"Unhidden Scars"

{Mark 5:1-20; Luke 8:38-39}

            I knew those looks – those curious, suspicious looks. They seemed to remind me of how the scribes and Pharisees gazed into the Scriptures. It is like they were searching for something; they were searching for the truth of my words. I am slowly getting used to the staring. It never stopped.

The very thing people were curious about, I am eager to forget. It is not like I can ever get rid of these scars. Oh, the scars! They remind me of what once was – of who I used to be. They remind me of chains, oppression, and bondage. They remind me of my years in the desert. They are scares from hiding in tombs and caves. The places I used to call home. I can hide most of them; but all the deep, ruddy, monstrous scars around my neck and face are always visible. Perhaps they are left to remind me that I am not perfect. They remind me that there is more. They remind me of how Jesus delivered me – of how He saved me.

After Jesus delivered me from my spiritual affliction, it took a while to gain my family’s trust. At first, they were overwhelmed by my scars – by my past. I told them how Jesus took what was filthy and made it clean. I showed them how, if it was not for Jesus, I would still be living as a dead man – associating with death and living in tombs. I would still be filled with a darkness, a relentless wickedness, a curse of sin. I illustrated how the legion had been cast out. How the presence of evil had been cast away, like an unclean thing into the ocean – like a herd of pigs to drown in the sea.

That is why I knew Jesus was the Christ – the Jewish Messiah. I knew it. I experienced it. Nothing could change my mind! My message wasn’t as articulate or expressive as the Pharisees or Sadducees. I simply wanted to demonstrate how Jesus had the power to cast sin into the sea of forgetfulness, just as He had the power to cast the legion out of me. Jesus recreated me. He made me new. Jesus had the power and the compassion to do this for everyone. Throwing myself at the feet of Jesus was the best thing I had ever done.

I learned two things as I traveled the Decapolis: let the scars speak to the past, and let the light speak to the present. The brighter the light of day, the more obvious the scars became.  People would always look. They would always study the deep, gruesome scars. I let the scars attest to the work of God. As I did so, my onlookers could see past my scars – past my past – and see a new, transformed life.

I did not know the Torah or the words of the Prophets, but I knew Jesus. I knew that He loved me and cared about me. I knew that He changed me. That was enough to validate my message.

-          Dusty