Rufus had been tormenting the town for quite some time. It had gotten to the point that it was difficult for children to even play outside. Though everybody in town knew about him, no one knew what to do about him. His strange behavior had become more than a nuisance...
Parents would sit by their children, stroking their hair, telling them God would take care of them, that He would protect them. Yet even as such bedtime stories were told, Rufus’ shrieking could be heard in the distance.
Parents were cautious when out and about with their children. One never knew when Rufus would appear. He was often seen in the area of the nearby mountains, darting like a deer, screaming, crying, and always naked. When he managed to wear clothes, they were always blood-soaked. Everyone knew Rufus was a “cutter.” Finding the sharpest stones on the ground, he would drive their edge into his skin, spewing his blood down his body.
Burying the dead was always a dreaded act. Everyone knew Rufus lived among the tombs, and he seemed to lie in waiting for a funeral procession. It was as if death were some kind of highlight in his day.
Most everyone knew that something evil seemed to have taken hold of Rufus. Though people possessed by evil were not uncommon in those days, Rufus seemed unlike anyone they had ever seen, or heard about. His behavior was beyond odd, outside the realm of strange.
On occasion the towns’ leaders had approached Rufus to subdue him. They had used fetters and heavy chains in the hopes of binding him long enough to find a cure. But all such attempts had been in vain. Some strange, evil power would soon overcome him, and he would break the chains asunder. The townsfolk were at a total loss as to what could be done.
And those screams! They were awful. Often heard in the middle of the night, children would awake with a cold sweat. Though Rufus lived in the graveyard, when the dark powers stirred him, his shrieks could be heard for what seemed like miles.
“O God, please help Rufus, and help US!” This was the ongoing cry of the townspeople. “He has a devil,” the Rabbis at the Synagogue explained. But that was only partly true. In fact, over 2000 devils had crowded into Rufus’ wounded heart. The prayers were steady.
And the Warrior God heard their cries. The Good was coming to town to confront the Bad: The Ugly would soon be a sight of beauty...
“Get in the boat men - we need to go to the other side,” the Warrior King told his soldiers. One by one they climbed into the ship, having no idea of what lay before them. They had seen their Warrior King do so much, but the episode that would unfold over the next few hours would heighten their state of awe.
Troubled waters were common in this sea. One could leave the shore on a cloudless day and encounter a life-threatening storm in a matter of minutes. And such would be the case on this day for the Warrior King and His motley crew.
None of His warriors knew why they were going to the “other side.” They were not aware of Rufus, nor Rufus of them. But the Warrior King was always thinking ahead. He knew why He had come into the world. His mission was aimed at such people as Rufus. The Good was coming after The Bad - to rescue The Ugly.
There was another who knew the Warrior King was coming - and why He was coming. He was the one responsible for Rufus and the havoc he wreaked. He owned Rufus, as he did so many others. It delighted him to see the chaos Rufus created. This “other one” - The Bad - watched the Warrior King and His followers board the boat. He knew they were coming after Rufus. And as he had done so many times before, he plotted against them. He remembered how, so many years earlier, he had been allowed to tamper with the weather. By the use of the high winds he had murdered the children of Job. “Perhaps I can kill them at sea,” he murmured.
As he saw them drawing near to the region of the Gadarenes, he stirred the waters with a ferocious storm. The thunder clapped, the lightning struck, water filled their tiny ship. The warriors panicked.
Several of them, trained fishermen, had seen the wrath of the sea before. But this storm seemed to be different. It was as if some dark power had taken control of the skies, and was now pouring its anger upon the waters. “We’re going to die,” they cried. Fear engulfed their hearts.
“Wake Him up!” Peter shouted. “Perhaps He’ll have an idea about what to do.”
A couple of them rushed over to the Warrior King. He was sound asleep. How could He sleep through such an ordeal? they wondered. “Wake up! Wake up! Don’t you care that we’re about to die?” They shook Him as they screamed.
Slowly the Warrior King awakened, seemingly unbothered by the disturbance about Him. He was soaking wet, but didn’t seem to notice. He looked into the fear-filled faces of His "army." These were the men who would shake the world for His cause: but men who, at the present moment, were themselves deeply shaken.
He looked around. The thunder was loud, the lightning dancing across the sky, the boat filling with water, about to capsize. He knew the real cause of the storm - He had aroused the wrath of the evil one.
Standing to His feet, He stared into the sky. And then He did something that would completely stun, even shock, His small band of soldiers: something so far outside their mind that the ability to conceive of such was impossible.
He spoke to the storm. He simply commanded it to shut up...
And it obeyed.
It shut up.
It just flat shut up.
The crackling thunder silenced, the lightning lost its power, the falling rains ceased, the roaring winds died.
A raging tempest had obeyed the voice of a Man.
The warriors were shocked. They thought they knew the Warrior KIng: now they realized they didn’t. They stared into the sky; no rain, no waves, no high winds - all was calm.
“Tell me something,” the Warrior King demanded. “Why did you panic? Where is your faith? Didn’t I tell you we were going to the other side? Have I ever misled you?"
The boat landed ashore. The Warrior King, as excited as a child, shouted, “Let’s go!” He de-boarded, leaving His fellow warriors in the ship. But they could hardly move. Another kind of fear had gripped their hearts, unlike the fear they had felt earlier. They could only watch as their Commander walked ashore, filled with an excitement they couldn’t comprehend. They stared at each other in disbelief. One of them finally broke the deafening silence:
“Who is this Man, that even the wind and sea obey Him?”
The Good had confronted The Bad, with its evil evil intentions: The Ugly storm had been vanquished.
The Dark Power stood off in the distance. He, too, was a warrior. But his intentions were always to destroy, hurt, inflict as much pain and injury as he could upon the hearts of men. His meddling with the weather had not brought the intended results, and now he feared he was about to lose one of his chosen vessels.
A fear that was justified...
No sooner had the Warrior King stepped ashore He was met by Rufus. Rufus himself was not even sure what had driven him to the sea, but there he stood. He couldn’t even explain how he had gotten there. Over the years his torment had robbed him of his right mind. He couldn’t even recall the last time he had had a wholesome thought.
The Warrior King was expecting Rufus. Indeed, Rufus was the sole reason He had crossed the sea, enduring, and then silencing, the storm. If ever there lived a man who knew his mission, it was this One. One of His followers would gain a greater understanding of this at a later date, and pen it accordingly: “For this purpose was the Son of God manifest, that he might destroy the works of the devil.”
Rufus’ shattered life was precisely that: a work of Satan. But the Warrior King had come to destroy what the Destroyer had done.
For a moment Rufus thought he might have gained control of his mind, but hope soon vanished. The dark powers that had haunted him for so long, now reared their ugly heads with unprecedented fury. The force of their weight fell upon Rufus, driving him to the ground, where he coiled like a snake.
What a sight to behold, this Rufus: Dried blood about his body, cut marks lining his wrists, bruises on his arms and ankles from the fetters and chains he had so often shed. An odor reeked from his body that could be smelt from quite a distance. Hissing like a serpent, he vomited on himself.
The soldiers who followed the Warrior King stood back, not quite sure what to make of the sight before them. But one thing they did understand, at least for the time being: This was why they had crossed the sea.
It also explained the wrath of the storm they had endured. They understood it wasn’t an “act of God,” but a much ‘lesser power,’ determined to keep them away from the region. For a moment they could “see.” They could see why the Warrior King had come into the world, and why He had journeyed across the troubled waters. They could “see” why He had spoken to the storm with such indignation. The Warrior King’s heart of compassion had stretched across the raging waters, all the way to Rufus’ wretched life.
Slowly, and with every ounce of strength he could muster, Rufus sat up. A kneeling position was all he could manage. But that was appropriate. The Warrior King began to move closer to Rufus, while others drew back. His band of warriors had seen similar encounters before, but this one was different. In the past they had beheld the Warrior King cast out a single demon: but 2000 at one time?! He drew closer, while at the same time he kept speaking to the company of wicked spirits...
The Warrior King had the strangest way of fighting when He encountered dark powers. He used the same two weapons almost every time: His words and his hands. Unlike an earlier relative of His (who was also a warrior king), He had no sword, no spear, not even a slingshot. In fact, He possessed no weapon a soldier would normally resort to. An odd way for a warrior to fight. And to make matters even more strange, He had no confidence in His weapons. He had made that clear with such statements as, “I can do nothing by Myself.” He seemed to have this special relationship with His Father, and attributed all of His success to Him: “The words I speak come from My Father...the works I do are My Father’s.” It was as if He knew that when He touched someone, or said something to them, His Father - A Man of War, too - would “make it happen.”
His focus stayed on Rufus, who, squirming like a wounded animal, kept his hands in front of his eyes, as if some bright light were blinding him.
“You unclean spirit: Come out of this man!”
Just when Rufus thought he could utter a few words for help, the dark powers descended once again, this time taking hold of his vocal cords:
"What do you want with us, Jesus, Son of the Most High God? Promise us before God that you will not torment us!"
Surprisingly, The Warrior King paused, and then issued a demand:
“What is your name?”
The spirits knew they were in the presence of a power they could not withstand. They had already acknowledged who the Warrior King was: Son of the Most High. They had no choice but to grant a reply:
"Legion, for we are many."
That explained it. Hundreds of wicked spirits had somehow found a way into Rufus’ life. It didn’t matter, for now, just how that had occurred. Such issues would be addressed later. For now the showdown continued.
Crowds began to gather, bewildered by what they were witnessing. No one had been able to deal with Rufus since the day his darkness had began. Who was this Man before Whom Rufus was kneeling? And then, the strangest thing occurred. The wicked, tormenting spirits, fully aware that they had been defeated, made the oddest request:
"Can we go into those pigs over there?"
Pigs were, by the standards of the townsfolk, unclean animals. What better place for unclean spirits? The Warrior King need not utter another word. The spirits knew eviction papers had been served.
Like a wild herd of steer out of control, they exited Rufus’ body with the speed of light. Tearing up everything in their path, they invaded the herd of swine feeding nearby. The pigs never knew what hit them. They rushed headlong over a nearby cliff and plunged into the sea.
Again - The Good had conquered The Bad. The Ugly could now take on beauty.
That explained it. Hundreds of wicked spirits had somehow found a way into Rufus’ life. It didn’t matter, for now, just how that had occurred. Such issues would be addressed later. For now the showdown continued.
Crowds began to gather, bewildered by what they were witnessing. No one had been able to deal with Rufus since the day his darkness had began. Who was this Man before Whom Rufus was kneeling? And then, the strangest thing occurred. The wicked, tormenting spirits, fully aware that they had been defeated, made the oddest request:
"Can we go into those pigs over there?"
Pigs were, by the standards of the townsfolk, unclean animals. What better place for unclean spirits? The Warrior King need not utter another word. The spirits knew eviction papers had been served. So, like a wild herd of steer out of control, they exited Rufus’ body with the speed of light. Tearing up everything in their path, they invaded the herd of swine feeding nearby. The pigs never knew what hit them. They rushed headlong over a nearby cliff and plunged into the sea.
Again - The Good had conquered The Bad. The Ugly could now take on beauty.
The Warrior King paid no attention to the sensationalism of the departing devils. He knew how they loved to “put on a show.” His concern was Rufus. Rufus was, you might say, His “mission.” From The Warrior King’s perspective, Rufus represented multitudes of people, held captive by enemy forces, and in need of Someone who knew something about liberation. Someone who was a Warrior. Someone who would fight on behalf of the oppressed, the weak, the poor and needy.
Rufus was lying on the ground, exhausted. His mouth dry, his throat parched, he could barely move. The demons had fled, but had taken his strength with them - at least for the moment.
Everyone was stunned. Most of all the ones responsible for the pigs. Their livelihood had just gone swimming, and were not coming back. They ran into town and began to spread the word about what had happened. Curiosity peaked: the people rushed out to see if it were true.
But no one - absolutely no one - was prepared for what they were about to see. Strange sights were nothing new to these people, but this one would top them all...
There, sitting at the feet of a Man, clothed, and in his right mind, was Rufus!
And he was wearing clothes!
It was a sight to behold, an overwhelming image that took away the breath of the bystanders. As a matter of fact, it was so overwhelming that the people responded in the strangest of ways, a reaction prompted by their fear of the incomprehensible.
They asked the Warrior King to leave.
The Warrior King was the Perfect Gentleman. He would not impose His presence upon the people. It simply wasn’t His style. Hurt as He may be by the rejection - even to the point of tears - still, He would not force Himself upon them. So He did the only thing He could do: He left the region.
Rufus had been delivered by the awful powers of darkness, but now he was engulfed in a state of confusion. Why would they want Him to leave? he wondered. Had not the Warrior King brought welcome relief to their city? The Town Tormentor had been set free. Children could once again play outside. Parents could walk the streets without fear of a naked man streaking before them. Funeral processions would be more “normal.” Those eerie sounds coming from the mountains in the middle of the night would cease. Why on earth, Rufus asked himself, would they force Him out of town?
He turned to look at the Warrior king, who was now walking back toward the boat. Then, a thought struck him: If He can’t stay here with me, I’ll go with Him!
He raced toward The Warrior. He ran in front of Him and knelt before him. Placing his arms around His legs, he begged: "Rabbi, I am humiliated that my fellow countrymen have asked You to leave. But Sir, please allow me to stay with you, to travel with You, to go wherever You go."
The Warrior King looked down at Rufus and smiled. His trip had been worth it. And He knew that the city, though having rejected Him, should not be left without a witness. He stooped down and met Rufus eye to eye. Placing His calloused hands around Rufus’ face, He spoke gently:
"Rufus, I would love to have you with Me. And someday that will be your experience for eternity. But for now it cannot be. What I have done for you must be told in your city. I want you to get up, and go! Yes, GO! Go back to your house, where your family has gathered. And tell them what great things The Warrior God has done for you. Tell them how I came to town and FOUGHT on your behalf."
Rufus shook, even trembled. As the Warrior King stood upright, Rufus stooped even further down from his kneeling position, until he was prostrate on the ground. From there he stared at the feet of The Warrior King. With the greatest of reverence, he kissed the dirt-covered feet of the Warrior.
Rufus slowly rose to his feet. He smiled at the Warrior King, Who smiled back at him. He backed up slowly, contemplating what the Warrior King had just told him: Go back to your house. Yes, Rufus had a house, a home, a family! Oh the pain he had brought them.
He turned toward the city and with the vigor of an sprinter, darted toward his home. He seemed to have an inexhaustible amount of wind in his lungs, as if his strength had been renewed. He had to think hard about the whereabouts of his house. It had been that long.
He had a wife, children, a mother and father, as well as a couple of brothers. Are they even still alive? he wondered. Rufus’ behavior had humiliated his kin. His family rarely showed their faces in public. He looked down at what he was wearing and brushed off the dust. It feels strange, he thought, to wear clothes. He laughed at himself.
Just as he was about to knock on the door, he was struck by a thought: What will I say? Then, out of nowhere, a memory from his childhood surfaced...
He remembered how his father used to pray over him, how he read the scriptures to him. He even recalled a particular night when his father had read to him a passage from Nehemiah. He couldn’t recall the exact wording, but knew it was something about “fighting.” Slowly the words came back to him...
"Fight for your brothers, your sons, your wives, your daughters..."
No sooner had those words come to his mind that he thought of the Warrior King, and how He had “fought” for him. In that moment he knew his destiny. It was exactly what the Warrior King had told him:
Tell them how I fought for you.
That settled it. He would tell the story of how The Good had defeated The Bad, and The Ugly had become a new man. A warrior man.
He knocked on the door...