming from different directions, and you remember the tales you heard from back home. You thought his man was pure lore. A man living among the tombs, shouting and howling well into the night. You heard that his community feared for his and their own safety, and the only thing they knew to do was to bind him with chains and shackles—keeping him far from their families so they could continue on with life. You heard about this man with outsized strength who bent the metal of his shackles and severed the bonds of his chains. You thought it was myth, but here he is looking desperate and on the edge, staring into your teacher’s eyes. Even though you’re afraid to take your own eyes off the man, you steal a glance at Jesus with his feet firmly planted and exuding a sense of unwavering power you haven’t seen in him before. With a resolute and commanding voice, Jesus bellows, “Come out of the man, you unclean spirit!” The man shakes but still stands. Jesus speaks again to ask the occupying spirit’s name, and the answer comes back, “My name is Legion; for we are many.” You’ve never seen anything like this.
More and more, you’re learning that there is no playbook, no instruction manual for what you and your friends encounter when you’re with Jesus. Many spirits in one body? You don’t have to imagine the torment; you’re staring right at it. You watch on as Jesus and the legion negotiate what comes next, and immediately you feel a great and swift wind pass through. The man drops to the ground, all tension leaving his body; the fire in his eyes dies, and you hear a great stirring among the herd of pigs in the distance. The legion has left the man and entered the swine. The noises in the distance are great, but you can’t take your eyes off the man. He is calm and seems to be inside of his mind and in possession of himself. To you, he seems like a brand-new person. The townspeople begin congregating and see the man formerly known as Legion is no longer a terror to himself. The people don’t quite know what to make of this miracle, so they ask Jesus to leave. But before you, your friends and Jesus leave, the new man comes to Jesus, begging to follow him. But Jesus tells him that he has a different task. He needs to go home and show himself to his family and the community that sent him away. He needs to show himself whole and dispossessed of all that was ruling him. Jesus tells the man to show his community what the Lord’s mercy looks like. The man departs, the crowd disperses, and your group all return to your boat. But your feet haven’t moved yet, allowing your eyes to readjust to seeing Jesus in a new way.
A HEALING BALM
In a land of occupying forces and competing loyalties, Jesus saves. In a world where a tormented soul is treated with bonds of chains, Jesus repairs. In a place where those shouting for help are cast out, Jesus restores.
Jesus moves this man out of the tombs and back into community. Jesus delivers a man back to himself and to his people. We can read this exorcism story as an allegory—a powerful tale of Jesus’ powerful deeds—because who really believes in spirit possession these days? Or we can take it at face value and supplant it onto our society today.
When it comes to conversations on race and reparations, what forces are ruling our minds, our bodies and our souls? The truth is that at any given moment, we play the role of the tormented and shackled man. Those of us who trace our lineage to enslaved ancestors feel in our bones the reality of being put into literal bondage. We know what it’s like to bend and contort, attempting to turn our bodies and minds into something acceptable for the appeasement of the majority, only to end up bruised and hurt. We intimately know the feeling of being put aside, with our shouts for equity and justice fading into the hollows of tombs. Those of us whose lineage follows a different path, one of the majority, may not recognize the chains around our souls. Jesus calls us to hear the pleas of the hurt and the vulnerable, to account for our mistakes and make amends, and yet we hear the word “reparations” and bristle. We call ourselves followers of Jesus, yet we don’t take seriously his commands. We don’t realize how far removed we are from ourselves and our true heart, how we have been occupied by the spirits of defensiveness, guilt, shame, fear, numbness and apathy. Sometimes it’s hard to tell that you’re living among the tombs rather than in right relationship with yourself and the people around you.
But this ministry, with Jesus as our teacher, is a healing balm. Not one story in the Gospels is wasted without Jesus healing to bring a person back into the communal fold or preaching about caring for the lonely, the lost and the disinherited. And so it is for this ministry of reparations and restitution. I know the word “reparations” in this current age is charged with emotion and political baggage, but we are merely talking about Jesus-work. The base principle of reparations is something we all learned before we even entered elementary school: When someone is hurt, we offer repair in the form of BAND-AIDs® and kisses, Neosporin® and hugs, tears and back rubs. If we harmed someone, we apologize and ask how we can make it better. We ask how we can rebuild trust and become friends again; how can we restore our relationship? And there’s the root for “restitution.” How do we, like Jesus, restore what has been marred, broken or bruised? They are simple ideals with more than simple ramifications.
But the first step for us is to present ourselves and our issues to Jesus. Gather up our collective stories, tell the truth about our slaveholding history and the harm it caused while working to uproot its legacy. Through all of this, Jesus will be there, holding his ground and at the ready to dispel all unwanted spirits. But if we go back to the Scripture’s end, we don’t know what happens to the man once he leaves Jesus and the disciples. What happens when he returns to his family? He’s a new person now. Will he be accepted? Will he hold bitterness toward the people who sent him away? Will his people feel guilty for what they did? Or will everyone open their hearts and trust the gift of restitution for what it is? I’m rooting for open hearts and trust, both in the Gospel story and in our story together as God’s people in this church.
The Rev. Canon Lindsey Ardrey is the canon missioner for diocesan reparations and restitution ministry for the Diocese of North Carolina.
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