Letting God Fight for Me

Way back before I was married, living in Victoria, I came to know about a man who went by the name of Lion Serpent Son. It was in a Sunday evening church service that I noticed, several rows in front of me, something happening to a young girl who had recently been delivered from evil spirits. In the middle of the sermon, she began to twitch uncontrollably. I whispered a comment to the friend sitting beside me, and he said, “Yeah, that’s because that guy”—he jerked his head back over his shoulder—“is sitting at the back of the room—Lion Serpent Son. The devil knows his own.”

What he meant was that because this teenage girl had until recently been under demonic influence, this man who had slipped into the back of our service (and was staring at the back of her head) was able to oppress and control her. My friend went on to say that this man ran an occult bookstore in town where, in the back room, he led Satanic rituals.

I had a dream a few nights ago in which this man showed up. Later, curious, I went to Google to see if I could find mention of him. Reading here and there, I figured out that his name, Lion Serpent Sun, would have been taken from images in the tarot card deck, a tool of occultic divination. But back in the day, I misunderstood the name my friend spoke to me: what I thought I heard was “Lying Serpent’s Son.”

In my dream, this man, Lying Serpent’s Son, was seated on my left, talking to me. He was trying to have input into my life. I spoke to a person on my right and explained who this guy was. “Back in the 80s,“ I said, “he sued 100 Huntley St. for libel.” (This actually happened in real life.) 

My mentioning this threw the man on my left into a rage. He began to attack me, both verbally and physically. I tried to protect myself; I tried to fight back, but my strength was pitiful next to his. 

The Lord spoke to my heart: “I will protect you. I will be your defense. But you must completely give up your own efforts and trust in Me alone. Otherwise I cannot fight on your behalf.” At His direction, I laid my forearms down on my thighs, hands flat, palms down: a picture of trust and rest. I didn’t feel that way on the inside. It was terrifying, doing nothing to help myself. I found, though, that if I kept my eyes shut, it was easier to focus on God and rest in Him.

But in spite of myself, I opened my eyes once more. Seeing the fury on this man’s face, his arms flailing and his hands clawing at me, was too much for my faith. I threw my arms up again, trying to defend myself.

Once again I realized the futility. Determined to trust, I laid my forearms down again, took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and focused on God. In that place, I found that the blows of this enemy could not actually touch me. He could not hurt me as long as I kept the eyes of my heart fixed on God. I could have peace in the middle of the storm.

As the dream faded away, Jesus spoke to me in a ringing voice: “Whatever I say to you, do it!” As I awoke, I clearly understood that unquestioning obedience—even in the smallest matter—would be both the means into that place of trust—as well as the evidence of that trust. Trusting obedience was the way into sanctuary. And as I obeyed, He would continually demonstrate His trustworthiness; and so my faith would grow.

I recognized that the words the Lord had spoken to me were an echo of something His mother said to the household servants at the marriage of Cana, narrated in John 3. The wine had run out and Mary had just prodded Jesus to do something about it. Although His initial response indicates that He has no intention of stepping in (“It’s not yet my time.”), Mary almost seems not to hear Jesus, calmly and confidently telling the servants, “Whatever He tells you to do, do it!” Is this what moved Jesus to action, her confidence in who she knew Him to be? Was it her trust and her derring-do? “The kingdom of God makes way for aggression, and the motivated lay hold of it by their determination” (Matthew 11:12, my paraphrase). 

Sure enough, He gives the servants some instructions. They obey to the letter, and we have Jesus’ first miracle: He turns water into wine. 

If we strip that story down to its bare principles, one of the things we draw from it is that as servants (and friends and family!) of Jesus, if we want to experience supernatural provision, protection, peace—you name it, we must without delay respond to His promptings. Conscious obedience is one of the conditions that bring the kingdom of heaven down to earth.

I would soon have opportunity to practice this principle.

We were staying in Canmore as our daughter Melissa had to have knee surgery in Banff, 20 minutes away. We’d driven to Calgary on Sunday, picked up Melissa, and the three of us drove to Canmore where we got settled, finally, in a hotel suite. It had been a long day for me as I was running on just four and a half hours of sleep. 

The next couple of days was a marathon of exhaustion, with Melissa suffering a lot of pain and vomitting from the effects of the whole ordeal. I would set my alarm and get up at midnight to make sure she got her pain meds and to take care of other needs, then lie awake for the next several hours. By the time I got sleepy, it would be almost time for the alarm to go off for Greg’s shift at 4:00 a.m., so I would cancel the alarm so as not to disturb him, then get up and tend to Melissa again. 

By the time I got to bed on Tuesday night, later than I would have liked, self-preservation was kicking in. With my own health challenges, I was becoming fearful and self-centered and even resentful about the demands of the situation, although I’d been keeping my mouth firmly shut.

I had less than an hour until my alarm would ring again. I was in a knot. Peace and joy, my birthright in Christ, were gone. The dream, which I had just had early that morning, was very much on my mind. A vile spirit, the devil’s spawn, son of the lying serpent, was talking to me. He was trying to have input into my life. As God says in His Word, “We are not fighting against flesh-and-blood enemies, but against evil rulers and authorities of the unseen world, against mighty powers in this dark world, and against evil spirits in the heavenly places” (Ephesians 6:12, NLT). Discouragement had a violent grip on me. I didn’t have the power to fight it, at least certainly not in my own strength.

Greg was still awake too. I spoke aloud to him: “I think I need to repent.”

He paused for a moment. “Yes, I think you need to change your mind about some things,” he said. 

(For many years now, he and I have understood repentance to mean changing one’s mind. As even Wikipedia says, “The repentance [metanoia] called for throughout the Bible is a summons to a personal, absolute and ultimate unconditional surrender to God as Sovereign. Though it includes sorrow and regret, it is more than that. ... In repenting, one makes a complete change of direction [180° turn] toward God.”)

I felt God wanted me to kneel to pray. Whatever I say to you, do it! I rolled out of bed and knelt on the hardwood floor. I had serious business to do, and it would not be helped by lying cozy and comfy in a soft bed. Because our body and soul are so closely tied together, taking a serious physical position helps our soul—our mind, our will, and our emotions—to get serious as well.

Mostly what I did that night was to re-establish some things in my mind and heart before God: He is my provision. He is my rest. He gives sleep to His beloved (Psalm 127:2). If He doesn’t give me sleep, He will sustain me supernaturally—if I trust Him to do so.

I stood against fear, fear for my health, in the name of Jesus. I renounced self-protection. I submitted myself to God once again,  committing myself to His care and keeping. In every way that I knew how, I gave up fighting for myself—so that God could fight for me. When I climbed back into bed, I lay on my back with my palms resting on my thighs, the way I had done in my dream—a physical picture of the relinquishment, rest, and trust that I had chosen in my soul.

The peace was tangible. I lay quietly until my alarm went off, then I tended to my daughter’s every need, taking all the time in the world. 

In the morning, I told her about the battle I’d had the night before and the victory I had won through Jesus. 

“It felt different when you came into my room last night,” she said. “There was a softness.”

When the Israelites stood at the formidable obstacle of the Red Sea with the entire Egyptian army breathing down their necks, Moses said to the people, “Do not be afraid. Stand still and see the salvation of the Lord.… The Lord will fight for you, and you shall hold your peace” (Exodus 14:14, NKJV). 

To hold one’s peace means to remain silent. That was certainly what I’d needed to do as I struggled with all my negative feelings and attitudes. But there is another meaning I see there: If I let God fight for me, I will be able to hold onto my peace, my most valuable asset. And so I summarize my experience with a note to self: When you’re in a struggle, first re-establish your submission to God. Don’t lift so much as a finger to fight on your own behalf. Don’t even open your mouth, for as 2 Chronicles 20:16 says, “The battle is not yours, but God’s.”

*   *   *   *   *

Today as I posted this article, I saw that Facebook had brought up a post I wrote three years ago. We had been asked to pray for a certain family who were going through difficulty. What I wrote that day seems such a fitting addendum to this article that I felt I should tack it on. 

 

When Greg and I began to pray for [this particular family] this morning, this was the first thing that came to mind: “When the enemy shall come in like a flood, the Spirit of the Lord shall lift up a standard against him” (Isaiah 59:19, KJV). A standard is a banner that an army carries, displaying a symbol or insignia of the kingdom it represents. Jesus is the Captain of the host of the Lord's armies, and He says that His banner over us is love (Solomon 2:4). He is our Champion, and He will fight for us.

 

“The Lord will march out like a champion, like a warrior he will stir up his zeal; with a shout he will raise the battle cry and will triumph over his enemies” (Isaiah 42:13, NIV).

 

A little later, I was praying through Psalm 118. Here are excerpts, all from The Message except for the paragraph annotated NIV:

 

Thank God because he’s good,

    because his love never quits….

 

Pushed to the wall, I called to God;

    from the wide open spaces, he answered.

God’s now at my side and I’m not afraid;

    who would dare lay a hand on me?

God’s my strong champion;

    I flick off my enemies like flies….

 

All the [hosts of hell] surrounded me,

    but in the name of the LORD I cut them down.

They surrounded me on every side,

    but in the name of the LORD I cut them down.

 They swarmed around me like bees,

    but they were consumed as quickly as burning thorns;

    in the name of the LORD I cut them down (NIV)

 

I was right on the cliff-edge, ready to fall,

    when God grabbed and held me.

God’s my strength, he’s also my song,

    and now he’s my salvation.

Hear the shouts, hear the triumph songs

    in the camp of the saved?

        “The hand of God has turned the tide!

        The hand of God is raised in victory!

        The hand of God has turned the tide!”

 

I didn’t die. I lived!

    And now I’m telling the world what God did.

God tested me, he pushed me hard,

    but he didn’t hand me over to Death….

 

Thank God—he’s so good.

    His love never quits! 

Unworthy or Worthy? Nope!

 I love the Amplified Classic Bible, but there is something that, frankly, has come to irritate me. Virtually every time the word grace appears in the context of God’s relationship with us, the editors insert an explanatory phrase along the lines of “undeserved and unmerited favor.” I know that they cannot presume upon their readers to retain these explanations from page to page or even from verse to verse and so they repeat it every time. But the image it conjures up now, each time I read that phrase, is of these scholars, the translators, sitting around smacking their foreheads with a great big Bible while monotonously repeating, “I am unworthy. I am unworthy.” It makes me want to respond in a manner akin to “God” in the stage play of Monty Python and the Holy Grail, where He shouts from off stage, “Oh, quit your grovelling!” Not that God actually thinks or responds this way, but I sometimes do.

Speaking of The Holy Grail, I suddenly realize that that is where I got the mental picture of Bible scholars whacking their foreheads: there is a scene where a procession of monks in single file are chanting in Latin while intermittently thumping their heads with a short plank. It’s a picture of the same kind of self-flagellation and -abasement: “Unworthy.” Whack! “Unworthy.”

In the same way that I am bothered by the Amplified Classic’s continual reference to unmerited favour, I am grieved (and I think maybe God is grieved as well) every time someone says, regarding His goodness to them, “I know I don’t deserve it.” Oswald Chambers once said, “If we have ever had a glimpse of what we are like in the sight of God, we shall never say—“Oh, I am so unworthy,” because we shall know we are, beyond the possibility of stating it” (My Utmost for His Highest, January 12 reading). 

But when it comes to our relationship with God, worthiness is not the currency we are dealing in. The currency is love. Then again, “currency” is too mercenary a term to be used in connection with love. “Currency is a medium of exchange for goods and services” (investopedia.com). It suggests a system of earning and payment: duty accomplished and reward disbursed. Love, on the other hand, is a relationship where unconditional value is place on the beloved. And we, amazingly, are the beloved. 

As a parent, can you imagine if your child (of any age) were always saying, “I don’t deserve the things you give me. I don’t deserve your love.” It would break your heart! Furthermore, you would be concerned about the mental health of your child.

But before we go further, let us recognize that it is nevertheless both helpful and healthful to grasp the true, negative potential of our depravity, our fallen nature. This most often can only come by revelation. It typically comes by way of a very deep failure, moral or otherwise, which shows us, to the depths of our being, our need of a saviour. It is in that place that we can really receive Jesus, because then we truly know, “beyond the possibility of stating it,” how much we need Him. But then we must determinedly receive what He has promised: “to forgive us our sins and cleanse us from all unrighteousness” (1 John 1:9). When we have failed, we must choose—against all the weight of our shame—to accept His forgiveness and move forward in confidence that He means what He says: He forgives us, and He is continually cleansing us. 

It seems to me that the constant expression of being undeserving of God’s goodness exhibits a lack of understanding concerning the difference between the old and new covenants, more specifically, the difference between law and grace. And even then (although the Israelites of old could not understand this at the time), the law was only ever given to show us our need of Christ (Galatians 3:24) and to bring us to repentance: “For no person will be justified [freed of guilt and declared righteous] in His sight by [trying to do] the works of the Law. For through the Law we become conscious of sin [and the recognition of sin directs us toward repentance, but provides no remedy for sin]” (Romans 3:20, AMP). 

The law speaks of duty; grace speaks of a love relationship. 

The mention of duty versus love makes me think of something Greg shared with me from a book by C.S. Lewis, George MacDonald, a collection of thoughts from the writings of the Scottish poet and preacher. In #59, a short meditation called “Law and Spirit,” MacDonald explains that we cannot keep God’s Commandments by striving to do so in our own strength. We inevitably fail, and then, he says, “the man is overwhelmed in the weight of their broken pieces.” It requires a truly regenerate heart to produce pure actions: “a power of life, not of struggle; the strength of love, not the effort of duty.”

Perhaps the striving of duty stems from the old myth of earning God’s favour by good deeds and hoping that at the end of our lives when we are weighed in the scales of judgement, the good will outweigh the bad. But this a myth, a gross misunderstanding. God never had such a system in mind. 

It’s not that behaviour isn’t important, but first the heart must be settled on the matter of being completely accepted by God. Truly righteous behaviour grows out of the confidence of being rightly related to God.

Are we trying to earn our right-standing with God by proper behavior, or are we simply, by faith, receiving the gift of His love and imputed righteousness? In Romans Chapter 4, Paul clearly lays out two very different systems of receiving benefit: 1) being an employee who works to earn his wages and therefore deserves to receive them and 2) being the beneficiary of a gift. The first scenario is laid out here: “Now to a laborer, his wages are not counted as a favour or a gift, but as an obligation—something owed to him” (Romans 4:4, AMPC). The second is illustrated here: “But to the one who does not work [that is, the one who does not try to earn his salvation by doing good], but believes and completely trusts in Him who justifies the ungodly, his faith is credited to him as righteousness (right standing with God)” (Romans 4:5, AMP).

 If you consider yourself to be an “employee” of God, then you will work to try to earn what He gives you. You either work very hard to please God and then subconsciously feel you deserve to be rewarded, or you don’t work hard enough (in your estimation) and therefore don’t deserve anything. (You feel you have failed because you have done things you shouldn’t or not done things you should.) 

If, on the other hand, you are plainly (and generously) being given a gift, it has nothing to do with your performance. This is the Good News, or at least one way of expressing it.

Let us not think of God as an employer who will pay us what we have earned, withhold what we have not earned, or perhaps pay us anyway and leave us feeling vaguely and perpetually guilty for receiving a reward that shouldn’t be ours. Let us think of God clearly as the loving Father He is and of ourselves as His beloved children whom He delights to restore and bless.

Do you know what the monks were chanting in Monty Python’s story? “Pie Iesu Domine, dona eis requim”: “Holy Jesus, Lord, grant them rest.” So that is my prayer today for those still struggling with the idea of worthiness. You are not unworthy, and you are not worthy. You are simply loved.