Our Neglected Weapon

Darkness steals across the landscape, creating a black velvet curtain between the forest and the lighted kitchen where a family sits around a dinner table.  Two parents and their tiny children enjoy each other’s company on a clear night, while their laughter bounces outside in muted yet recognizable tones to the visitor who waits at the edge of the woods, watching carefully for any signs of life that might venture outside the protection of those walls and doors.  Flimsy screens serve as the only physical barrier to guard the little family from the disaster waiting to pounce out from the brush.  But lions are patient . . . 

 

We have an enemy.  While most of us spend very little time thinking about him, he thinks about us every day.  Like a “roaring lion, he walketh about, seeking whom he may devour.”  ( I Peter 5:8)  He has menu choices.  Not everyone makes suitable devouring.  Watching his prey carefully, he will pick wisely.  His time will not be spent in vain. 

 

Peter, whose words are quoted here, knew about this lion.  As a young disciple of Christ, he once allowed this enemy to speak through him.  Jesus “turned, and said unto Peter, Get thee behind me, Satan: thou art an offense unto me:  for thou savorest not the things that be of God, but those that be of men.”  Later, the lion’s roar was heard when Peter slept through his final prayer meeting with Jesus, hours before the crucifixion.  Is it any wonder Peter denied Christ, even swearing for emphasis at the inquisitive little maid, just hours after his lost opportunity to pray in the garden was spent sleeping? 

The very first adjective used in the Bible for our enemy is “subtil” (or subtle, in our current usage).  He is a master of deceit, a quiet enemy, whose mission is rarely discovered before there has been loss, whose roar is rarely heard until there has been disaster. 

 

The biggest problem today among Christians is not that we don’t believe in heaven, or hell, or God.  We believe.  Our problem is that, for all practical purposes, we have stopped believing there is an enemy.  The church sleeps, and a lion rocks the cradle. 

 

We have a weapon against this enemy, but many families and churches laid down arms years ago.  After all—if there is no enemy, why build up an arsenal?  What trouble it is to sacrifice for a disaster that will never strike!  Like buying flood insurance at the top of Mt. Everest, or building to hurricane code in Illinois—such a waste. 

 

And so mid-week prayer meetings shrink, until churches eventually cancel them completely.  Families stop praying together.  Couples spend more time online than on their knees.  Little by little, even the flimsiest of window coverings fall apart, until the reach of that lion to the precious family inside is no longer barred even by small strips of cheap wire.  Curtains flutter outside the window casings, announcing to the enemy that at last, his time has come.  His patience has paid off.  He will eat tonight.   

 

Someone has said, “A day begun without prayer is a boast against God.”  How many days have we begun with that boast—haughty little Christians we, shaking our tiny fist at our Creator as our enemy chuckles from the forest.  We can do it ourselves!  The arm of flesh is strong!  We don’t need God. 

 

The Christian life spent without prayer is practical humanism.  We say we believe in a God Who can part waters and spin planets, but we raise our children without His supernatural help.  We claim to trust in a God Who splashed a wet altar with consuming fire; Who made time stand still; Who stood water on end—but we operate our churches without His wisdom and power.  How much of our Christian lives is spent in the power of the flesh, toiling miserably against the forces of evil without ever asking for God’s blessing, without seeking His pleasure, and without even noticing He was missing.   We have programs, concerts, and activities; applause and man’s approval; technology and wealth—but no God, no power, no protection. 

 

Overconfidence may be the chiefest weapon of our enemy.  Without lifting a finger, he robs us of our desire to pray, to seek fellowship with other Christians, and to know the God we claim to serve.  Comfort has become our foe.  Prayer is work, and it runs counter to our craving for pleasure, self-congratulation, and activity. 

 

You are the Christian you choose to be.  Choose, by the power of God, to be a praying Christian.  You have an enemy.