The old man stood barefoot at the edge of the cliff, arms outspread like wings. His scream didn’t sound human—but more like a wind caught in a throat. The townspeople had long since stopped trying to chain him. His strength was unnatural, and when they bound him, he broke stones like they were twigs. No graveyard could hold his screams. No home wanted his company.
But then one day, a different visitor stepped onto the shore. A man with eyes like quiet water and a voice that made winds hush.
In Mark 5, we find this remarkable encounter: "For Jesus had said to him, ‘Come out of this man, you impure spirit!’ Then Jesus asked him, ‘What is your name?’ ‘My name is Legion,’ he replied, ‘for we are many.’" (Mark 5:8–9, NIV)
A man had been living among the tombs—but more accurately, something else had been living in him. Jesus didn’t call it madness. He didn’t call it a social issue or a myth told by village folk. He called them out. Gave them a name. And cast them away.
The Bible doesn’t shy away from the existence of demons. These are not creatures of Hollywood horror or figments of fever dreams. Scripture paints them plainly: spiritual beings in rebellion, corrupt and cruel. Jesus didn’t argue their existence—He confronted it.
In Luke 8:2, we learn that Mary Magdalene had been freed from “seven demons.” She wasn’t rejected for it. She was redeemed. Later, in Matthew 12:43-45, Jesus warns that an unclean spirit, once cast out, may return—bringing seven others more wicked than itself—if the person's heart remains unoccupied by God.
It’s sobering, isn’t it? That possession is not some far-off superstition, but a very real, very spiritual struggle. But here's the town gate through which we walk: possession doesn't start with head-spinning chaos. It begins in small shadows. Lies we believe. Bitterness we harbor. Patterns of isolation—where sin sows seed, and darkness waits to grow.
Demons aren't omnipresent, nor unstoppable. They don’t possess everyone—they can’t. If the Holy Spirit dwells in us, there’s no room for them. Light and darkness don't share a home. But their influence is real, and their intent—to tear, confuse, destroy.
I’ve seen it myself. Maybe you have too. A friend lost in lies that nobody loves them. A father consumed by rage he doesn’t understand. A young woman, empty-eyed, tangled in voices that neither help nor leave. Not every struggle is demonic, no. But we do wrong to forget that some are.
And here's the good news. Jesus didn’t run from demons. He silenced them. He didn’t fear the graveyard man—He freed him. And the man, now clothed and in his right mind, begged to follow Him. That’s the power of Christ. Not just to defeat evil, but to restore the broken.
So what does this mean for us—those of us who might still wrestle in the mind, or feel haunted in the dark? It means we don’t fight alone. It means we fill the house. Jesus warned what happens to an “empty” home—so don’t leave room for returning shadows. Fill your life with Him—His Word, His people, His Spirit—and the enemy finds no place to settle.
Maybe you’ve felt it too: that whisper you’re unworthy, that secret struggle no one notices. Can I tell you something you might need to hear today? Not every battle is imaginary. But no battle is bigger than Jesus.
I once sat beside a woman on her living room couch as she whispered how she no longer recognized her own voice. There was no theatre to the story, just years of emotional torment and spiritual numbness. But when she began to pray—really pray—and invite Christ to dwell, something lifted. Slowly, then suddenly. Her eyes began to clear.
Not all deliverance is instant. But all deliverance is possible.
Let’s not be afraid to name what Jesus named. But let’s never forget what He did after naming it.
He sent it away.
The old man stood barefoot at the edge of the cliff, arms outspread like wings. His scream didn’t sound human—but more like a wind caught in a throat. The townspeople had long since stopped trying to chain him. His strength was unnatural, and when they bound him, he broke stones like they were twigs. No graveyard could hold his screams. No home wanted his company.
But then one day, a different visitor stepped onto the shore. A man with eyes like quiet water and a voice that made winds hush.
In Mark 5, we find this remarkable encounter: "For Jesus had said to him, ‘Come out of this man, you impure spirit!’ Then Jesus asked him, ‘What is your name?’ ‘My name is Legion,’ he replied, ‘for we are many.’" (Mark 5:8–9, NIV)
A man had been living among the tombs—but more accurately, something else had been living in him. Jesus didn’t call it madness. He didn’t call it a social issue or a myth told by village folk. He called them out. Gave them a name. And cast them away.
The Bible doesn’t shy away from the existence of demons. These are not creatures of Hollywood horror or figments of fever dreams. Scripture paints them plainly: spiritual beings in rebellion, corrupt and cruel. Jesus didn’t argue their existence—He confronted it.
In Luke 8:2, we learn that Mary Magdalene had been freed from “seven demons.” She wasn’t rejected for it. She was redeemed. Later, in Matthew 12:43-45, Jesus warns that an unclean spirit, once cast out, may return—bringing seven others more wicked than itself—if the person's heart remains unoccupied by God.
It’s sobering, isn’t it? That possession is not some far-off superstition, but a very real, very spiritual struggle. But here's the town gate through which we walk: possession doesn't start with head-spinning chaos. It begins in small shadows. Lies we believe. Bitterness we harbor. Patterns of isolation—where sin sows seed, and darkness waits to grow.
Demons aren't omnipresent, nor unstoppable. They don’t possess everyone—they can’t. If the Holy Spirit dwells in us, there’s no room for them. Light and darkness don't share a home. But their influence is real, and their intent—to tear, confuse, destroy.
I’ve seen it myself. Maybe you have too. A friend lost in lies that nobody loves them. A father consumed by rage he doesn’t understand. A young woman, empty-eyed, tangled in voices that neither help nor leave. Not every struggle is demonic, no. But we do wrong to forget that some are.
And here's the good news. Jesus didn’t run from demons. He silenced them. He didn’t fear the graveyard man—He freed him. And the man, now clothed and in his right mind, begged to follow Him. That’s the power of Christ. Not just to defeat evil, but to restore the broken.
So what does this mean for us—those of us who might still wrestle in the mind, or feel haunted in the dark? It means we don’t fight alone. It means we fill the house. Jesus warned what happens to an “empty” home—so don’t leave room for returning shadows. Fill your life with Him—His Word, His people, His Spirit—and the enemy finds no place to settle.
Maybe you’ve felt it too: that whisper you’re unworthy, that secret struggle no one notices. Can I tell you something you might need to hear today? Not every battle is imaginary. But no battle is bigger than Jesus.
I once sat beside a woman on her living room couch as she whispered how she no longer recognized her own voice. There was no theatre to the story, just years of emotional torment and spiritual numbness. But when she began to pray—really pray—and invite Christ to dwell, something lifted. Slowly, then suddenly. Her eyes began to clear.
Not all deliverance is instant. But all deliverance is possible.
Let’s not be afraid to name what Jesus named. But let’s never forget what He did after naming it.
He sent it away.
