Sermon for Proper 7C – Trinity 1
Readings: Galatians 3:23–end and Luke 8:26–39
Every generation lives with conflict. Sometimes it shocks us; other times, it simply exhausts us. We ask, again and again, “Why can’t people just get on?” But our scriptures don’t hide the truth: division runs deep — in history, in systems, in souls. This sermon explores how Paul names those divisions, how Jesus crosses them, and what happens when grace refuses to stay on its side of the line. In a world chained by difference, Christ brings the freedom of unity — not by erasing our stories, but by re-membering us into something new.
Here we go again — at the risk of repeating myself…
I love preaching that brings scripture back to life, and I hope you do too.
I say this often, but it bears repeating: when we open scripture together, we are not just reading words,
we are bringing them back to life.
And we’re bringing them to life in a world of division.
There are times when the world feels more dangerous than ever.
This week has been one of them: Israel launches missiles at Iran, Iran retaliates, and then Donald Trump gets himself involved — in his customary statesmanlike manner.
And those of us on the fringes wonder, “Why can’t people just get on?”
It’s a question many of us have asked all our adult lives, as one conflict after another flashes across our screens.
It’s as if we’re surprised when conflict breaks out,
even though our scriptures describe human history as full of it.
From the moment Adam and Eve grew up enough to blame each other,
and as for their children; Cain grew jealous of Abel and killed him.
This is the backdrop of scripture: a history full of conflict, grievance and wrong.
And that shouldn’t surprise us.
Human nature leans toward grievance and defence.
We feel a moral obligation to address what’s been done to us.
We shouldn’t be surprised when we don’t get along.
The real surprise is that we ever do.
In spite of our differences, it’s astonishing how often we manage peace.
This is the human reality Paul addresses when he writes to the Galatians.
We often skip to the famous bit: “There is neither Jew nor Gentile, slave nor free, male nor female…”
And we instinctively expand it: neither young nor old, gay nor straight, rich nor poor.
But we often miss the phrase just before: “We were held in custody under the law… we were locked up.”
We were locked into divisions. Bound by binaries.
And those divisions still exist — even in the church.
There has been one law for the gay and another for the straight.
One law for men (they could be ordained), and another for women (they could not).
There was a time when it mattered whether you were married or divorced.
These divisions weren’t just opinions — they were rules.
“This is the law,” people said. “These are the boundaries.”
But Paul names these laws for what they are: temporary, partial, and not the final word.
These binaries are unequal — and unequal binaries breed resentment, not reconciliation.
The good news is that in Christ, those old structures no longer define us.
The new reality is that all who are baptised into Christ are clothed with Christ. We are one.
So what does that actually look like?
What does it look like when someone, long bound by division, is finally set free?
That’s the power of the story in Luke’s Gospel.
Here is someone completely undone by division — fragmented and chained, living among the tombs.
They call him “Legion,” which isn’t his real name.
It’s a name that suggests occupation: a Roman military unit.
Empire has invaded his soul.
He is not just possessed — he is colonised.
He has become the embodiment of a fractured, binary-riddled world.
He’s been locked up — like those Paul was writing to.
Chained hand and foot by the law of empire.
He had broken the chains, yes — but the people still kept him out.
They feared him. He had to be driven away, kept apart.
And that’s where Jesus meets him.
Jesus crosses over — not just a lake, but boundaries of culture, class, purity, power.
He goes where the pigs are, among the tombs — all unclean territory for a devout Jew.
But this is how far Jesus is willing to go to restore a life.
To say: no one is beyond healing.
He crosses all the boundary lines, the enemy lines.
No one is so divided that they can’t be made whole.
And when the man is healed,
when he is clothed and in his right mind,
sitting at Jesus’ feet,
the people are afraid.
They’re afraid by the healing.
They’re afraid of what it might mean if the old boundaries don’t hold.
If he is restored, what does that mean for the system we’ve built?
They send Jesus away.
But before he goes, Jesus sends the man home.
And notice — he is no longer called Legion.
He is “the man”. A person. A human being.
He’s been re-membered — brought back into the body, into community.
He’s been clothed not only with literal garments, but in the language of Paul, clothed in Christ.
And this rehumanised man becomes a witness.
His life, restored, is a sign that another world is possible,
a world in which division doesn’t get the last word.
Because this is what the kingdom of God looks like.
Not just healing wounds, but undoing the whole system that caused them.
Not just restoring one man, but revealing that the lines we’ve drawn,
between the first and the last, the worthy and the broken,
don’t stand in the light of Christ.
In God’s kingdom, the last become first.
The one known as Legion, the one cast out,
becomes the first to preach the good news of Jesus to his people.
The law that once divided is replaced by a love that restores.
So today, let’s stop being surprised by conflict.
Conflict and division is the rule, the law, the norm (these days)
as it always has been. That’s what we’re locked in to
and what we’re locked in by.
So let’s stop being surprised by conflict
And instead start being amazed by grace
and the freedom that is made possible in Christ
who crosses the boundaries that divide us
to help us find our peace.
No longer divided, we are made one.
That changes everything.
I’d love to hear your thoughts — how do you see these lines being crossed in your own life or community?
Grits and Grains 
