The celebration of Matariki coincides with Winter Solstice which is the seasonal beginning for the New Year. Both Māori and European cultures share this time. Matariki, the passing of the old year and the welcome to the new, encapsulates many themes and practices. 

It is a time to firstly remember, as an old prayer book said “our dead, those who have helped and influenced us.” Our stars of the past. We remember them because though they have gone yet still, particularly in our dark times, they can shine like stars in our night – encouraging and guiding.  E nga mate, haere,haere, haere ki te po.  [To our dead farewell, farewell, farewell to the night].

Secondly, Matariki is a time of coming change. A turning of the seasons. And the coming of light. So, it’s a time to prepare, to get ready the ground for planting, a time to dream it then do it. The flying of kites symbolizes dreaming.

And lastly, Matariki occurred at the end of the harvest season. So, it was a time of giving thanks for our whenua [the land] and Papatuanuku [our ‘mother,’ the earth] who have sustained us; and to partake in the bounty of that sustenance.

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Jesus was a star. Some would use the metaphor of Jesus as a pole star, a guide in our night, in our time of uncertainty when the usual pointers can’t be seen. Our gospel text points to some of the values, the lived dream, that Jesus had.

Jesus and the Gerasene Demoniac (as the sick man has been so-labelled) is our Bible reading today. This is two stories in one telling. The first story is about mental ill-health, and the inadequacy of the ‘health care’ response at the time. The second story is about the Roman occupation of Palestine and the effects of colonization, which is then woven into the first story.

Mental ill-health, particularly when manifested as irrational violent behaviour, was labelled back in the Bible days as demon possession. Such labelling is not uncommon still in fundamentalist churches. Indeed, in general today, there is a lot of labelling when it comes to mental illness.

Back in Jesus’ day when a family or hāpu couldn’t cope with one so afflicted, the ‘health care’ response was restraint, supervision, and separation from where others lived. Hence, we have the Gerasene bound in chains, under guard, and living in the local graveyard.

There is a shocking and revolting history of how those who are mentally ill have been treated throughout recorded time. Restraint, supervision, and separation are on the kinder end of the spectrum.

There is also, especially in recent times, a redemptive history of the relief and healing that medicines and other therapies can bring, as well as a growing acceptance of the widespread nature and normality of mental ill-health. In our country such illness no longer has the stigma it once had. Those so afflicted are no longer treated like prisoners, or moral reprobates. With appropriate support and funding many so ill are being helped. That said, we still have some way to go as a society in how we care for, embrace, and restore those who suffer from the many forms of mental illness.

What this biblical story does is not only re-create a picture of Jesus – which might mirror his actions, and certainly others’ expectations – but it creates a moral expectation on those who would follow in his name. Expectations such as going and talking with the sick, caring for and supporting the sick, treating the sick like the valued human beings they are, and providing pathways to whatever is healing (including acceptance by the community). These are not optional add-ons to a life of faith. They are what a life of faith is about.

Jesus is pictured here as a deliverer. However the picture is given, not to create in us an expectation that Jesus will do the delivering, but in order that we might imitate him by (quoting Isaiah) “proclaiming good news to the poor, freedom for prisoners, recovery of sight for the blind, and to set the oppressed free.”

And the early Jesus movements, as I mentioned last week by reference to Tertullian, worked with the poor, prisoners, the blind, and the oppressed – indeed anyone marginalized by the Empire – to restore body and soul, to honour their dignity, and to politically align with their aspirations to be accepted and included in the mainstream good of society.

To use a Matariki metaphor, this is why Jesus was the light, the star, so that we might also might shine and be lights and stars for others. And what it meant to be a light was simply to help others, particularly those on the margins of wealth, power, and acceptance.

The second story here, woven into the first, is the agenda, outcomes, and critique of Rome’s colonization of Palestine. Given that this story was first written down (late first early second century) when Rome was still present as the colonizer, the message is more subtle.  

The man’s name is ‘Legion’ (this is clearly a reference to the 4-5,000 soldiers who had marched into Judea almost a century earlier under Pompey and had been there ever since). Ched Myers points out that the possessed pigs’ behaviour continues the legionary image: when Jesus “gives permission,” sounding like one who has taken over command for a moment, they rush off as though attacking. Even their “herd” is possibly a military metaphor, used for groups of recruits.

Roman power was “order” in the minds of its practitioners, and chaos in the real lives of those on whom it was imposed. It was about threat, violence, taxation, and subjugation. It was about oppression.

The metaphor of this second story, therefore, is that “Legion” is more than just a crowd. This man has been invaded by an army sent unsolicited by the forces of evil, purportedly to bring order, but in reality, to cause chaos, as his plight makes clear. Jesus’ encounter with this “Legion” (demonic army) is thus a skirmish between two forms of order and power.

The final scene in the story has the man, now saved from the demonic army, presented as a model of peace, clothed, and in good mental health. This simple picture juxtaposes the real order that comes from the common good of living God’s way of love and wellbeing, with forms of supposed order imposed by the structures of self-serving top-down colonial governance and control.

Once again, the listeners to, or readers of, this weave of two stories are being reminded not just of Jesus the deliverer who brings peace and wellbeing (not via Rome’s methods of violence and oppression but via God’s methods of kindness and courage in the face of violence and oppression), but of their (our own)calling to emulate the ways and actions of Jesus. The call that we too should be light-bearers of hope. We too should practice kindness and courage. We too should in our caring create a society that honours the whole range of mental well-being.

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I would now invite you to form small groups of 3 people and discuss and share together about those who have been ‘lights’ ‘stars’ for you, especially in emulating the virtues of caring, kindness, and courage.

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