The Legion’s ghastly face contorted as he leered at Jesus. Scabs and ragged scars covered his entire naked body. Father had once told me that Legion gashed himself with rocks as he wailed at night by the tombs. Now I could see for myself the awful destruction the demons had caused—nothing I had ever seen had terrified me so. The awful thing before me had the shape and language of a man, yet its body and voice were completely inhuman.
Legion shrieked a hideous laugh, scrabbling and writhing among the rocks. Jesus continued toward the Legion almost as quietly as before. I could see His lips moving slowly, forming words I could not hear, and I realized that the teacher’s eyes were closed as He walked. Was He praying at such a dangerous time? Didn’t He see that Legion was possessed? Hadn’t He heard the stories of men who had chained the Legion, only to find that the demons gave him strength to break any shackles?
Then Jesus stopped before the Legion. When he spoke, his words were clear, spoken in a gentle and level tenor. “Come out of the man, you unclean spirit!”
The Legion fell instantly to his knees, groveling at Jesus’ feet. His whole body trembled in the brown dust, thrashing and contorting before Jesus. Father clutched me close as Legion gave an agonizing howl, as if his body was breaking under the strain of the thousands within him. In his sickening, many-toned voice he wailed, “What have I to do with You, Jesus, Son lf the Most High God? I implore You by God, do not torment us!”
Awe stole my breath as the Legion’s words roared in my ears, so incredible I almost couldn’t comprehend them. Legion had never laid eyes on Jesus of Nazareth, yet the Legion had named Him the Son of God! The Messiah. This Jesus had the power to frighten hordes of demons, demons who called him the Son of God! As I watched him stand in peaceful strength, regarding Legion with compassion while he harshly rebuked the demons, the cold sweat of fear dried on my hands. I knew in that instant—I knew—that this man was He. With this knowledge came a sudden sense of peace, and as my pounding heart slowed I realized how my limbs had shaken and my breath had come in gasps.
Before my palms were completely dry and my breath caught deep in my lungs, the Legion ended his howling cries. He thrashed in the soil at Jesus’ hem, holding up his torn hands in supplication, head thrown back at a horrible angle as he stared sightless into the sky. There was a sudden silence as the Legion drew a great breath, broken only by the eerie cry of a bird overhead. Jesus spoke again, his voice still more calm and resonate than before.
“What is your name?”
The Legion’s body stiffened straight and still. As he spoke, the tones of his voice became increasingly garbled and earnestly pleading. “My name is Legion; for we are many! Son of God, do not send us from the country! Do not force us out, Highest One! O Mighty Son of God, do not drive us from this land!”
Jesus lifted his eyes in an unspoken prayer, then looked to Father and me. “There is a herd of swine on this mountain, is there not?”
I opened my mouth to answer Him when all of a sudden one of the other men said, “Listen! I hear some pigs now!”
Father and I turned as one to look in the direction the man pointed. A herd of swine trotted into view, thousands and thousands of them. Their backs were streaked with mud mixed from rain and dirt, and the ground trembled beneath their innumerable feet. As they came nearer, we edged back but Jesus faced Legion with serene assurance. The Legion raised clawed and grasping hands in distress. “Lord, let me stay in this country!”
“Yes. You will stay in this land, demons.” Jesus’ voice was tinged with a strange irony.
Legion gave a horrendous, hollowly triumphant laugh that echoed off the rocks. “Send us into the swine so that we may enter into them.”
Father gave a strangled cry of dread and my heart sank sickly in my chest. A strange and evil look gleamed in the Legion’s wild yellow eyes—heaving himself on all fours, he raised his twitching head in triumph, face contorting into his hideous, grinning leer. His screeching laugh strangled to a hoarse and wheezing gasp of infinite terror. Jesus raised His strong brown hands to heaven. To His Father.
“Leave this man all you many legions of evil spirits!”
Instantly the swine began squealing terribly, painfully, and running in the direction of the sea. Their sickening squeals and gurgling snorts deafened even my thoughts. Hundreds upon hundreds careened past us, running into the sea and drowning in the deep blue waves. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the ghastly, horrific sight of the demon-pigs diving madly to death, their corpses filling the waves. Then Father covered my eyes and forced my face against his chest. My stomach churned and I swallowed the sour taste in my mouth, struggling to breathe beneath the deluge of horrific images and sounds. As the awful screams of the hogs finally died away, I carefully opened my eyes. My entire body was sick, trembling, cold.
There was sudden silence for the second time this morning. As my mind cleared, I saw Jesus bending toward Legion, who lay on the ground as if dead with shallow breaths barely lifting his chest. For the first time since I had seen him, Legion’s muscles were relaxed and still beneath his bleeding and bruised skin. Tears filled his dark-ringed, exhausted eyes. His gaze was fixed on Jesus with adoration and gratitude so intense, I could hardly stand to look. With careful and infinitely tender hands, Jesus helped him sit. Giving a soft, sane sigh, Legion bowed his head into Jesus shoulder and wept.
“Lord Jesus, Son of God—“ He spoke in one voice now, broken and joyous and gentle. “Bless You, Mighty One!”
Jesus smiled a loving smile that radiated something far beyond words. Legion put a trembling hand to Jesus’ face and traced a tear that trailed down the Messiah’s cheeks. As a seabird’s piercing wail echoed from above the water, high in the gold sunlight, a desperate longing filled my heart. This man who was more than a man—Messiah, conqueror of demons, gentle lover, Son of God—fulfilled that yearning and drew me inexorably to Himself.
Jesus helped Legion stand, then walked with his hand on Legion’s shoulder, leading him down the steep hill toward the sea. I followed behind, wanting only to be near my Jesus and marveling still at what He had done. The rising sun had no glory compared to Him but as it rose it traced His outline and Legion’s with light, and they appeared to walk into its brilliance and disappear.
Monday, July 13, 2009
Sunday, July 12, 2009
The Legion
I've been so busy this summer that I haven't posted in over two months...although I've been trying to work on a post, the endless succession of work and chores and work renders blogging sadly impossible :( Thus I have decided to post some of the retold Bible stories that I wrote between 6-10 grades! I've never shared them before but since I was desperate and feeling somewhat whimsical today, why not? Since I can copy-paste, look for an update at least once a week :)
In the pale light droplets of fresh rain glimmered on everything in sight. They were calm and beautiful, unlike the wild and frightening deluge of the last few hours. Never in my life had I seen a violent storm—even a mild storm—stop so suddenly and completely.
I walked silently down the steep bank that led to the Sea of Galilee, a shining crown wrapped across the horizon. A few battered boats, looking weary of the winds and glad to finally be at peace, rested on the silvery water. As I drew closer to the sea, I watched the growing light distinguish waves from the shadows and bright patches on the water.
A bird screamed far out over the Sea of Galilee, the sound floating faintly to my ears. The sun was just rising in the east, like a brilliant jewel on the crown of the sea. It shone whitish-yellow and turned the sky to gentle orange. Black stood the fishing boats against this sunrise; our family fishing vessel among the silhouettes rocking on the waves. I stepped onto the sandy beach with my lungs full of clean air. Smiling happily, I listened to the muted calls of seabirds and the shift of wet sand beneath my feet.
As I came closer to the fishing boat, however, the low grumbling of Father’s voice resonated over the calmness of the morning, seemingly loud and out of place. I knew something was wrong; Father never grumbled, even when a storm prevented him from launching our boat early enough. Father glanced at me as I strolled toward him. His bushy eyebrows knitted together over eyes darker than their usual golden brown. “Samuel! Help me with the nets!”
My stomach lurched. The nets—I hadn’t repaired them last night as Father had asked. Instead, my friend Ezekiel and I had chased the storm up and down the sands, running ourselves breathless until stopped by the darkness and violence of the night. Lamenting my neglectfulness, I snatched one corner and tugged the soggy rope-weave onto the sand. The small hole of yesterday was larger, more ragged. Between missing the day’s fishing because of the storm and finding his nets in tatters, Father would surely not be pleased. Without daring to look in his direction, I began mending the net. Inside I wondered what punishment lay in store.
Father’s menacing shadow hovered darkly across the sandy net. My nervous fingers slipped and I threw the net down. “I’m sorry! Ezekiel and I were playing and we—“
Suddenly Father’s head swiveled sharply toward the Sea of Galilee, his concentration broken as my excuses fell on deaf ears. I stood up and gazed in the same direction, shading my eyes against the fiery sunrise with one hand, wondering what Father saw. No boat should be on the sea after such a fierce storm, that much I knew. Yet what else would my father see upon the waves?
To my astonishment, a simple wooden boat floated into view, dipping and rising with the tide. A group of men stood beneath its torn sail, all of them soaked with rainwater but excitedly gesturing. I froze at the edge of the water, incredulous—they had survived that storm at sea through the entire night! For a moment Father also stopped, stunned and silent, before splashing out to meet the boat in the last few feet of its journey to shore. Two of the men stumbled from their boat to the sand and caught some up in their hands, laughing and shaking their heads in disbelief. One man, however, caught my interest as he sat quietly and calmly in the rear of the craft, apparently less astonished to gain solid earth.
Then the rest of the men, excepting the quiet one who remained in the boat, swept me along with them as they leaped out to join their two companions in shouting gratefulness to God. As soon as they had finished their praises, they began telling Father about their night on the stormy waves. As we followed the group up the steep ground away from the sea, their voices gained volubility, the paths of their multiple narrations circling and crossing like the flight of the birds overhead. I trailed behind, my heart pounding with the contagious joy and excitement and wonder.
“Samuel, they spent the entire night out on the lake, and not a one of them was drowned! These men are followers of that Nazarene, Jesus, who teaches that he is the Son of God—the very man who is now in boat! No, but he is coming this way now! So much I have heard, I must ask—“
Father’s speech died, his mouth frozen and lips grayed, eyes fixed seemingly on my face. I opened my mouth to question him, but realized at the same time that he was staring beyond me, body tensing as his dark eyes narrowed and grew wary. The eyes of the men were transfixed beyond me as well, their tumultuous speech instantly stilled. Sudden as a fork of lightening, Father inhaled sharply, turning swiftly toward the sea and snatching my wrist. “Quick, Sam—“
“Stop!”
A horrible, inhuman hissing formed the single word. The sound of it hung in the now ominous morning air, heavier still because the birds had ceased singing. Everything had ceased. The hissing struck our ears again, one voice yet seemingly with thousands wailing and echoing in its inflection. “Stop. You will go no further, but listen to what I say.”
My hands clenched instantly into fists, nails piercing my palms. With a terrible, overwhelming fright I realized to whom the voice belonged—Legion. Legion. Legion, the demon possessed man of the tombs, the Legion, with his hissing, many-toned voice and inhuman keening shrieks. Night by night, his unearthly voice wafted from the burial places of the dead. A great scream rose in my throat that I was too frightened to voice, making me gasp for breath. In the deathly silence, I heard the Legion laugh madly, as he must have done during the fearsome storm.
Suddenly Jesus, the quiet man who had walked slowly behind the rest of us, came into view. He walked calmly toward my petrified father and the group of still-frozen men. From behind I heard a sudden rustle and a high screech. Freed by the knowledge that Legion’s freakish yellow eyes had finally left my back, I stumbled into Father’s arms. I peered over his tanned forearm, my horrified self unable to keep from looking.
<><><> Part One: The Legion, from Mark 5 <><><>
Sudden silence woke me just before dawn. I had fallen asleep, just hours ago, to the shrieking winds and pouring rains of a violent storm. This abrupt stillness brought me instantly wide-awake. I lay still listening until the final faint, exhausted breath of storm wind died away. As the wet blue light of early morning seeped through the window cloth, I threw back my thin blanket and crept outside into the lonely morning air.In the pale light droplets of fresh rain glimmered on everything in sight. They were calm and beautiful, unlike the wild and frightening deluge of the last few hours. Never in my life had I seen a violent storm—even a mild storm—stop so suddenly and completely.
I walked silently down the steep bank that led to the Sea of Galilee, a shining crown wrapped across the horizon. A few battered boats, looking weary of the winds and glad to finally be at peace, rested on the silvery water. As I drew closer to the sea, I watched the growing light distinguish waves from the shadows and bright patches on the water.
A bird screamed far out over the Sea of Galilee, the sound floating faintly to my ears. The sun was just rising in the east, like a brilliant jewel on the crown of the sea. It shone whitish-yellow and turned the sky to gentle orange. Black stood the fishing boats against this sunrise; our family fishing vessel among the silhouettes rocking on the waves. I stepped onto the sandy beach with my lungs full of clean air. Smiling happily, I listened to the muted calls of seabirds and the shift of wet sand beneath my feet.
As I came closer to the fishing boat, however, the low grumbling of Father’s voice resonated over the calmness of the morning, seemingly loud and out of place. I knew something was wrong; Father never grumbled, even when a storm prevented him from launching our boat early enough. Father glanced at me as I strolled toward him. His bushy eyebrows knitted together over eyes darker than their usual golden brown. “Samuel! Help me with the nets!”
My stomach lurched. The nets—I hadn’t repaired them last night as Father had asked. Instead, my friend Ezekiel and I had chased the storm up and down the sands, running ourselves breathless until stopped by the darkness and violence of the night. Lamenting my neglectfulness, I snatched one corner and tugged the soggy rope-weave onto the sand. The small hole of yesterday was larger, more ragged. Between missing the day’s fishing because of the storm and finding his nets in tatters, Father would surely not be pleased. Without daring to look in his direction, I began mending the net. Inside I wondered what punishment lay in store.
Father’s menacing shadow hovered darkly across the sandy net. My nervous fingers slipped and I threw the net down. “I’m sorry! Ezekiel and I were playing and we—“
Suddenly Father’s head swiveled sharply toward the Sea of Galilee, his concentration broken as my excuses fell on deaf ears. I stood up and gazed in the same direction, shading my eyes against the fiery sunrise with one hand, wondering what Father saw. No boat should be on the sea after such a fierce storm, that much I knew. Yet what else would my father see upon the waves?
To my astonishment, a simple wooden boat floated into view, dipping and rising with the tide. A group of men stood beneath its torn sail, all of them soaked with rainwater but excitedly gesturing. I froze at the edge of the water, incredulous—they had survived that storm at sea through the entire night! For a moment Father also stopped, stunned and silent, before splashing out to meet the boat in the last few feet of its journey to shore. Two of the men stumbled from their boat to the sand and caught some up in their hands, laughing and shaking their heads in disbelief. One man, however, caught my interest as he sat quietly and calmly in the rear of the craft, apparently less astonished to gain solid earth.
Then the rest of the men, excepting the quiet one who remained in the boat, swept me along with them as they leaped out to join their two companions in shouting gratefulness to God. As soon as they had finished their praises, they began telling Father about their night on the stormy waves. As we followed the group up the steep ground away from the sea, their voices gained volubility, the paths of their multiple narrations circling and crossing like the flight of the birds overhead. I trailed behind, my heart pounding with the contagious joy and excitement and wonder.
“Samuel, they spent the entire night out on the lake, and not a one of them was drowned! These men are followers of that Nazarene, Jesus, who teaches that he is the Son of God—the very man who is now in boat! No, but he is coming this way now! So much I have heard, I must ask—“
Father’s speech died, his mouth frozen and lips grayed, eyes fixed seemingly on my face. I opened my mouth to question him, but realized at the same time that he was staring beyond me, body tensing as his dark eyes narrowed and grew wary. The eyes of the men were transfixed beyond me as well, their tumultuous speech instantly stilled. Sudden as a fork of lightening, Father inhaled sharply, turning swiftly toward the sea and snatching my wrist. “Quick, Sam—“
“Stop!”
A horrible, inhuman hissing formed the single word. The sound of it hung in the now ominous morning air, heavier still because the birds had ceased singing. Everything had ceased. The hissing struck our ears again, one voice yet seemingly with thousands wailing and echoing in its inflection. “Stop. You will go no further, but listen to what I say.”
My hands clenched instantly into fists, nails piercing my palms. With a terrible, overwhelming fright I realized to whom the voice belonged—Legion. Legion. Legion, the demon possessed man of the tombs, the Legion, with his hissing, many-toned voice and inhuman keening shrieks. Night by night, his unearthly voice wafted from the burial places of the dead. A great scream rose in my throat that I was too frightened to voice, making me gasp for breath. In the deathly silence, I heard the Legion laugh madly, as he must have done during the fearsome storm.
Suddenly Jesus, the quiet man who had walked slowly behind the rest of us, came into view. He walked calmly toward my petrified father and the group of still-frozen men. From behind I heard a sudden rustle and a high screech. Freed by the knowledge that Legion’s freakish yellow eyes had finally left my back, I stumbled into Father’s arms. I peered over his tanned forearm, my horrified self unable to keep from looking.
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