“This is a strange story,” declares J.M. Creed. “Fantastic and grotesque,” adds Joseph Fitzmyer. “Unsophisticated, with enough preposterous material to invite the scorn of the skeptic,” concludes J. Pesch. These men are all esteemed New Testament scholars. Their statements refer to the story I just read (Luke 8:26-39). If you want a more local opinion, take it from the lady who edits the church page. In response to hearing the title of this morning’s sermon, she simply said: “Yuk.”

On the one and only occasion in my life when fate left me with a couple of hours to kill in Middletown, Connecticut, I made it a point to walk by the house where Annie Dillard lives. Alas, she wasn’t home. Not that I would have known what to do if she was. I probably would have been tongue tied. Annie Dillard is a favorite of mine, quietly admired from afar.

After a number of Sundays removed from the vantage point of this pulpit, it’s good to see you. And it’s good to hear you….especially when you sing like you have this morning. To be sure, you always sound decent. But some mornings, you sound positively vibrant. Especially when you know the songs.

Two New Yorkers were driving in the state of Louisiana when they entered the town of Natchitoches. They immediately began discussing with one another how to pronounce the town’s name. The discussion escalated into an argument and became rather heated. As it was nearing lunchtime, they decided to find a fast food emporium. Standing at the counter, one of them decided to settle the argument before ordering.