Call It What It Is

 November 16, 2025

Rev. Margaret May Kelly – Guest Minister

Text: Mark 5:1-13

Download and print a PDF of this sermon here.

 

Grace to you and peace from God our Parent and our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen.

It is a delight to be here sharing a good word. And an honor to be invited to preach on a topic that y’all have been leaders in. I am so grateful for the ways you lead our community in housing stability. The ways you encourage us to remember the promise that God intends safe homes for all people. I am so glad we are in community together.

I know a story of exorcism seems like an odd choice when we think about housing and homes. I promise, they are connected.

The Gospel of Mark is my favorite of the gospels. I love the intensity with which Mark writes—none of the monologues that you get in John. Just a whole lot of “Jesus immediately” did something or a member of the community “immediately” did something. In this story, someone who had been marginalized from their community, perhaps for safety reasons, perhaps because people didn’t want to deal with them, perhaps for something in between, immediately ran to Jesus when Jesus got off the boat. He lived at the edge of community and engaged in self-harm. He was struggling. He was isolated.

He sees Jesus and knows that Jesus is powerful. He recognizes this immediately. And he begs, well, the demon begs, for leniency. For Jesus to just let him go on about his business. Now, this is the important part: Jesus asks for the unclean spirit’s name. And receives it. It is Legion, for they are many.

Exorcisms go better when you know the name of the spirit you are exorcising. A name is power. Our own tradition has examples. Our Hebrew scriptures include a name for God that was not intended to be written out completely or pronounced aloud. It was too powerful. It was too holy.

Names are powerful.

You can’t fix something if you can’t name what it is.

I’m also a clinical social worker by training—a mental health professional by MN statute. I write mental health assessments regularly. I sometimes disagree with previous diagnoses in my assessment. And sometimes, I tell people in authority, who read my assessments, that my recommendations are not about offering more mental health treatment. Sometimes, it is about all the other things that impact mental health.

You see, when we get the right name for something, we can do the right intervention. Racing thoughts could be ADHD, Mania (which has variations), could be anxiety, could be PTSD. We don’t treat those things the same way. There may be similarities, but unless we understand the root cause and name it, we aren’t guaranteed to get healing.

And sometimes, naming things in mental health work also means we name systemic issues. I have often wanted to give a diagnosis of “adjustment disorder based on systemic racism, generational poverty, generational trauma, transphobia, ablism.” Adjustment disorders are what we call mental health symptoms that aren’t severe enough for a big diagnosis (it is also a workaround for giving a diagnosis that insurance may cover). They are also diagnoses that frequently come when there is a clear external situation. A life event like, divorce, a death, moving, new jobs, marriage, etc. Doesn’t have to be a bad thing, just something that increases feelings of stress, and need a little extra support.

But what if we called the anxiety that Mothers who have been involved in foster care, child protection, corrections, etc. express when encountering the mental health systems what it actually is: a very real response to a system that frequently gives behavioral diagnoses to kiddos and families with high systems involvement, that will flag them as “behavior kids.” What if we called it what it is: Adjustment disorder (since it is causing distress) due to systemic racism. A very real response to a very real concern.

Sit with that. It shifts the ownership of the anxiety back onto the system. It shifts the need for change back onto the system of oppression. It reframes the hesitancy to engage in mental health services as a very understandable anxiety. A rupture in the ways community should care for each other, due to systemic oppression.

And so, what if we look at housing in this way. What if we consistently named the reasons some of our neighbors don’t have safe homes. What if we consistently looked to fix those reasons, and didn’t put the expectation of change on the individual.

We must name that there is a rupture in community when some members don’t have enough to eat and a safe place to sleep. The man being tormented experienced separation from community. This man was being harmed by Legion. A demon we refer to in the singular, but who is actually a military regiment of demons numbering nearly 5000 people. Legion, a particular term used by the military in Rome, the oppressive regime in which Jesus and his community existed in. Legion is not a personal problem. Legion impacts the entire community. Legion requires a communal response.

What if we said, we need housing that honors the beautiful myriad of ways that God’s people build families and community. Instead of risking an apartment because someone has been a guest for more than 2 weeks, we recognize that marriage and children are not the only possibilities. What if housing vouchers and subsidies weren’t so dependent upon a narrow understanding of family. What if we could exorcise the narrow definition of family. Then we can invite in the beautiful ways humans connect as family.

In the Lutheran liturgy of baptism, which, in a way, is an exorcism, we ask people to renounce the ways of sin that defy God. It is a question-and-answer process. Perhaps we can do that here. Do you renounce the narrow definition of family and the ways that definition denies people safe homes?

You may respond with, “we renounce them.”

What if we said, we need housing that honors all the ways people need support in housing. We can exorcise the belief that only people who can live independently can access housing. We can invite people into interdependence.

Do you renounce the ways ablism and lack of support impact access to safe homes?

We renounce them.

What if we continued to loudly name the impacts of red lining in our communities. We can exorcise the belief that only certain people can live in certain areas.

Do you renounce the ways systemic racism shows up in housing policies and harms our neighbors?

We renounce them.

What if we continue to listen to our neighbors at Street Voices of Change when they tell us about the difficulties faced in shelters. Can you imagine the shelters we could have when people are in transitions? They would be safe and warm, and all people would have dignity.

Do you renounce the dehumanizing ways people experience emergency shelter?

We renounce them.

Much like the man who was tormented by Legion, there was a rupture with community. And until we name the thing causing harm, there won’t be healing. Community won’t be whole.

I am thankful that today, we have publicly named a few of the ways we are kept from being fully in community. I am thankful that we can name the legion of ways that harm is done to our neighbors and ourselves.

Now, let’s go out into the world knowing we are called into the beautiful, joyful, and hard work of being in the community that God has gifted us. What holy work it is. Amen.