What do you do with a man who lives among the tombs?
You stay away, as most of the townsfolk well knew who lived in the Decapolis, a Gentile region on the Sea of Galilee’s eastern coast.
No one could subdue the most notorious man of Gergesa, a region in the Decapolis. According to the accounts in Matthew 8:28-34, Mark 5:1-20, and Luke 8:26-39, men tethered him in chains and stood guard to no avail.
Matthew’s account notes there were two men. For this story, we’ll concern ourselves with the one who sticks around until the end.
Doting parents probably warned their children to keep away from the man, who went without clothes and shucked off shackles like corn husks.
It might have been a rite of passage for young men along the coast. Test your strength and see if you can wrestle this man into submission. Time and again, the man would wrench the links away from him in sweeping, twisting cracks, likely swinging them in the direction of whoever bound him.
Day and night, roaming among the ridges and tombs, he skulked and paced and wandered.
You see, he was possessed by demons. Since one of them said, “Legion, for we are many,” we can guess there were plenty to cover the weekend shift when it came to tormenting this man.
The Biblical accounts don’t provide a timeline for how long the man suffered.
It must have been extensive, given that he had been chained up multiple times. Like the village drunk, he was a common part of communal life, albeit one who menaced all-comers.
How did it all start?
The account from each Gospel leaves little biographical information.
Was he a farmer, a merchant, a soldier, a bandit, a laborer?
Whatever his status or station, possession happened all at once and over the course of time, just like bankruptcy.
Whatever his job, he soon was unable to work.
Whatever family he held dear would have been ashamed and heartbroken for him. And anyone who ever had anything to do with him would have distanced themselves.
Perhaps it started with a tiny compromise. But soon enough, the gulf widened to consume his entire life — so much so he couldn’t even keep clothes on.
It’s what demons do. They build a circle of influence until mind, body, and spirit submerge into torment.
Despising himself for what he had become, he lashed out. If others couldn’t understand his suffering, then he would make them feel it.
The only thing worse than being a madman is being a madman who’s totally aware he’s mad. The self-inflicted scars give clues he had lucid moments, terrifying turns of the clock where he understood his predicament.
Night and day among the tombs and on the mountains he was always crying out and cutting himself with stones.
Trauma became his only means of communication.
As the months or years rolled past, time became his second-greatest tormentor. If freedom wasn’t available, then he’d rather accelerate the destruction, slicing his body with stones.
What else is a man to do when his only companions are the departed and the demonic?
Craving freedom was a poor substitute for freedom itself, so suicide appeared as the lone viable option.
Then Jesus docks onshore.
Fresh off calming a thrashing storm, he swings over the side of the boat, only to hear the screech of the most notorious man in Gergesa.
Can you imagine him too?
The callow skin, patchy beard, mangled hair, and poking ribs against his skin framed this notorious man scrambling from the tombs in an unsteady run to confront Jesus.
He probably wanted to hug and choke Jesus at the same time, to kneel at his feet and stomp him into submission.
In absolute conflict, the demons seized him, cowering at the power and authority of Jesus, still holding him hostage for one final moment.
“Come out of the man, you unclean spirit!”
“What have you to do with me, Jesus, Son of the Most High God? I beg you, do not torment me!”
Even the demons weren’t foolish enough to consider themselves atheists. They knew whom they had encountered, and it riled them that they would lose the entirety of their banked hours destroying this man.
Split between the possibility of rescue and ruin, of delight and destruction, the man probably screamed until his throat was skewered, spitting up phlegm, nervous eyes darting.
The demons tried to enter negotiations.
The best they got was infesting a herd of pigs, with no better prospects of ever overcoming Jesus.
And the demon-possessed man, naked, bleeding from stone-scarred forearms, didn’t have to carve his sorrow into his body any longer.
Miffed at the lost herd and awestruck at Jesus, the herdsmen got the word out.
The townsfolk returned to find the most notorious man in Gergesa clothed and in his right mind.
Naturally, they asked Jesus to leave.
Miracles upset many of their witnesses, who would rather keep their sense of order and decorum. Rather than celebrate, they were offended, thinking, “What’s gotten into the world? The village madman is supposed to live like the rest of us now?”
The man whom the whole region could look and say, “At least I’m not like that…” had been restored, and it unsettled them that a Jew had crossed over and upset things.
It’s possible Jesus’ reputation had preceded Him, that when he crossed over to this Gentile region, he was something of a known entity.
Regardless of what they knew about Jesus before, they came face-to-face with the end result of His work.
And His majesty and authority terrified them.
Should the time stamp of this event move forward into our current age, one with an added twist of Americana, we might see a similar result of people offended at miracles.
If Jesus had landed on one of the U.S. coasts, He might have found some (*not all) of His church acting in a peculiar fashion, doing everything possible to keep the demon-possessed man as he was.
Magazines would plaster him on the cover, with headlines like, “Here’s How the Most Notorious Man in Gergesa is Redefining Expectations About Possession.”
Flowery op-eds in digital newspapers would declare that “Legion” is a beautiful display of identities, that they can fill our blind spots as to how we see the world.
There would touching social media campaigns to stand in solidarity with the man. Twenty-four-seven livestreams would be set up and journalists would seek out friends, family members, and co-workers trying to discover what happened.
The best of hospice accommodations would be prepared for the man among the tombs.
Disappointed but unsurprised, Jesus would ask His Church, “Will any of you cast them out?”
Some would give him a sideways glance.
They don’t exist.
That doesn’t happen anymore.
That only happens in less-developed nations.
Others would reason with Him.
We can’t understand his pain. Can you give him a special dispensation to remain as he is so he can get on with his life in the best way possible?
All the while, the demon-possessed man would plead, “Can you heal my torment?”
One of the pluckier members would reply:
No, I think we’d rather legitimize it. Our culture says it’s better for you that way.
Why celebrate a miracle when you can create your own reality, your own truth?
As for the rest, they’d politely ask Jesus and the rest of His lot to leave.
They’d soon lose interest in the (formerly) demon-possessed man, but not before publishing houses would look to sign him to a book deal.
News outlets would continue to run “Where is he now?” feature articles each year.
There would be town halls to discuss the effects of the healing, how to process it all since Jesus and His believers upset everyone’s sensibilities.
Heavy stuff, huh? Turns out Ephesians 6:12 comes with some responsibility after all.
Take heart though.
There would a portion of His church who would show the unmitigated gall to actually speak the name of Jesus, cast the demon out, and nurture the man in faithful discipleship. Not only would they understand and listen to his inner pain but also help him recover.
Stick with me here, and let’s travel back to the shores of the Sea of Galilee.
What do you do with a man who returns from roaming among the tombs?
You tell him to roam some more, but this time roam in the villages with a special message.
As He was getting into the boat, the man who had been possessed with demons begged Him that he might be with Him.
And He did not permit him but said to him, “Go home to your friends and tell them how much the Lord has done for you, and how he has had mercy on you.”
And he went away and began to proclaim in the Decapolis how much Jesus had done for him, and everyone marveled.
I picture him staring at the horizon, waving to Jesus and his disciples as they sail away.
The scars still thread his forearms, where blood had cascaded down cracked ridges of split skin, slicking his palms and weeping on the ground.
He knows it will take time to heal, both in flesh bone, mind and emotions.
But he’s found fair winds and following seas from Jesus, forever grateful that the Messiah crossed over to the Gentiles’ side of the shoreline.
So in the end, his resolve came not from the scars themselves but the One who healed them.
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Kevin Cochrane is the creator of Replenish, the site to resupply your faith with overlooked insights from Scripture-based stories. Share your thoughts by commenting below or dropping a line to kevin@replenishstories.com.
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