I recently got back from a week of serving at a youth camp. It was a great experience, but it showed me how high and constant the watermark of spiritual warfare is in the church.
I don’t know about you, but when I hear the phrase “spiritual warfare,” my mind usually goes straight to an epic battle for souls—Ephesians, the armor of God, and paintings of angels wrestling demons. And I believe that big picture fight is real. With that said, some experiences at camp left me wondering how often the enemy simply distracts us. And how often we let him.
One night, my small group relocated from a grassy field to a parking lot because the mosquitos were too thick. Relocating didn’t help. Within a few minutes, most of the group was standing, slapping at bugs, pushing to wrap up group time early.
In the midst of the chaos, a student sitting next to me opened up and shared about depression and feelings of self-hatred. I wanted to stand up so badly, but I thought, “I’d rather take thirty mosquito bites than make him feel like I don’t care right now.”
Another student opened up, sharing similar experiences. And, then, another. A fourth student talked about the uncertainty of his future, and how heavy that felt. Those students were all still sitting.
I know what some of you are thinking. Mosquitos are going to bite. Students are going to be immature.
“I know what some of you are thinking. Mosquitos are going to bite. Students are going to be immature.”
To be clear, I’m not saying that the enemy sent a cloud of mosquitos to follow my group around, tormenting us all week. But I am glad that, when those students opened up, there were still people in that circle sitting around them, locked in and ready to share hope and encouragement.
We live in a distracted world. Why wouldn’t the enemy leverage that to his advantage? Why wouldn’t he try to keep us focused on ourselves and do everything possible to keep us from being present when it matters most?
Another example hit mid-week at camp.
A student in my group paid a kind compliment to another leader, and my thoughts went into a spiral. The enemy had an opening.
“The past two years, he’s never said anything like that to you. Who are you kidding? When you prayed with him tonight, it didn’t mean anything. None of the prayers you prayed with any of the students meant anything.” Then, to really heap on the shame when I started to confront those lies: “You’re so selfish.”
I tried unsuccessfully to shake those thoughts for an hour before bed. Sure enough, when I woke up the next morning, they were there to greet me. It wasn’t until I took time to pray blessings over the student and leader the next morning that I pulled out of the spiral.
“It wasn’t until I took time to pray blessings over the student and leader the next morning that I pulled out of the spiral.”
1 Corinthians 3:5-7 came to mind and brought me so much peace.
“What, after all, is Apollos? And what is Paul? Only servants, through whom you came to believe—as the Lord has assigned to each his task. I planted the seed, Apollos watered it, but God has been making it grow. So neither the one who plants nor the one who waters is anything, but only God, who makes things grow.” (1 Corinthians 3:5-7, NIV)
It’s such a relief to be reminded that God is sovereign and always working. And that, by comparison, we’re nothing. We don’t have to have all the answers. It’s not about our effort and energy. God is the one growing His church. We’re just jars of clay carrying some living water to thirsty souls. My job is to stay watchful for the good works He’s prepared for me and to rely on Him for the strength to be faithful and obedient.
I think we can all agree that there are legitimate offenses in the church to confront out of love, but how many of us are regularly hit with a barrage of distractions that take our eyes off Jesus for no good reason? How many slights and disagreements could be washed with grace and buried, never to resurface, if we made the daily choice to dedicate ourselves to forgiveness and reconciliation whenever possible?
If you’ve ever driven on mountain highways, you’ve probably seen signs warning about the risk of falling rocks. I learned a few years ago that crews inspect these areas—and thank goodness for that. They rappel and scramble along the rockface, using metal bars to pry rocks loose. Left untouched, a network of fissures would eventually sink deep into the rock, triggering a disastrous rockslide.
Our spiritual lives can be like that, too. If we don’t go to war with selfishness, bitterness, and grumbling in our own lives, they’ll fester until we’re rendered fruitless and unwilling to love.
“If we don’t go to war with selfishness, bitterness, and grumbling in our own lives, they’ll fester until we’re rendered fruitless and unwilling to love.”
If my camp examples weren’t relatable, maybe these will sound familiar.
“This song again? We just sang this last week.”
“Why bring my Bible to church if the preacher’s going to use a different translation?”
“I can’t believe she ignored me. She knows who I am. I know she saw me.”
“Why is there a baby in here? We have a nursery.”
I don’t think it’s by accident that, in one breath, Paul described the church as the body of Christ—each part valuable and essential—and immediately confronted the inevitability of division. It couldn’t get much clearer than 1 Corinthians 12:21 (NIV): “The eye cannot say to the hand, ‘I don’t need you!’ And the head cannot say to the feet, ‘I don’t need you!’” It’s sobering to consider how often our words and actions reflect that sentiment.
Do you recognize the ways the enemy is distracting you? What would it look like to take a step back in those moments, asking God to clear the fog and show you what you might otherwise miss?
There’s a spiritual rip current constantly threatening to hamstring our witness. Let’s watch for the signs and fight for the church.
