KEEPING THE CAPTIVE
To my dad, and to all
the Godly mentors the Lord has brought into my life! Thank you for your grace
and patience in all you have taught me over the years! May I always speak the
truth. . . but in love.
~~~~~`
Too
busy to rest, then too restless to sleep. What an odd sensation these
Earthlings lose themselves in. They pride themselves in their freedom while
they wholeheartedly collect chains. Another pleasurable sin, another vice,
another death. We see the natural progression of the natural man, and sometimes
we think our job is easy.
Take
my captive, for instance. Your typical, foolish Earthling. He doesn’t help our
cause much, but that’s okay. He is slowly dragging himself into the dirt,
crushing himself under a load of sins and chains he’s been collecting since
birth. I’m watching him right now. I’m obsessed with keeping him. It’s my job.
I have provided him with the essentials, of course—a pathetic façade of “life
is good” and a couple of weapons to fight back the logic of the enemy with. In
one hand he carries the wisdom of man, their primary choice to deflect the
evident truth that there is a God. It’s a blunt spiritual sword, really,
because who can deny His existence? In the other hand he carries a shield of
healthy skepticism of spiritual things. He doesn’t even think I or my kind
exist! I smile at this little captive
soldier I’ve built. His armor is so pathetic . . . no more than a mask to hide
the deep pain of a meaningless life. And yet off he trudges into another day,
ready to fight for his freedom to remain my captive.
You
can see why I think my job is easy sometimes, and I am only a low-ranking force
compared to most of my comrades! Pardon me for not introducing myself earlier.
My name is Lucius, and I am an enlightened angel serving the Morning Star. I
reject the plan my Creator had for me, and I live to serve my new lord in his
quest to establish his kingdom over all the created world. I live, like he
does, to steal, kill, and destroy. I repeat that pattern over and over with
each new assignment—each new captive— I am given. I steal away their hope and
chance at an abundant life. I crush their earthly life. And they are destroyed
forever in an eternal punishment so horrible it was originally reserved for us.
Yes, you simple humans call us demons, but don’t forget what we once were.
We’re more real, more glorious and profound, than you ever will be in your
natural state, Earthlings. Which is why we want to keep you that way.
Does
my captive even know we are destroying him? He must know, because despite my
hardest efforts to the contrary, he has been exposed to the light several
times. He knows of the abundant life our enemy offers . . . a life of true
freedom and broken chains. A life of power over the grave and victory over our
temptations because of the work of the Son of Man. It’s terrible. Sometimes I
can’t believe he doesn’t wake up and see it. Is sin that pleasurable that he
would choose it over life?
I
jerk myself from my contemplations and turn my attention back to the task for
the day. Keep him captive; don’t let them change him. A flash of doubt sparks
through my mind. My orders are clear, and though they seem utterly antithetical
to my mission, I trust with utter confidence in my superiors. I am taking my
captive to see a Christian today. We’ve been orchestrating this appointment all
morning, and it is almost show time.
My
captive is hard at work at his day job. He works at Starbucks—long shifts too.
As many hours as he can get. Right now, he is wiping tables. He’s got his back
turned to the Christian, who is walking toward him with coffee and computer bag
in tow, but that will change in a second. Sure enough, almost right on cue, the
Christian opens his mouth to speak. Here we go!
“Good
morning! Thanks for wiping that table.”
“Yeah,
not a problem,” my captive replies.
“I
can’t stand tables that still have crud on them,” the Christian says. He unslings
his computer bag and plops it on the edge of the table, where my captive has
already cleaned. They are now on opposite ends of the table from each other. My
captive has his head down, rubbing away at the sticky ring someone’s caramel
frap has made. The Christian is staring
at him awkwardly, waiting for him to finish, trying to think of something else
to say. He shifts from one foot to the other, then takes a sip of his coffee. He
gulps it down too quickly, I think. It looks like he burns his throat.
“You
having a good morning?”the Christian all but chokes out.
“I’m
hanging in there.” My captive straightens up and snaps his rag clean. I am
afraid he is going to turn and leave, but thankfully, for the sake of not
looking completely indifferent, he reciprocates the question. “How about you?”
“Oh
I’m good!” the Christian replies. “God is good!”
There
it is. Finally! These Christians, they are often so slow getting around to
mentioning the God they claim to serve. This is the whole point of the meeting
though! A test. A conflict. And if all things work out as planned, a captive
even deeper in bondage. I lean forward, watching every moment unfold. I’m ready
to insert myself if need be.
Right
on cue, my captive bristles. Up goes his shield. It’s invisible to earthly
eyes; I wonder if the Christian even notices it. But regardless, my captive’s
words make it clear where he stands. “Well, I’m glad God’s working out for you
anyway,” he says.
“You
don’t believe in God?” the Christian asks. Ah, you see, he wants this
opportunity too. The spiritual conflict is inevitable now. I feel myself thrill
to the fight. The coffee house setting fades and all but disappears in my
mind’s eye. I am immersed in this glorious, eternally-impacting struggle.
My
captive shrugs. ”I don’t know. I believe in things I can see and observe.” With
these words, he unsheathes the spiritual weapon I have equipped him with, the
wisdom of man. I’m disappointed to see that he doesn’t thrust deep with it. Not
yet, at least. Maybe he will once he feels more threatened.
“I
have seen and observed God!” the Christian replies. “He is evident in all His
creation!” With these words, out comes the Christian’s weapon. It shines
brighter than gold, like sunlight on a pure, white snowfield. It is sharp and
deadly, able to cut right through the pathetic armor we equip our captives
with.
I
shudder and draw back, suddenly terrified. What am I thinking! Such a weapon can
easily destroy any fortress I might build. It is absolute torment to me! In a
moment, I am ready to take flight and flee for my life. Let me go black to
darkness, away from the light and the battles. Who cares what happens to my
captive, if only I am safe from that terrible weapon! But my eyes lock with one
of my superiors across the room. He is a seasoned warrior for our master; he has
destroyed countless numbers of captives. He tells me in that glance to hold on.
“I
only know,” my captive is saying, “that many, many smart people believe in
evolution. What’s more, science has proven it!” It’s a weak thrust with a blunt
weapon. Such a jab won’t dent the shield of faith most Christians have, and
sure enough, it glances harmlessly off this Christian’s shield.
The
Christian raises his brilliant weapon high. It is his turn to strike. I all but
grovel in my place behind my captive, knowing I will feel the terrible bite of
the Christian’s spiritual weapon. Surely it will rip me to shreds, or if not
me, then my doctrines of deceit. The
weapon drops, and I all but screech and flee . . .
But the blow doesn’t strike me! It cuts deeply
into my captive, rending right through his pathetic armor. I hate to see the armor
rent, but I am so glad I didn’t receive the blow that I can’t be truly upset.
“The
fool says in his heart, there is no God! Fools deny the self-evident truth of
God and suppress the truth with their own foolishness. You are a fool if you
follow them!”
Again
and again the Christian raises his weapon and strikes. He shares truth after
truth, battering down my captive’s feeble attempts to raise his shield of
skepticism. At first I flinch with every
stroke, sure one of them will be directed at me, sure that my plans for keeping
my captive will be harmed. But with each stroke, I grow more confident, and
then even exuberant as I watch. My captive reels from each blow. His spirit is
being crushed. He is being emptied and insulted, bludgeoned out of humanity itself.
The Christian’s work is far more devastating than any of my efforts in my
captive’s life the last year. What amazing destruction! The Christian’s weapons
are indeed powerful.
I
realize the brilliance of my master’s scheme. Why take my captive to a
Christian? For precisely the reason before me! Their weapons can cut deeper
than any of ours, even our most potent ones like rage, jealousy, and slander.
We know this from experience. Countless numbers of our spiritual strongholds
have fallen to the power of their weapons and the Lord they serve.
But
what if—imagine this! What if these Christian soldiers mistake our captives for
their enemies?
The
battle is over. My captive disengages, too weary to continue. The Christian
watches my captive as he heads back to the employee section of Starbucks and he
even calls out “God bless you!” as if he has just won a great victory. But it
is I who have won! Yes, my captive lost his shield and weapon—they are battered
to pieces!—but he still carries his chains. He stumbles underneath them, his
inward person too damaged to hold up under them much longer.
My
captive finds his way out the back door, to where the employees who smoke take
their breaks. His friend Joe is there, sprawled out on a green, rust-speckled
bench. I wave hello to my comrade assigned to Joe, and he gives me a knowing
look and a thumbs up. Joe takes a drag from his cigarette and does one of those
“cool man” chin bobs at my captive. “What’s up, dude?”
“I
hate Christians.”
Joe
laughs. “You too, huh? What happened? Some zealot aim his blaze of glory at
you?”
“Yeah,
big time Bible-thumper.” My captive sighs, kicks at the cigarette buds that
litter the floor, and sits down on the bench next to Joe. “What’s their
problem, man? Do they take pleasure in ripping us apart?”
“Naw,
they want you to believe what they do, bro.”
“By
pounding me into the dirt? I’d rather go to hell than believe what they do.”
“Haha,
that’s the spirit. Believe in what makes you happy, that’s what I live by. If
that sends me to hell or not, I don’t know. But at least it makes life here
bearable.” Joe taps the ashes out of his cigarette and leans back like he has
just shared a bit of profound wisdom.
“Keeps
our Sundays free, that’s for sure,” my captive replies wryly. For the first
time this morning, he smiles. This is perfect! Bit by bit, Joe has nursed my
captive’s wounds. He’s helped him recover! At the end of it all, he’s handed my
captive back his shield of skepticism and helped arm him again with our
spiritual weapons, and my captive is stronger for it. He just might make a good
soldier for our cause someday.
The
two humans share a laugh, and my captive rises and clasps his friend on the
shoulder. “Thanks, Joe, I appreciate you being there for me. I got to get back
to the tables.”
“No
problem, man, anytime.” Joe flicks his cigarette on the floor and stomps it.
“I’ll follow you in. Gotta keep making the big bucks, right?”
“Haha,
that’s right. One day at a time.” My captive holds the door open, and the two
of them file in.
I
pause at the door, collecting myself. Proud, very proud. My superior meets me
there. It may sound weird to you humans that we have emotions too, but he is
all but smiling as he says, “Good work, Lucius.”
“Thanks.
I did well?”
“Yes,
it went as well as planned.”
“So
what’s next?”
“Same
thing as always—keeping the captive. Don’t lose him.”
“After
today? I don’t think I ever will.”
My
superior nods. “Just keep him away from Christians who actually know how to use
their weapons.”
I
grin maliciously. “Sounds like a plan!”
~~~~~~
The Lord’s bond-servant must not be quarrelsome, but be kind to all,
able to teach, patient when wronged, with gentleness correcting those who are
in opposition, if perhaps God may grant them repentance leading to the
knowledge of the truth, and they may come to their senses and escape from the
snare of the devil, having been held captive by him to do his will. 2 Timothy 2:24-26
