Imagine Mittus Romnesius, the Roman centurio, leader of many.
On a day like any other, being on patrol with his men, he sees a bunch of vagabonds strolling the countryside, preaching love and peace to the people. One guy is especially suspicious: He seems to be the leader of the group and he has long hair falling to his shoulders. The latter, Mittus thinks, goes against the worldview of any right-meaning Roman soldier. It simply cannot be. And he seeks to correct that terrible abomination - and have himself a little fun along the way. So he utters a swift command and his soldiers hold the other guy, who does not defend himself at all, violently down, keep him down, and Mittus cuts his hair off, bit by bit, lock by lock, with his Roman sword, all the while laughing wildly about all the merriment that brings. Looking in his eyes, you might be a bit afraid, I assure you.
When the noble work is finished, Mittus walks away proudly, being applauded by his soldiers. Deep inside he is still overwhelmed by the rush of raw power that whole procedure provided, and a slight smile has still not left his lips.
Meanwhile, the other one is lying defeated, with torn clothes and face down, on the earth. Suddenly he is looking up and you also see his eyes. You know the look, you have seen it a thousand times in your churches, painful and strained. And while it may sound strange, but for the first time you feel truly with him. And then he smiles, too, bright and warm, and you know, with a calming certainty, that all the centurio's work has been in vain.