“The devil is a keen diagnostician.” I heard this idea in a sermon recently and found it compelling. I’ve been reflecting on it and watching for evidence. It is everywhere.
The devil (a name for any maleficent force) knows each of us well: Our weaknesses, past mistakes, secret regrets. As we ruminate on such things, he/it weaves our sadness and shame into a shroud of secrecy, which we use to protect ourselves from exposure and embarrassment or ruin.
We are unacceptable, we think, because of our deeply rotten past or the secrets we keep about our most personal vulnerabilities. This is rich fodder for the devil’s work.
It is a spectacular lie, but an effective tactic. It separates us from one another. It arouses suspicion about who knows what, who has done worse things, and how we might minimize or deny any allegations should anyone find them out. This self-denigration serves as a shield. It also repels compassion, encouragement and forgiveness. Thus we live in a constant shadow of fear. In this state, we can be persuaded to do things we would not otherwise consider. We may follow directives that promise safety (but don’t), go after others to turn attention away from ourselves, or go into hiding of the most destructive sort.
The devil is known as The Father of Lies in religious circles. He is seen as a happy hedonist in the secular world. Smart people of all stripes have big opinions about the devil– he is real/he does not exist; he seeks to devour you/he is your happiest encourager.
What this caused me to consider is how fear prevents us from finding our deepest happiness and how forgiveness can be a balm if we allow it.
That might seem a strange thought: “if we allow it.”
One of the devil’s most astute diagnoses is the level of pride we harbor, sometimes secretly. We may have our flaws, but we are surely not as bad as others we might know. When we compare in this manner, we can convince ourselves that “we’ve got this,” and that forgiveness is not something we either seek or would accept. You can see how this serves to further isolate us from one another.
The remedy can be private, but it must be intentional. Acknowledging to ourselves the junk we hope no one ever discovers and letting it go is the first step. Some people have rituals for this. Burning written confessions, floating lotus leaves on a body of water, and ceremonial cleansing are some.
I like to imagine my mind as an etch-a-sketch or drawing pad that allows you to pull the top sheet upward to erase what you had drawn. Clearing out the old makes room for restoration. You can then move forward with renewed strength and grace.
When the devil gets busy filling us with lies aimed at the diagnosis he deems most effective at limiting our joy and productivity, we must not isolate or ruminate. Keep moving. Stay in touch with people. Be kind. Explore possibilities. Accept setbacks. Fill your mind with ideas and plans to be part of creating goodness. It’s a great way to fend off the devil’s power.
