Jesus attracted crowds. Everywhere He went, people came. It would have been odd if He had not gained a following and a reputation as He walked the dusty streets of ancient Israel teaching about God’s heart, healing the sick, and working wonders. When Jesus came to town, people stopped their daily routines to get near the miracle power of God that showed up at every turn He made. They were amazed and rejoiced at what they were seeing. Except that day when He sailed up to the shore of Gerasa.
On that day, Jesus stepped out of the boat in which He and disciples had spent the stormy night and immediately was confronted with a shrieking wild man, naked and covered in scars. This man had a desperate, broken existence, alive but not really living. According to the gospel of Mark, he “had his dwelling among the tombs” where he roamed day and night with no companion except for the cold stones marking the graves of people he had known and maybe loved. The pain inside him was lessened only by the stinging of his skin as he cut and pounded his arms and legs with stones.
The townspeople had done what they thought was their duty. Not understanding the intensity of his suffering, they tried to restrain him with chains and shackles. Since they could not deal with his dysfunction, they sought to at least protect their families from him. His problem was not some disease that a physician could treat or a psychological issue that could be counseled out of him. His torment was spiritual, tortured from within, and only someone with power greater than the demons that gripped him could help.
As the sun rose that day, he had watched the tiny ship approaching the shore in the morning light. There was a struggle inside of him as he felt the almost magnetic pull to run to the shore, but at the same time compelled to run away and hide behind the familiar stones that he called home. The internal warfare continued as he haltingly approached the robed figure stepping on to the ground and heading his way. It was as though the Man from the boat had come intentionally to seek him out, and though the tormenting darkness inside him urged and prodded him to hide, he would not. This Man from the boat, this moment, was too important. So he stood there naked and broken, bleeding and bruised, screaming in fear and pain while Jesus drew closer and closer.
The man heard his own voice, but knew he was not the one speaking. The conversation between Jesus and the darkness that had long controlled him was brief. The simple command for the demons who had long tormented him to go was all that it took for his freedom. Demons shrieked and cursed and came out of him, entering into the herd of swine on the hillside nearby. No more shackles and chains, tombs or darkness, freedom was found in the presence of Jesus. The peace that had long evaded him fell like a blanket around the man’s shoulders. Taking the robe that was offered by the disciples, the man covered himself and melted into the open arms of Jesus. Gratitude flooded his heart as he felt loved and accepted for the first time in years.
And the pigs? Unable to bear the torment the man had lived with day and night, they squealed and stampeded, and rushed past their caretakers off the small cliff and into the sea. Soon, the people from Gerasa came. First a few men came but as word spread, more showed up –farmers, shopkeepers, women, and children. Looking over the cliff at the mass of dead swine gently floating away from the shore, they turned in wonder to see the man whom they had feared and chained time after time. He was sitting at the feet of Jesus listening intently as He spoke, looking for all the world like a normal person.
Wouldn’t you think that the people would be celebrating at that point? Wouldn’t you think that they would have been glorifying God for transforming the man’s tortured life with just a word? Wouldn’t you expect a parade? Or a cheer to rise up from the crowd? Or a dinner party with dancing and feasting? None of that happened. Instead, they began to ask Jesus to leave. They were afraid, but not of the man who had been possessed by devils. They were afraid of what else Jesus would do. The pigs had been their property, and there had been a lot of them. They had raised the swine to butcher, to sell, to barter for goods they wanted or needed. This man’s deliverance had cost them a lot of money.
Jesus walked back to the water’s edge where the boat sat waiting. He smiled gently when the man asked to go with Him and made a simple request, “Will you stay here and tell people what God has done for you?” The man stood quietly and watched the boat push off from shore. He stood there long after the crowd had made its way back to town. When he could no longer make out the standing figure of the Lord, he turned and walked back up the hill. He looked at the tombs where he had spent his time for the past many seasons and felt a wave of joy wash over him. He started down the path toward the town with a smile. He had a story to tell and he couldn’t wait.
When I read this narrative in my morning devotions, I was moved at the thought of Jesus crossing the Sea of Galilee in order to free a man living in darkness. I was reminded that I was once bound in chains of depression and dark hopelessness, but then Jesus set me free too. I rejoiced at the power and compassion of my Savior. I was encouraged by the notion that by virtue of his testimony, this man who had known such deep sorrow had become one of the first evangelists of the new covenant. People may not have been convinced by some theological discourse he delivered, but they could not withstand his testimony. Once I was that, but now I am this.
But then there were these troublesome townspeople. Their blatant disregard for this man’s suffering and subsequent deliverance was offensive to me. This man’s miracle didn’t make them wonder, because his misery didn’t make them weep. They were removed from the horror of his life except at the moments when their paths intersected. He was simply in the background of their lives, easy to avoid. Instead of rejoicing at his freedom, they were calculating what it costed them. These folks rejected the Lord because their hearts were concerned with pigs.
A heart concerned with pigs—this phrase challenges me. How often have I lived with my heart concerned with pigs, or should I say my comfort and convenience? I don’t know about you but I have a tendency to complain when things don’t go my way or when difficulty accompanies my steps. I can be so concerned with how a situation affects me and my plans that I do not look close enough to see the needs of others who may be carrying heavy loads. This unhealthy focus on what I want and desire is like a cancer eating away at my spiritual life.
How many people have I walked past in the grocery store without a kind word or glance? Whose daughter was that young woman walking down the road clutching a bag with her belongings tucked inside? Had that homeless man had a hot meal today or this week? Was that man carefully counting out change at the gas station trying to get enough gas to make it to work and feed his famly? Do any of them know that God loves them, or that He sent His Son to bear the price for their freedom? Aren’t they worth more than the things–the pigs–I have set my heart on?
I don’t know about you, but I am unsatisfied with a pig-centric world view. Selfishness and self-preservation simply cannot walk hand in hand with the Savior. The Jesus I read about teaches us to live in a far different way. He bids us lay down our lives with all our selfish plans and purposes to take up the higher life that He offers us. He hands us a towel and instructs us to serve one another. He offers us a cross to carry where we can crucify our flesh and its self-centered desires.
If we will walk with Jesus, we must walk as He walk, and I really want to walk with Him. Sometimes, I just need to take a moment and sit at His feet so that I can see more clearly what matters most. I never want Him to see my heart concerned with pigs.
.
.
