Ten Minas Ministries

          For as long as I can remember, things were never quite right with me. As a child, I was always the odd one; the one who never fit in anywhere or with anyone. I really did try hard to make friends, but all the other kids just picked on me. I was the one everyone made fun of; the one they pushed around and asked why I was so clumsy. I was always falling over and shaking and when I did, the others starting laughing at me and pointing; some even came up and kick me and said, “What’s the matter with you.” If I did try to fight back, things only got worse. I could never do anything right and I was always getting in trouble for it.  

          I also remember, even as a child, that there were long periods of time where I don’t remember anything; nothing at all. When I say long periods of time, I’m talking about hours or even days where I have no memory whatsoever. I don’t remember eating or going anywhere or doing anything. It was like would wake up as if out of a deep sleep and not know where I was. My parents were always asking me, “What were you thinking?” “Are you crazy? How could have done such a thing?” I asked them, “What do you mean? What do you think I did? I don’t remember anything!”

          Of course, talking back to my parents, especially my father was never a good idea. When I didn’t give them the right response, they started beating me and punishing me. I was whipped unmercifully by my father and my mother would punish me by saying I wasn’t getting any supper tonight; all for something they say I did and for not telling them the truth. But I was telling them the truth. I was being punished for something I didn’t do. I told them, “I don’t deserve this. Why won’t you believe me? I didn’t do what you say I did!”

          There were times when I was being beaten by my father that it almost looked liked he was enjoying what he was doing. There was a glint in his eyes as he raised his whip. It was like he was trying to beat something out of me. I told him over and over, “I didn’t do it; you shouldn’t be punishing me; I don’t deserve this.” Eventually I learned to keep my mouth shut. It didn’t matter what I said; I was getting a beating, whether it was deserved or not.

          I don’t know when it was that I first understood that I was hearing voices – in my head; they’d always been there. I’ve always heard voices and when I turned to see who it was, no one was there. I looked all around me and I was completely alone, but someone was talking. And it wasn’t just voices I heard; there were conversations going on. One voice said something and other voices responded – inside of me. I didn’t understand any of the words being said, but I knew these voices were conversing.

          And then they started laughing. One voice said something and another voice started to laugh and then another and another and another. Some of the laughter turned into a high-pitched cackling and then another voice started wailing. I knew they were laughing at me; everyone else did, so why not my voices. But the noise got so loud and incessant that I covered my ears with my hands trying to make it all stop and it wouldn’t. I couldn’t get the noise of the voices out of my head.

          The voices really started laughing when my parents took me to the local doctor. He gave them some herbs and medicines that he said would help; at least they would calm me down. He was sure they would stop my convulsing; they didn’t; which made my father beat me even more because now they were wasting good money and good herbs on a no-good son. He was yelling at me, mother’s voice was shrill, my voices were laughing. I clamped my hands over my ears to stop all the noise; I pressed my eyes shut to try to stop the pain and then I ran from the house, screaming at the top of my lungs. That was years ago and I’ve never been back.

          I ran all night long. I ran as fast and as far as I could. I still had the voices, but at least my father wasn’t beating me and yelling at me; my mother wasn’t shrieking. I ran until I collapsed out in the middle of nowhere; it was the first sleep I had in a very long time.

          When I awoke, the sun was shining down on me. There was a town in the distance and I started walking towards it. I got some water from the stream and found something I could eat. I hid behind bushes and trees if anyone came near. When someone did spot me, I ran away as fast as I could. Eventually I made my way to an old burial ground of some sort. It almost seemed like my voices calmed a bit when I was near the tombs. When I ventured away from the tombs for food or water, the noise of the voices increased; closer to the tombs they eased – so the tombs soon became my home.

          I can’t begin to tell you how long I’ve lived out here in the graveyard; it’s been a long time. The people in town take care of me, sort of. Every once in awhile I find some leftover food or a chicken carcass to eat or torn clothing to wear; but I’ve never been inside any of the homes here. I scare the people. Occasionally, when I’ve had one of my seizures or fits and have passed out, I wake up bound and tied up. But, I’ve always found a way out of the chains; I’ve grown strong enough over the years that I can snap just about any cord they tie me with. Some of the boys, trying to prove they are men, will thrown stones at me and hurl insults. The old saying is partially true – sticks and stones will break my bones, but their words and insults do hurt. And my voices only laugh.

          There is one funny thing that happens periodically, though. The priest from the local holy place comes to see me because he thinks he should. I don’t know what he thinks he’s going to be able to do for me. But he talks at me, from a distance and then he throws holy stuff at me – oil, water, spices and who knows what else – sometimes he has a good aim and whatever it is splashes on me. But, by then I’m usually tired of him and start yelling at him while I chase him down the road.

          But something happened the other day and that’s really why I’m here. I saw a boat as it approached the shore; so did my voices. I didn’t know how I knew, but they were scared. Most of my life people have been scared of me because of my voices and what they made me do; but for the first time that I can remember, my voices were afraid. I didn’t know what was happening, but one of the voices said the word, “Jesus!” And all the others started screaming. It hadn’t been that loud and painful since we moved to the tombs.

          The boat came to shore and this man stepped out. I remember the sensation of running toward him and then being flung to the ground at his feet, convulsing. The voices started screaming at this Jesus, but it was my voice speaking, “Why are you here? This is not your land; you’re not welcomed here! Why are you bothering us? Leave; leave us alone!” The screaming intensified; the pain increased and then I must have passed out.

          When I came to, this man was sitting beside me, holding me in his arms. It was such a strange sensation; no one had ever touched me before, except in anger or fear. This man was holding me and gently rocking me. He had anointed me with oil and it felt – good, soothing! He told some of the men who came with him to get a bucket of water and some soap; he wanted to bathe me and clean out my old and numerous wounds. Which he did!

          This man actually gave me a bath. When he was done, he put a robe on me. It was a clean robe; freshly washed without any rips or holes in it. He kept looking deep into my eyes and talking to me about how much God loved me. I felt new; whole and complete; I felt loved and it brought tears to my eyes. I’ve never felt that before. I started to tell him some of the things that had been going on and how much I didn’t deserve his love. And then I stopped talking.

          That’s when I realized the voices were gone; there was no chattering inside my head; no one was laughing or cackling or screaming or talking. There was only silence and – peace. This Jesus looked at me a smiled. He said, “Yes, they’re gone; they are all gone. You have been claimed by God and they will never return.” He then told me about all that had happened after I passed out. It’s a frightening tale.

          As we were talking, some of the townspeople came to see what was going on. They had heard the commotion; the swine herders had told them about their pigs and the demons and how, when the demons left me, they entered the pigs who went crazed stampeding off the end of the cliff into the lake. But what the people saw seemed to scare them more than what happened to their pigs. What they saw was me, the crazy man of the tombs clothed and sitting at the feet of Jesus, talking. That was more than some of them could handle.

          I sat at the feet of the Master and listened enraptured by everything he was saying. He said, “There is a God-shaped emptiness inside each one of us that only God can fill.” He told me that the Kingdom of God had come near and I was now filled with the Holy Spirit of God.

I started to protest, telling him he had obviously gotten the wrong person. There were people out there much better than me who deserved such love and attention. He just hugged me even tighter and said he had a job for me to do.

          Just then, the leaders of the town came out to talk with Jesus. They asked him leave because this was all too much – too much change, too fast and the people were scared. Jesus looked at the leaders and shook his head, but said, “Okay; we’ll be leaving soon.” We’ll be leaving? I was so excited. I was going to be able leave this place and be with Jesus.

          He came back over to me and sat down again. He said he and the others would be leaving soon, but I was not going with them. He said he had a special task for me to do. He said, “I want you to go home and tell everything God has done for you.” I just stared at him and asked, “Home? You want me to go home?”

          He said, “Yes! I want you to go home and tell them about God and what God has done for you.” I turned and looked at the townsfolk who were standing there. Jesus said, “Yes; that’s a good place to start. But I need you to go home and tell them.”

          My friends, I came home to tell you that God loves you. Not because you deserve it; not because of anything you have done; but simply because that’s who God is. And we are asked to respond to that great love by loving God and loving one another. God loves you. It’s a simply message; but you need to go home and tell them. You need to tell them everything God has done for you. Praise be to God. Amen