His shrieks could be heard day and night in the nearby village. The people of the village tried to shackle him – not to help him, but to silence him. But they could not subdue the wretched man. He gave up hope, UNTIL
Jesus stepped out of a boat and into the man’s tortured world.
She sat in her usual spot on the curb of a dead-end steet in a town long ago forgotten by time. Her disheveled hair reflected what her life had become. Her dull eyes and her dirty, tattered clothes gave anyone who passed by an excuse for not stopping to help. To comfort.
The Man’s mother pushed her way through the crowd to be near Him. He passed before her, beatened, bloodied and battered beyond recognition. He stumbled as He carried a cross on which He would be hung. He could not comfort her. She could not stop the madness.