In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Glory to Jesus Christ.

Our world right now, near and far, is surrounded with so many woes and terrors and fears—so many things that oppress us when we learn of them and don't know quite what to do. And when we come here to church, it can seem like this is a place where we can set all that aside. We don't have to be dwelling on fear here. This is a house of refuge and safety.

But in our services all the time, we hear this phrase, and it can jar perhaps: the fear of God. What are we having to say about the fear of God? Can't we do without the fear of God at least? There's so many other things to fear. God's love—that should be enough, right? He's kind and gentle and wants the best thing for us, right? But no, no, we can't do without the fear of God.

As we hear every time, and as we prepare to receive Holy Communion: "In the fear of God, draw near." God is love. The scriptures tell us this very clearly. But that love is as strong as death. It is a flame of fire, a most vehement flame, as the Song of Solomon puts it. And when people come into the presence of the loving God, they are filled with fear.

We hear this every time in the scriptures. Whether we are speaking of Moses at the burning bush, or Isaiah saying, "I am undone, for my eyes have seen the glory of God," or Peter saying, "Depart from me, a sinner"—people are afraid because they are coming into the presence of the holy God who is light, and in Him is no darkness at all. And they are not ready. They are not purified as they need to be, not made strong to be able to endure that fiery presence, that fiery love. They are not yet truly holy themselves.

And this is why we take such care in our preparation for Holy Confession and Holy Communion: "In the fear of God, draw near." Such fear is respect, proper veneration—awe for the living God. And it is the beginning of wisdom.

But then there is foolish fear. There is fear that is based on putting our trust in the wrong things. And we see it in the Gospel today. What makes the people of this city of the Gadarenes afraid? Think about it. We hear that they are filled with great fear. But why? Is it the man with this legion of demons? No. No, they figure they've got that managed. You know, before they had him under guard because he was crazy and violent, and he was bound in chains, but he broke the chains and fled off into the wilderness, and he lives now naked among the tombs. Good riddance. "We don't go to the tombs. That's for dead people. We have our own city, and he can be there far away from us, and we don't have to fear him anymore. Problem managed."

So what do they fear? What is it that they're afraid of? It's when they come to Jesus and they find this man that they imagined that they had dealt with, they had put out of their thoughts. They are confronted with him, clothed and in his right mind, and they learn from the shepherds that this was all done at the cost of a herd of pigs. Then they are seized with great fear, because they realize that God has visited His people—that the fiery love of God is transforming things, breaking through all the nice, neat boundaries they have established to keep their fears far away from them, to bind and secure them.

Now they see that when God visits His people, all sorts of things now become possible. Look at what has already been done just in one day. What more might God's fiery love transform, change, demand of them in future? What might be the cost of enduring that moment?

Brothers and sisters, what might be the cost for you to endure that fiery love in your own life, in our life together? What might we have to confront? What might we have to sacrifice to love the Lord our God with all our heart, with all our soul, with all our strength, and all our mind? What would it cost for us to love our neighbor as ourselves? What might God be expecting of us?

And so, the people, seized with great fear at the presence of the loving God, ask Him to leave. They tell Him to depart from their city, from their region. And He does. He goes away. It's like the most terrible news in the whole Gospel right there. You ask love to depart, and love will go away. What judgment, what dread on the last day, if that's the last word in your life.

But there's hope. There's hope because that's not the end of the story, right? As He is leaving, that man begs to go with Him. He's like, "These people, they're terrible. They hate You. They hate me. Let me come with You, because at last I know how to live in freedom and without fear."

But Jesus doesn't tell him that he may go with Him, but says instead, "Go back to your own house. Go back to your own house in your own city, and tell the people there all the things that God has done for you."

So Jesus goes away, but He sends a messenger of hope and renewal back—the very man who had been possessed by so many demons, now to tell them the truth of God's love, that they might have one more chance to hear and turn and live.

Brothers and sisters, this is our task too. We who have received so much from the hand of the Most High God, the One who loves us with an immeasurable, unfathomable love that is so much greater than our sins. And our work now is to go out from here, from the house of the Lord, to our own homes, to our own places of work and life, to be messengers of the Gospel of Jesus Christ, of the God who is love, and with our words and with our thoughts and with all the actions of our life, to remind ourselves and one another and all those around us what great things God has done for us.

Amen. Glory to Jesus Christ. Glory forever.