The Madness of Love

People say each mind is a world, and each pair of eyes is a different window to see life and reality. In a way, that’s completely true. Any event—big or small—doesn’t affect everyone the same. The very same moment can create very different perceptions, feelings, and results depending on the story, culture, and experiences of the person who looks at it.

Let’s take Fidel Castro as an example. His political and historical figure has been admired, hated, remembered with nostalgia, and debated. But who was Fidel, really? The answer depends a lot on who is speaking.

1) The Cuban who emigrated to the United States

For a Cuban who fled poverty, repression, or lack of freedom, Fidel Castro is not a revolutionary hero, but the face of exile. He is the man whose ideology forced him to leave his land, his family, and start again in a strange country looking for the freedom his island denied him.

For that Cuban, Fidel represents years of scarcity, fear, and silence; a government that promised equality but ended up destroying the economy and breaking homes. Speaking about him awakens pain, nostalgia, and sometimes anger. In his memories, Fidel is not the leader of the people, but the dictator who stole his homeland.

2) The Nebraska farmer

For a Nebraska farmer who lived through the Cuban Missile Crisis in the 1960s, the picture is different. Maybe he remembers the days when the world feared nuclear war and watched on TV how a small country, led by a man in olive-green uniform, challenged powerful America.

For that working-class American, Fidel Castro was for decades the face of communism and the Soviet threat in the Western Hemisphere—a symbol of the ideological danger the country had to hold back. Over time, that figure may have become distant, almost a story from a Cold War chapter in history books. In his mind, Fidel is more a political enemy than a concrete human: a figure that represented fear, tension, and ideas opposed to the “American dream.”

3) The Mexican or Guatemalan

For a Mexican or Guatemalan, Fidel’s image is more mixed. They didn’t live him as an enemy or as a liberator. Many see him as a symbol of resistance against U.S. imperialism, a rebel voice against the greatest power in the world. Others, more critical, see him as another Latin American leader who used the language of social justice to stay in power for decades, repressing his own people’s freedom.

In Latin America, Fidel’s figure is tied to ideals of revolution, free education, and national sovereignty, but also to censorship, lack of opportunities, and the exodus of thousands of Cubans. In this context, Fidel becomes a mirror where every Latin American sees his own struggles: inequality, corruption, the desire for independence, or frustration with traditional politicians.

Just as each mind is a world, each gaze is a filter that interprets history from its own context. The same person can be a hero, a villain, or a martyr depending on the angle. Interesting, right?

Please keep this idea: one event can have different perspectives. We need it to go deeper into what God wants to teach us today through the kerygma we’re going to study. In this passage, we will see the implications and effects that “the madness of love” had on three groups of people.

Let’s read the passage for today: Mark 5:1-20

Mark 5:1–20 ESV

They came to the other side of the sea, to the country of the Gerasenes. And when Jesus had stepped out of the boat, immediately there met him out of the tombs a man with an unclean spirit. He lived among the tombs. And no one could bind him anymore, not even with a chain, for he had often been bound with shackles and chains, but he wrenched the chains apart, and he broke the shackles in pieces. No one had the strength to subdue him. Night and day among the tombs and on the mountains he was always crying out and cutting himself with stones. And when he saw Jesus from afar, he ran and fell down before him. And crying out with a loud voice, he said, “What have you to do with me, Jesus, Son of the Most High God? I adjure you by God, do not torment me.” For he was saying to him, “Come out of the man, you unclean spirit!” And Jesus asked him, “What is your name?” He replied, “My name is Legion, for we are many.” And he begged him earnestly not to send them out of the country. Now a great herd of pigs was feeding there on the hillside, and they begged him, saying, “Send us to the pigs; let us enter them.” So he gave them permission. And the unclean spirits came out and entered the pigs; and the herd, numbering about two thousand, rushed down the steep bank into the sea and drowned in the sea. The herdsmen fled and told it in the city and in the country. And people came to see what it was that had happened. And they came to Jesus and saw the demon-possessed man, the one who had had the legion, sitting there, clothed and in his right mind, and they were afraid. And those who had seen it described to them what had happened to the demon-possessed man and to the pigs. And they began to beg Jesus to depart from their region. As he was getting into the boat, the man who had been possessed with demons begged him that he might be with him. And he did not permit him but said to him, “Go home to your friends and tell them how much the Lord has done for you, and how he has had mercy on you.” And he went away and began to proclaim in the Decapolis how much Jesus had done for him, and everyone marveled.

When we read this passage, our first tendency is to focus on the possessed man and get impressed by the number of demons, the pigs, and all those details. Yes, they matter, but if we fall into that “trap,” we risk losing the main message.

That happened to me. After reading Augustine and Thomas Aquinas, and even reviewing St. Patrick’s rite for exorcisms, I realized something important: this text is not about the exorcism. It does not center on evil powers. It is not a manual on demonology or spiritual rituals.

This text—this kerygma—is about Christ. It’s about how God’s work, shown in Christ, impacted and transformed many lives.

So, let’s look at the passage with this diagram in mind (show diagram): Christ at the center; “The 11” are the disciples; “Brother” is the possessed man; “Decapolis” is the people of that region.

1) “The madness of love” shows me that Jesus is God

Let’s read again and notice something amazing. Mark 5:1 says: “They arrived on the other side of the lake, in the region of the Gerasenes.” Who arrived? Jesus and His disciples.

They had just lived through a terrifying storm. The wind roared, the waves beat the boat, and these sea-experienced men thought they would die. In the chaos, Jesus stood, rebuked the wind and the sea, and everything became calm. That miracle left them stunned and full of great fear—phobos megas, literally “immense terror.” With that awe, they asked: “Who is this man, that even the wind and the sea obey Him?”

That question is the bridge between Mark 4 and Mark 5. Right then, on the shore, God gives the answer. What happens in Gerasa is not simply a tale about demons and pigs; it is a deeper revelation of Christ’s divine power.

The same Jesus who spoke to the wind now confronts the darkness. The same One who ordered the sea to be still now orders demons out of a man destroyed by evil. In both cases, the authority is the same: the authority of God in the flesh.

The disciples saw His power over nature; now they see His rule over the spiritual world. Soon they will see His power over disease (the woman with bleeding) and over death (Jairus’s daughter). Little by little, they will understand that Jesus is not only a teacher or a prophet—He is God Himself walking among people.

Today, that claim seems harder and riskier for many. But if anyone accepts that Christ is God, there’s only one choice left: either I’m with Him, or I’m against Him.

And that question pressed on the disciples’ hearts:

Is Jesus really God?

If He is, am I willing to recognize Him, surrender, and belong to Him completely?

And you? Do you believe Jesus is God? Do you know He is God? If your answer is “yes,” let me ask: Does your life reflect that truth? It’s not about following Jesus culturally or by habit, but truly, with all your heart. If He is God, everything changes:

my impulses no longer rule me,

my desires are not my god,

my plan is no longer my plan.If Jesus is God, He commands.

“Storms are not always a tragedy.” Sometimes we think storms or troubles are punishment or abandonment (like surviving a shipwreck and then meeting a man possessed by thousands of demons). But storms can be the stage where God reveals Himself most clearly.

If the disciples had not gone through that storm, they might not have grasped Christ’s greatness. Likewise, your crisis can become the perfect place to see God work. Sometimes He calms the outer storm; other times He calms the inner storm. Either way, His presence turns fear into faith and doubt into worship.

Personal application: When you face a storm—illness, loss, or something out of your control—pause and ask: Am I seeing this as an obstacle, or as an opportunity to see God work? If Jesus is God, that truth changes everything: you no longer walk in fear, because you know who’s in the boat; you no longer doubt, because you trust His authority; you don’t surrender to chaos, because even storms obey His voice. His love—the “madness of love” that crossed the sea to rescue one man—moves Him today to come where you are.

2) “The madness of love” shows me that this God is not distant—He came near out of love for me

Now let’s look from the point of view of the man—whom I will call “my brother.” Why call him that? As Walvoord and Zuck explain in The Bible Knowledge Commentary (NT, Matthew–Luke), demon possession is not mere illness or madness, but a desperate satanic attempt to distort and destroy the image of God in a person.

The enemy tries to dehumanize, to strip away dignity. Mark 5:3–5 shows that this man had lost his home, family, sanity, and even his clothes. He had lost what made him “human” in others’ eyes. He wasn’t Paco, Mike, or David anymore—he was “the demoniac.”

But that man had a name. He had a story, a family, dignity—not because he earned it, but because God gave it at creation. When Christ crossed the sea to meet him, Jesus didn’t see a madman, a danger, or human trash. He saw a creation of God held captive by evil, and He came to set him free.

So I can’t call him “the demoniac” anymore. That no longer defines him. Christ’s work defines him. Even if I don’t know his name, I know he is my brother—reached by the same grace that reached me. The same love that crossed the sea for him, crossed the heavens’ distance to rescue me.

Remember our diagram: this kerygma is not really about “my brother.” He is not the main figure. Christ is. And this passage shows how God, through His Son, gives mercy to someone who, by human standards, would never deserve it. Mark 5:19 is clear: “Go home to your family, and tell them everything the Lord has done for you and how merciful He has been.”

This is the heart of the passage: the mercy of God in action through Christ.

What is mercy? Mercy is God’s love acting for those who don’t deserve it. It is divine compassion leaning toward human pain—not by duty, but by love. Mercy doesn’t ignore sin, but moves to free the sinner. It doesn’t approve the dirt, but touches the unclean. It doesn’t negotiate with evil, but rescues the captive. Mercy is not a feeling but a concrete action: God drawing near to the broken to restore them.

That is exactly what we see. Jesus did not avoid that region. He crossed the sea in a storm to reach a man everyone had already written off.

How did mercy affect “my brother”? Christ’s mercy completely transformed him. What evil destroyed, God’s love rebuilt. The one who lived among tombs was brought back to life. The one who screamed in pain now announces freedom. The one out of his mind is now sitting, dressed, and sane (Mark 5:15). The one rejected by all is now sent by Christ as a witness of grace. That is the gospel: God coming to the unworthy to restore their dignity.

Mercy not only freed him from demons; it returned him to identity, purpose, and community. What society threw away, Christ redeemed. What hell tried to destroy, heaven chose to rescue.

God’s mercy still acts today. You and I were also like “my brother”: far from God, broken, trapped by sin. But Christ crossed the sea of our guilt, walked to our grave, and called us by name. His mercy reached us, not because we deserved it, but because He decided to love us.

But here’s something crucial: the only way mercy becomes clear to us is when we recognize our misery. The man knew what he had lost—freedom, home, dignity, peace—so he understood the miracle he received. Whoever has touched the bottom understands the value of mercy best.

If we are not aware of how lost we are without Christ, we won’t experience God’s mercy fully. Only those who admit their ruin can be restored. Many prefer to get used to living among tombs than to kneel at Jesus’ feet and ask for help. But God did not create us for tombs; He created us for communion with Him.

Warning: everyone will kneel before Jesus—by love or by judgment, by grace or by condemnation. Every power bows; the difference is how we bow. We can do it now—confessing our need and receiving mercy—or too late, under His justice. “At the name of Jesus every knee should bow… and every tongue declare that Jesus Christ is Lord.”(Philippians 2:10–11)

Mercy can only be appreciated by those who recognize their ruin. Christ did not come to rescue those who think they’re good, but those who know they’re lost. When this truth enters the heart, pride fades and surrender begins.

3) “The madness of love” confronts me with a decision

Finally, let’s see the kerygma from the point of view of the Decapolis—the “ten cities.” They saw the same miracle the disciples saw and that my brother lived. They also witnessed Christ’s power: a totally changed man. Yet their reaction was very different.

The text says that when they saw the man sitting, dressed, and sane, “they were afraid.” But their fear was not the reverent awe of the disciples. It was a selfish fear—the fear of losing what they valued more than Jesus’s presence: their possessions.

When the pigs drowned, they did not see liberation—they saw financial loss. Instead of rejoicing over a restored life, they mourned dead pigs. That still happens today. Many miss the greatest miracle because their eyes are fixed on material things.

People follow what they know. If they don’t know Jesus, they’ll follow money. If they haven’t tasted mercy, they’ll look for security in what they can control. If they don’t value a soul, they’ll measure everything by gains and losses.

To the people of the Decapolis, Christ was an economic threat, not a spiritual hope. They asked Him to leave. Imagine it: the Son of God being expelled—not by demons (they submitted), but by people. Hell bows before Jesus, but hardened hearts ask Him to go.

This kerygma confronts us with a decision. With Jesus, no one can stay neutral. Either you receive Him, or you reject Him. Will you kneel like my brother, or cling to your comfort like the Decapolitans?

Do you prefer your pigs… or your Savior? Do you prefer temporary losses… or eternal life? Will you respond like my brother—grateful and surrendered—or like the crowd—attached to what cannot save you?

Conclusion

This kerygma does not end in the darkness of tombs or the fear of the crowd, but in the hope that appears when a heart surrenders to Jesus. The man known as “the demoniac” became a preacher of God’s power. That is what divine mercy does: it takes what was destroyed and makes it an instrument of His glory. Christ’s work not only frees—it redefines.

Sin does not have the last word. The past does not decide your identity. Your wounds do not define who you are. Christ does.

If His mercy could raise a possessed man and turn him into a messenger of the Kingdom, He can do the same with you. The hope of the Gospel is this: no matter what you have been, there is a new future when you surrender to Him.

Surrendering to Christ is not defeat; it is the beginning of true freedom. “My brother” was free when he fell at Jesus’ feet. There his slavery ended and his purpose began.

And you—how are you responding to God’s mercy today? Are you receiving it with humility, or watching from a distance like the people of the Decapolis? The same Jesus who crossed the sea to meet that man is here today, calling you by name. He does not see you by your falls, but by what His grace can make of you. His mercy does not stop at your sin; it breaks through it. It does not run from your past; it redeems it.

Altar Call

Today is a time to decide how you will respond. God is not asking for perfection; He is asking for surrender. Come as you are—with your struggles, fears, sins, and wounds—and let Him do what only He can do.

Pray: “Lord, here I am. I don’t want to stay among tombs or cling to what cannot save me. I surrender to You. Make me a witness of Your mercy. Use my story—even my pain—to show Your power.”

No matter how far you have been, there is hope in Christ if you surrender to Him. His mercy can turn your ruin into testimony and your past into purpose.

Put It Into Practice

Tell your story. Don’t hide what God has done for you. Like my brother, go home and tell it. Speak to your children, friends, and coworkers. Don’t preach perfection; preach grace.

Choose obedience, even when it costs. Following Christ means letting go of what used to define you—pride, fear, guilt, or sin. You may have to leave something behind, but what you gain in Him is worth infinitely more.

Final Reflection

The love of Christ not only breaks chains—it raises preachers. And today, you could be next. He is not looking for perfect people, but for willing hearts. When you leave here, take this question with you:

How am I responding to God’s mercy today?

And don’t forget: YOU ARE LOVED.