“And Abimelech said to Isaac, “go away from us, for you are much mightier than we” (Genesis 26:16).

He sowed the land and reaped a hundredfold. He began to prosper, possessing hundreds of flocks, herds, and a great number of servants, digging wells of water like an oasis in the scorching desert. And yet, one day, King Abimelech approached him and demanded that he leave, declaring he was no longer welcome. Thousands of years later, another like Isaac was also told to depart. He healed the lepers, the paralyzed, and the blind. With just a word or the touch of His hand, He made multitudes whole—spiritually, emotionally, and physically. The wind and waves obeyed Him, and many marveled. Many, but not all. The healing of the demon-possessed man in the region of the Gadarenes proved to be too much for them, and “they begged Him to depart from their region” (Matthew 8:34).

History shows that the Church of Christ was forged amid humanistic philosophies, paganism, and relentless persecution. Baptized in His death and resurrection, the early church continually required instruction, sound doctrine, biblical faith, and a firm foundation. Yet today, as I walk through our neighborhoods, drive through our cities, and observe the cultural ideologies adopted by various churches, I am dumbfounded by the subtle, stealthy ways we have pushed our Lord away.

We shy away from preaching repentance, remaining silent on the vital topics designed to reveal the character of God and His will. Instead, we obsess over ourselves—our self-image, our need for increased assertiveness, our preferred music, and our personal gifts—fearing that if Christ were truly preached and lived through us, He would draw too much attention. Why do we tell Him to go away? Why do we mute the sermon or song that makes us ache? Why do we isolate ourselves from the church simply because a message or a fellow believer might awaken something within us—something we refuse to acknowledge as God’s relentless pursuit of our hearts?

In how many ways do we echo the kings and peoples of old, crying out, “Leave us, Lord Jesus”? Your ways feel too narrow; the shame is too heavy to bear. Your Word is too demanding, too powerful for a modern society like ours. We would rather see the wells of water run dry than surrender to Your truth, embrace Your grace, and feast on the abundant spiritual food and water You so eagerly long to pour out upon us”. (John 7:37-39)

We know, we have heard, and we have seen that when His entire Word—unfiltered and unchanged—is allowed to dwell among us, miracles happen. Always for the good and for the eternal. Yet, we will nonetheless draw people’s attention and find ourselves asking: how much more does He want from us? The healings are profound, but He desires to go deeper. True transformation will inevitably be called for. I don’t want to give Him quite everything…

I remember the tears I shed when reading this passage and others where, instead of being welcomed, Jesus was turned away so He would no longer disturb their lives. That same offense persists today. What angered people thousands of years ago continues to provoke our secular, hedonistic society.

His identity as the Son of God and the only way to be saved still cause problems for many. Today, people accept many different religions, so they often reject His message. They feel it is too strict and judgmental because it challenges their pride and their own ideas of right and wrong.

And the ultimate tragedy is that He leaves. Christ remains the most profound Gentleman I have ever known; He will never force His way where He is not welcomed. Consequently, we are left to rely on our own hollow aspirations, well-intentioned efforts, and spiritual leftovers that fail to sustain or vitalize us. We are abandoned to sickness of heart and apathy of soul. Void of the Holy Spirit—who alone possesses the power to illuminate our path, instruct our minds, and direct our steps (John 16:5-15)—our lamps inevitably burn out. The very wells we labor so earnestly to dig and fill with our own finite wisdom and counsel will ultimately run dry.

Amidst all the noise and chaos around me, I turn to my Christ—–and I bring my burdens before Him. I intercede on behalf of my family, my church, my town, my city, my entire Romanian and American community here in Chicago, and our nation as a whole. I pray that He will show us mercy and that, no matter how dense the surrounding darkness may be, His light will continue to shine ever brighter…

I fall to my knees on the other side of Gadarenes, amid the cries of the multitudes and I beg Him: “Do not leave us, Lord Jesus. In You alone have we found the words of eternal life. Do not turn Your face from us—You are everything that is good in us. Our lives only make sense and have the strength to withstand tragedies, failures, and losses because You dwell among us!”

Will you join me in welcoming Christ into our homes, our churches, our cities, and our country, just as the two disciples once asked of Him? “Stay with us, for it is nearly evening; the day is almost over” (Luke 24:29). Like a true Gentleman, I am certain He will accept the invitation and remain…

“Abide in Me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit of itself, unless it abides in the vine, neither can you, unless you abide in Me”.  (John 15:4)