The Demoniac in the Room

Or, how not to ignore someone in their suffering

My husband returned from Nepal in May tired, happy, and with a story that hit me hard.

On the final day of training in a remote location, a man was brought to his attention. He’d actually noticed this man throughout their time together. He was hard to miss. Sitting to the side, the man had kept up a mumbling dialogue with no one but himself since they’d begun the training. His tone varied, as did his volume. My husband is an experienced speaker and teacher. He doesn’t get his feathers ruffled of his attention disrupted very easily. So while this guy was on his radar, he wasn’t bothering the training, per se.

But before the group broke for lunch on the final day, a few men came to my husband.

“Hey,” they said, “We’ve got to pray for this guy.”

“Ok, sure. What’s his story?” My husband asked

“Yeah, well… he’s possessed by a demon.”

Say what? 

The sticking point for my husband wasn’t whether or not the man was possessed. We’ve seen a lot during our time in ministry, and we can share stories that will curl your toes where demons figure prominently. No, the problem was simply this:

An entire assembly of men claiming to be believers, committing their time to extending their ministry and seeking ways to share the Gospel, had sat, for days, with a known demoniac in their midst.

I’m going to stop the story right here, because this is my point:

How comfortable are we with the suffering of others?

How self-centered must we be to sit, for an extended period, in the same room as someone so clearly not at peace?

I ask this with no judgment, remembering for myself the many times I’ve been in public and passed by the ratty-looking woman with an obvious tic, or been in a group setting and caught someone out of the corner of my eye in clear distress (mental illness? possession?) that I had no intention of approaching. Walking in to someone else’s drama is messy, and it’s all too easy to push it aside until it reaches a breaking point. Our flesh is more than happy to listen to the murmuring and moaning in the corner and try to concentrate elsewhere.

But that’s so painfully not how God expects us to be.

We are to be salt and light to the world around us. More than that, we are to be part of the great work of setting the captives free; free from their sin, free from their suffering, and free from a life lived without the lordship and leading of Jesus Christ. We are not to fear getting our hands messy, disrupting the social norm, calling unwanted attention to ourselves, or, well… anything.

And he said to them, “I saw Satan fall like lightning from heaven. Behold, I have given you authority to tread on serpents and scorpions, and over all the power of the enemy, and nothing shall hurt you. Nevertheless, do not rejoice in this, that the spirits are subject to you, but rejoice that your names are written in heaven.”—Luke 10:18-20

We have been sealed for an eternity with Christ, and yet we— I— tremble at the thought of misstepping and maybe, somehow, wading into something bigger than I expected. We have been set free, yet we— I— sometimes clench that freedom in my fist, offering it only to those who seem “safe”: my children, my friends, the sweet newcomers the pew down in church.

Luke 5:31-32 reminds us who among us need the Gospel. It is the sick. And friends— the majority of people we meet fit so easily under that label. It may cause our flesh unrest, but there are those among us who are perishing before our eyes that so obviously need Jesus. The cashier who is always gruff. The mailman who can barely make eye contact. The front desk clerk at the therapy office who you’ve overheard assailing her co-workers with some very nasty exploits.

Don’t sit in the room for days listening to the man mumble and do nothing. Remember the value of the Gospel you carry with you, and pray for wisdom in how to interject Jesus’ truth and saving grace into the moment. This is how we show the world the love of Christ. This is how we sow seeds of salvation. This is how we live out the Great Commission right here, at home.

In Christ,

Heather