Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

The fantastic story piqued their curiosity. It was an incredible tale. Too incredible. Too phenomenal. Nearly unbelievable. The guy had been living wild for years. Roaming the caves. Haunting the beach. Unexpectedly turning up at inopportune moments. Everyone knew about him. No one knew how to help him. They’d tried. Lured him into the jail. Clothed him. Chained him. Set a guard to prevent escape. It had all been to no avail. The evil hold on him was far stronger than anything they could combat. Invariably, he’d pop the cuffs, break the chains, terrify the guards, and race back to his caves. Eventually, they quit trying to help him. Their impotence against the evil spirits made it dangerous to even try. They left him alone. Alone to wander the caves. Alone to tend to his needs. Alone with the demons that haunted his every step. 

A necessary edict followed their admission of defeat. The caves and surrounding areas were strictly off-limits. No one was to venture there. Ever. Not avid spelunkers. Not curious teenagers. Not hardened criminals. It simply wasn’t safe. For anyone. In an effort to protect their citizens, town leaders posted signs against trespassing. Parents sternly warned their children. Guides strictly forbade tourists. Everyone was barred from the caves, but no one was banned from the shore. 

He lurked there, too. Solemnly watching newcomers. Curiously watching sailors. Scaring the general public. He was an alarming spectacle to behold. Scruffy matted hair hung past his shoulders to blend with his messy beard. Dirt crusted his bare feet. Covered all of him, actually. It was all he wore. Not one scrap of clothing graced his wretched self. His fingernails were long and unkept. Debris was caked beneath them. Remnants of his last meal, his most recent maniacal digging, his incessant scratching built up in a most repulsive way. He stunk. Revoltingly. Repellingly. Horrifically. His eyes were vacuous holes in a destitute soul. His presence at the dock was normally punctuated by horrified shrieks and irate verbal onslaughts. People raced and scurried to avoid contact with him. No one made eye contact. Most pretended he didn’t exist. Regulars had learned to ignore him. Dock workers had learned to skillfully avoid him. No one seemed able to do anything about him. No one but Jesus.

Stepping off his recently moored boat, Jesus had barely placed His sandal in the sand before the man rushed forward to confront Him. He knew this Guy. Or rather, the guys who had taken up residence in him knew Him. Jesus. Son of God. His reputation preceded Him. His power frightened them. His name alone dropped them on trembling knees. Not one of them questioned what would happen next. They knew they were moving. They couldn’t stay where they were. He wouldn’t allow it. With a few quick words He would dispatch them. Destroy them. Cast them out. Send them packing. Throw them back to the pit of hell. It was just a matter of time. He would evict them. They knew it. And they were scared.

Casting about for some resting place other than the pit of hell, they chose a nearby lot of swine. Daring to speak to the One whose power astronomically eclipsed their own, they begged to go there instead. Inhabiting pigs had to be better than inhabiting hell. For reasons we cannot possibly understand, Jesus agreed. The demons left the man, entered the pigs, drove them off a cliff, into the lake, and to their death. Because that is what evil does. It kills and destroys. It wrecks and ruins. It keeps everything in an uproar of discomfiture and distress, consternation and contempt, fear and anguish. Evil is the antithesis of peace. And we all long for peace. 

Surrounded as we are with the swirling eddy of incessant news feeds, social media output, radio broadcasters, podcasters, and alleged experts exhibiting questionable expertise, what our hearts long for, what our souls crave, what we would pay the most to find is peace. Real peace. True peace. Unshakeable peace. Peace that permeates the very core of our being no matter the chaos and turmoil around us. Peace that saturates our minds and hearts to such a depth it cannot be shaken by the most recent crises, the most terrifying predictions, the most furious backlash, the most unpredictable social storm. Peace that surpasses all comprehension. Peace that comes only from God above. (Philippians 4:7)

It’s what this poor possessed man craved too. Peace. Relief from the frenzy of fear that had him running and hiding, racing around naked, outcast by society, alone, lonely, hopeless, helpless, lost. For what other reason would he have gone boldly striding up to Jesus that day? If he enjoyed his lifestyle, surely he’d have stayed away. He didn’t. He boldly came forward. Searching. Seeking. Desperately hoping to find peace. And he found Him. The One who came to save all people from sin, from fear, from the terrorizing grip of evil. Jesus. Savior. Prince of Peace. (Matthew 1:21)

The meeting changed his life. No longer would he roam the caves, moaning and howling, searching for something he couldn’t find. He wouldn’t haunt the shore, lurk in the shadows, or hide in the alleys bringing fear to his fellow citizens. No. He’d met Jesus and it changed his life. Jesus wasn’t afraid of the demons that ravaged his soul, brutalized his mind and damaged his body. Jesus didn’t even flinch when he approached. It was almost as if he’d come specifically for him. To bring him peace. To change his life. And He did. With commanding words of rebuke and deliverance, Jesus salvaged the wreck of his life from the iron grasp of the evil one. With compassionate words full of love and kindness, Jesus healed his aching soul. In irrevocable words of blessing, Jesus gifted him with peace surpassing every dream he’d ever had. Peace that rescued his soul and changed his life. Peace that radiated from his now clean countenance. The peace of God that surpasses all understanding. (Isaiah 26:3)

That’s how they found him. Sitting calmly. Sane and clothed. Eyes clear. Hair combed. Face clean. Listening to Jesus teach. The shopkeepers, town leaders, and religious authorities couldn’t believe it. They had written him off as impossible. Yet there he was. Just as the pig farmers had said. It was all true. Into the darkness and fear and evil of the possessed man’s life stepped Jesus, the Prince of Peace. Their minds whirled. Their hearts rebelled. Their souls filled with fear. I don’t know why. I don’t know what they were afraid of. His power? His Peace? It doesn’t really matter now. In the absence of their own peace, they let fear rule and asked Him to leave. Go. Before He could perform any other miracles. Before they could hear His words. Before they could feel His love. 

Jesus boarded His boat and withdrew from their town, but He left them something. A memento of His visit. A token of His love. A man, once demon-possessed, running the tombs, terrorizing the town, now walked civilly among them, a living testimony of the promised deliverance from evil and the gift of transcendent peace. An epic example of the change that occurs when the Prince of Peace steps into the turmoil and chaos, brokenness and distress inflicted by the prince of darkness. Jesus left him to be an emissary of God’s peace. And He calls us to be the same. (Luke 8:26-39; Colossians 1:13)

You see, we all have a story. It may not include running naked through caves, breaking out of chains, or skulking around docks, but, if you have met Jesus, your story absolutely includes deliverance from the terror of evil by the Prince of Peace. You know Him. Personally. His power. His presence. His peace. You are a living, breathing testimony of triumph over the powers of darkness invading our world. You are a witness to the truth that no matter what is going on around us–wars, rumors of war, hate, fear, corruption, contempt–we can have peace through Jesus Christ. It’s the reason He came. It’s all in His name. Wonderful Counselor. Mighty God. Prince of Peace. (Isaiah 9:6, 26:3; John 14:27, 16:3; Ephesians 2:14,17; Philippians 4:6-7; Psalm 119:165; Colossians 1:20)