Category: Character studies

The insufferable days run together. Why is it always dark, or does it just seem so? The chains cut his arms and legs, making them slippery with his own blood where they dig in deeply, biting through his skin, especially when he struggles against them. But he refuses to feel the pain. He stinks and can’t remember the last time he bathed. His animal ferocity is known far and wide and he relishes the abject fear in the eyes of those unfortunate enough to cross his path.

When did this never-ending nightmare of evil begin? Sometimes, but not often, he is able to reach far back into his hazy mind and remember fragments of something different. But the details are fuzzy and fleeting. And it’s just too exhausting to try. So he doesn’t usually try.

Darian is hated by everyone in his village and the surrounding countryside, with good reason. Whenever he’s able to free himself from his bonds, the soldiers invariably find him, catch him, and chain him up again in this horrible place full of dead men’s bones. This unclean place where the dead still walk and dark spirits torture him. His captors throw scraps of food from a safe distance. Darian lunges and struggles against his chains when they come into sight, and he loves the way they jump, startled, suddenly afraid. Throw the food and run. He screams obscenities and laughs at them, cursing them for their cowardice.

And the chains. Darian is always able to break free of them, eventually. They haven’t found any yet that will hold him for long. He compartmentalizes the pain, refusing to feel it as he strains against them. What will he do when he breaks these new ones? Steal some food first off. Lots of it. And God help anyone who gets in his way.

Something interrupts his reverie, jerking him back to the present. He strains again with all his strength against the chains, suddenly feeling them break apart. Freedom!

He hears something. What is that sound? Voices. But these are new ones Darian hasn’t heard before. Some new game, maybe?

As the small group of men walk into sight, Darian, now free, quickly runs toward them. He loves to smell their fear when he looms up in front of his unsuspecting victims. They’re usually too terrified to run, so remain rooted to the ground, mouths agape, waiting. Waiting to see what he might do to them.

But not this time.

Who is that man in the front? His calm stance clearly identifies him as the leader. All eyes in the group turn to him. Darian senses real authority emanating from this man. He can almost see it. What is he saying?

“What is your name?”

Suddenly Darian is on his knees as an unseen hand forcefully throws him down and he hears his own voice, sounding strangely guttural in his ears, replying, “My name is Legion, for we are many.”

Eyes suddenly open wide and jaws drop. A nervous murmur spreads through the men gathered around their leader.

And then everything happens at once. That voice again – issuing a command that cannot be disobeyed.

Darian watches, as if from a distance, his own body contorting violently from a seizure. He falls heavily to the ground, roiling the dust at his feet, and at the same time he catches the unmistakable sound and smell of a herd of pigs running hard as if from an unseen specter. He watches mesmerized, as they run, unheeding, straight off a cliff plunging to their deaths in the water far below.

Darian’s eyes close and a heavy sigh escapes his lips. And then his mind goes empty.

The next thing he knows, he’s sitting on the ground fully clothed, and that man – someone called him Jesus – is smiling at him. What happened?

Jesus talks with Darian in a gentle voice filled with compassion and yes, there is, unmistakably, love in his eyes. Darian suddenly feels himself smiling back. And there is a joy bubbling in his heart he can’t remember ever feeling before. Inexplicable.

The conversation ended too soon for Darian’s liking. He wanted more.

“Please, Rabbi, let me go with you. Let me follow along with you.”

But Jesus tells him no. “I want you to go tell everyone in your village what wonderful things God has done for you.”

Delivered. Released. Forgiven. Darian knows he’ll spend the rest of his life finding the right words.

He owes Jesus so much.

This story, of all the stories about Jesus and his miracles, has always made me wonder this – why did Jesus take the time to cross the lake to help this one man? Why this man? He was wicked and violent. Darian had hurt many and had done unspeakable things.

But Jesus saw value in him. Value where no one else saw anything good.

Jesus waded right in – right into the middle of Darian’s mess and pain and evil heart, and changed him. Loved him. As unlovable as Darian was, Jesus loved him anyway.

No one had asked Jesus to come to the region of the Gerasenes and fix their problem. There was no emissary sent out to beg for Jesus’ help. Darian’s mother hadn’t sought out Jesus either, urging him to come and help them. And Darian was an ongoing and very real problem for the entire community. But they didn’t ask.

Jesus came anyway.

Why?

What did Jesus see in Darian that was invisible to everyone else?

Jesus saw what Darian could be. He saw value where everyone else saw a throw-away and a problem maker. And that’s what he acted on. And that’s what Darian responded to.

Value. Seeing value in others is another way to love.

The homeless person on the street corner. The convict, lonely in prison. The co-worker with different beliefs.

No matter where you are. No matter what you’ve done. It doesn’t matter.

We, too, need to see the value that God sees.

We know what Jesus would do – because he already did it.

He was a well-dressed older gentleman. You could tell his clothes, at one time, had been nicely tailored. They were filthy and ripped now. The fire in the pit had long gone out and the ashes were cold. He had taken a clay pot and thrown it on the ground, its shards scattering. He was sitting in the middle of the ashes searching among the shards on the ground. He found one apparently to his liking and picked it up. He stretched out his legs, one at a time, slowly and painfully. Hiking the cloth up past his knee he began scraping open the boils, releasing the pus. His face contorted in a grimace of agony and a groan escaped his parched lips. His breath raggedly caught in his throat and he rocked back and forth, eyes closed, riding out the anguish.

After some time, he didn’t know how long, he became aware of some moving shadows nearby. His heart was too heavy with a stone of grief and pain to bother to look up, but soon those shadows materialized into three of his friends. They sat down with him in the ashes, mouths agape, not recognizing their long-time friend.

They had never seen him like this. His eyes were hollow and encircled with weariness and grief. His face was streaked with dirt and tears, and as they watched, new rivulets made their way down his ravaged features. He was a terrifying picture of acute loss and unutterable sorrow, and they couldn’t meet his haunted eyes.

They sat with him for seven days, unable to utter a sound. They came to bring comfort.

After seven days passed, they began to speak. He must have done something wrong to deserve this, this tragedy! Losing everything he had, and even his children, well there must be some heinous secret he was trying to keep from God. It must be so. Job must confess his sin so God will stop the punishment.

Job’s friends had their world-view figured out and everything must fit into their box, because that’s what helped them sleep at night. So they came to get Job to admit to something, anything, so they could continue to be comforted in their world-view.

But Job didn’t comply with their request. He knew his own heart, even though he couldn’t understand why God had allowed such destruction to happen to him. He didn’t have any answers. The blows came again in waves of nauseous pain as he relived each and every calamity as he had been told of them.

Wealth – gone.
Crops – gone.
Flocks – gone.
Children – dead. This, of all things, sucked the breath out of him every time he remembered, drawing out a groan of such pain his friends shrank away in terror.

Everything gone. Except for a wife who goaded him to curse God and then die.

You might remember what transpired at the very beginning of this tragic story. What event set all this tragedy in motion.

Satan said to God – you know Job only loves and serves you because you’ve made him wealthy. Take everything he has away from him and he’ll curse you to your face.

And God said – alright. But don’t touch his body.

And Satan did. And Job still praised God.

Then Satan said, alright, alright – skin for skin – touch his body, and he’ll curse you to your face.

And God said, alright. But don’t take his life.

Now you might think, wow, that’s terrible! Satan and God using Job as a pawn in their cosmic game. No, there’s something else going on there, but that’s not part of this story.

The part of this story that grabbed my attention was at the very end of many long and windy dissertations.

Job’s friends had finally exhausted their advice and condemnation. Job was finally just exhausted.

That’s when God spoke. He reminded Job of who He was. God didn’t tell Job why everything had been taken from him. God described to Job His absolute power and absolute strength. God revealed to Job many things that had been questions in Job’s heart. And that brought Job comfort. But God didn’t tell Job the why.

But that’s not what got my attention either.

This is what stopped me in my tracks: God was not happy with Job’s three friends. Not happy at all. They had not spoken correctly about what was going on and what God’s role in it all was. So God told Job to pray for his friends, asking for forgiveness for them for the wrong things they had said about Him.

So Job did. And God accepted his prayer.

Then God restored everything Job had lost – well, He actually doubled everything so Job ended up twice as wealthy as he was before. Plus more children to love.

And here is the revelation that punched me in the heart and shook me hard: Job’s friends had accused and berated him when he was at the absolute lowest and most painful point of his life. They hurt his feelings – deeply. They couldn’t seem to feel his pain, or truly validate his grief. And I know Job was angry – very angry – with them.

Betrayal. That’s what Job felt.

So why did God tell Job to pray for his friends? In order for Job to pray for his friends with his heart – because that’s when God pays attention – Job had to forgive them first.

Totally and completely.

You see, God knew Job’s heart all along. So I came away with two things from this story:

The first is this – God wants us to acknowledge who He is. And when you acknowledge who He is, worship automatically follows. You can’t access power you don’t believe in.

The second is this – God commands us to forgive. His power can only work in hearts that are open.

Job’s story was not really about Job at all. His story has been played out through the centuries over and over again to lesser degrees, but the truths are constant.

We worship. We forgive. God acts. And we are the conduits of an awesome power beyond our ability to harness.

The sickness had come on so suddenly. He was fine just a couple of weeks ago. His eyes had been clear and his face full of life and health. Now his situation rapidly declined as he fell deeper into a coma, slowly slipping further and further away from them.

What would they do? They needed and loved him so much! He can’t leave them like this. Not like this.

They weren’t wealthy, but they had enough. But not enough to fix this. Not nearly enough to fix this. But they knew someone who could. So they sent for him. Would he come in time? Please come in time!

He will. He will come in time. After all, he loves us.

Mary wouldn’t leave her brother’s side. Holding his still, feverish hand, gazing at his face, willing her health and strength into him, she maintained her vigil. If love alone could heal the sick, Lazarus would be jumping around the room right now.

Martha couldn’t sit still for long. She cooked. She cleaned. She greeted visitors. Took coats, expressed her thanks. Offered more coffee. Her well-oiled actions were jerky now, and she couldn’t stop the trembling in her hands and the wobble in her heart. He couldn’t die. He just couldn’t. What could she do to fix this?

He would come! He would!

The two sisters waited. And then watched in disbelief as their beloved brother breathed his last. Martha gently closed his eyes and turned away as the tears ran hot down her face. Mary collapsed to the ground in a wail that shook the walls, bringing their friends running.

He didn’t come.

And now it was over. Their brother was gone forever and entombed.

Mary cried day and night, the tears rolling down her cheeks as she paced around the house talking – no, lamenting to some unseen person, sometimes with her small fists in the air, her voice raised, wrestling with Someone in her grief. Martha tried to keep busy, but the heaviness in her heart kept pulling her down to the floor in a sobbing heap too many times to count. The house was a mess and she couldn’t summon the strength or the desire to do anything.

He is here, someone said. Jesus finally showed up. But too late – way too late. Four days too late.

Martha flew out of the house, toward the tomb where they said Jesus was waiting. As she saw him through her tears, she threw herself at his feet, upbraiding him for not coming in time.

“If you had been here, my brother would not have died!” was ripped from her body and flung at Jesus like a knife. He flinched a little, taking on the full onslaught of her pain and anguish.

Mary was close behind, running toward him. The hope in her heart had faded to a faint, but still warm, coal. Would he? Could he? No, it was too late. It had been four days already. Her hope, finally extinguished, caused her to stumble at the last as she found herself gasping for breath, her fingers clutching the hem of his robe, the dust slowly settling around her.

“Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died!” Her words, blurred by her tears, came out as a groan wrenched from the very depths of her being.

Two sisters, prostrate in their sorrow. Not able to keep it together anymore. It just hurt too much. Jesus had let them down. How could he allow this to happen?

Jesus, absorbing the heaviness of grief permeating the air; the tears, the agony, and the hopelessness, broke down and cried along with these two sisters. Two sisters who had depended on their good brother to provide for them. Who would take care of them now?

What would they do now?

Then Jesus spoke a few words. “I am the resurrection and the life.” Martha and Mary didn’t understand what he was saying. They couldn’t hear his meaning over the scream of their grief.

Then he spoke a few more words, this time loudly and in a voice full of authority. Words that changed everything for them.

“Lazarus, come out!” The words echoed around and around, bouncing off the stone walls, the power of them making every knee tremble. Martha and Mary, together, deeply draw in a ragged breath, their eyes growing wide with astonishment and then joy as their brother came out of his tomb – alive!

Some verses back in this story, the author, John, writes that Jesus intentionally stayed where he was for two more days after he received Martha’s and Mary’s summons. He waited on purpose, knowing exactly what was going to happen.

We know now why he waited. We have the gift of hindsight. We know how the story ends. But the disciples didn’t. And neither did Martha and Mary. Or Lazarus for that matter. Two sisters and a brother John says Jesus dearly loved.

If he really loved them why would he let them hurt so? Jesus knew how deep their pain was. He also knew how much Lazarus suffered before he died. Didn’t he care?

Yes, Jesus cared. He cared so very much. He also had the bigger picture in mind that was more important than their temporary pain. Let me say it again – the bigger picture was more important than their temporary pain.

What I love about this story isn’t just the happy ending, although I really love happy endings.

This story clues us in on something deeply important about how God interacts with his children.

What other God cries along with his beloved? What other God shares in our hurt because he knows what it feels like? What other God takes the time to encourage, over and over, our fainting and faithless hearts, gently lifting us up and placing us on our feet again and again?

And what other God takes the most impossible of circumstances and breathes life back into the dead?
Even when it’s beyond all hope of recovery.

Giving us back that one thing, that one so very precious thing, that means the world to us.

He counts our tears and weeps with us, then binds up our wounds and rejoices with us.

There was great sorrow when the sun rose that morning. Afterwards there was great rejoicing for many days to come.

I can hear Jesus’ laughter ringing out as he sees the joy on those once downcast faces. And I can see the sparkle in his eyes as he gazes on the face and embraces one who had been dead, but was now alive again. His friend’s eyes clear and his strength restored.

And Lazarus. He keeps looking at his hands and flexing his fingers, standing up, sitting down, walking around in circles. Everything worked. He felt fine. He felt alive. And his sisters were happy.