3 Days Of Redemption Stories With Arms Open WideSýnishorn

Legion - The Demoniac of the Gadarenes 

I took you from the ends of the earth, from its farthest corners I called you. I said, “You are my servant”; I have chosen you and have not rejected you. -ISAIAH 41:9

The last rays of sunlight cast long shadows across the rock-strewn floor of the cave tomb as a sobbing madman sat among the bones of the town’s ancestors. He was filthy and completely naked; his body was covered with sores, scars, and patches of caked blood. He sat with his knees drawn close to his chest at the entrance of the cave, rocking back and forth. He mumbled continuously through his tears, and at times he seemed to be begging someone—or something—for mercy.

“No, no, no, no . . . Please, please, no . . .” he wailed, tugging at his matted beard and hair with long, jagged fingernails.

The wind began to howl, and below him dark clouds that obscured the sunset were rushing across the surface of the Sea of Galilee. Jagged lightning flashed between the rolling blackness and the water below. The surface of the lake that, only moments before, had been tranquil, churned as it was whipped into a fury by the driving wind.

He rocked more frantically, and his cries grew louder and louder until at last he leaped to his feet, grabbed in each hand a jagged rock from the floor of the cave, and dragged the sharp points across his chest, plowing deep gashes into his skin, gashes that quickly swelled with blood that splattered to the ground at his feet.

Then he turned his face to the darkening sky and screamed.

On the hillside below, a drove of two thousand pigs rooted and grunted, pressing into the troughs their keepers were filling with food. These Greek men had strips of cloth tied over their noses and mouths to filter the stench of the animals, but such a large herd represented great wealth, and they worked vigorously to keep the animals fed. Some of the pigs were destined for the dinner table; others would be bred. The very best of the lot would be offered to the gods as a sacrifice to invoke good fortune and fertility.

From time to time, as the wind snatched at their robes, the men glanced anxiously toward the sea and the brewing storm. Suddenly a terrifying, tormented cry split the air. They all froze, their buckets stopping in midair, and turned their eyes fearfully toward the tombs above them. Then each man frantically pled the protection of his god.

The storm intensified, bending trees low to the ground and molding ten-foot waves that it then tossed upon the shore. The herdsmen abandoned their buckets and ran for a small shelter they had crafted at the base of the hill. Little more than a crude roof held aloft by a couple of saplings, the structure did nothing to shield them from the rain that blew sideways across the plain. They hunkered low, clinging to their robes and shielding their faces from the gale. They gave up shouting to one another as the howling wind and crashing waves reached a deafening crescendo.

Then . . . all was silent.

The wind stilled, and as the herdsmen lifted their astonished faces to the sky, they saw the clouds rapidly receding. They winced and shielded their eyes from the abrupt reappearance of the brilliant setting sun. The lake before them, only moments ago a boiling tempest, was as smooth as glass, its surface broken only by the bobbing of one small boat.

The herdsmen paled with fright, finding the storm’s abrupt end even more terrifying than its fury.

Dumbstruck, they stood slowly to their feet and watched the small craft row to shore in the distance. As the molten orb of the setting sun shimmered below the surface, they observed a small group of men step from the boat and haul it onto the beach.

The madman was curled up in a fetal position among the skeletons and lost in a fitful, exhausted slumber. Even in sleep, he whimpered and moaned. Then, for a moment, he was so still that he seemed to have stopped breathing, at last taking his final resting place among the dead.

Then, abruptly, his eyes flew open, and his body became rigid. A fierce grimace transformed his face into fury. He bolted upright, tilting his head from side to side as if listening for some intruder. Then, with an inhuman roar, he bolted from the cave and down the hillside toward the beach.

Jesus and His weary disciples had barely stepped onto dry land when the screaming, raging figure came hurtling toward them through the gathering darkness. Peter reached for the sword at his waist as Judas plunged his hand into his robe to grab the hilt of his dagger. All of the rest of the men scrambled for a piece of driftwood or an oar—anything they could use to defend themselves.

But not Jesus. The Messiah, His face set like stone for the battle about to begin, strode forward to meet the man. Then, with a loud voice, Jesus commanded the spirit within the demoniac to set him free.

“Come out of this man, you impure spirit!” Jesus roared (Mark 5:8).

The madman was thrown to the ground, his face landing in the sand and his arms flung wide as the demon within him began to beg. The chorus inside him screamed, vacillating between insolence and begging for mercy.

“What do you want with me, Jesus, Son of the Most High God? I beg you, don’t torture me!” (Luke 8:28).

“What is your name?” Jesus asked as the demons whimpered and begged at His feet.

The demons responded with a term fit only for war. “Legion,” they replied, “for we are many” (Mark 5:9).

Yet they began to beg for mercy again. Whimpering, pleading, they searched about for any alternative to the abyss they knew awaited them. With sinister delight, their eyes focused on the herd of pigs in the distance. It was a strategic choice. Though they knew they would ultimately lose their war with the Creator, they would seize every malicious opportunity afforded them in the meantime. If they could destroy the valuable herd of pigs, the local population would be far less receptive to the Messiah. Furthermore, the fact that a running boar was the symbol for the 10th Roman Legion, Israel’s oppressor, sweetened the prospect.

“If you drive us out, send us into the herd of pigs!” (Matthew 8:31). The Savior said to them, “Go!” (Matthew 8:32).

The man at Jesus’ feet convulsed violently. Seconds later, a loud scream rose from the herd as the pigs—shocked by the evil intrusion—leaped into the air. Terrified, they bolted and attempted to run away from the oppressive darkness that had fallen upon them.

As they stampeded down the hill, their legs pumped faster and faster. Here and there a few of the animals realized they were running out of control and attempted to stop, but to no avail. The decline was too steep and the press of the drove behind them too strong.

The thunder of their hooves and screaming filled the air as the pigs fell over one another, cascading like an avalanche headlong into the sea.

Pigs are naturally buoyant and good swimmers, but this herd was doomed by a supernatural force. The water churned as they struggled in vain to keep their heads above the surface. In a matter of moments, each one had sunk to the bottom of the Sea of Galilee, and all was quiet.

The men who had been tending the pigs stood transfixed in shock for a moment and then began to run toward the town shouting the alarm as they went.

The man at Jesus’ feet rose shakily and wrapped his arms around him-self in an attempt to shield his nakedness. Jesus shrugged off His outer cloak and wrapped it around the man’s shoulders.

The man began weeping, voicing his gratitude over and again to the One who had set him free. Slowly, he dropped to the ground, grasped the feet of the Savior, and covered them with tears of heartfelt gratitude.

Prayer

Eternal God,

You are the Creator of the ends of the earth, and Your understanding no one can fathom. You saw the morning star fall from heaven, and yet, in compassion, You bend low to set me free from all that keeps me in bondage. May my moments and my days overflow with ceaseless gratitude and praise to you.

Amen.