A Battle with the Unseen

You shouldn’t be here. You should go back. You’re on your way to the worship ceremony of a group of animists, those who actively call on the spirits of the natural world to meet with them and inhabit them. There is always risk when confronting a whole group of people—mob mentality can turn neighbors into monsters—but it’s not a flesh-and-blood enemy that unsettles you tonight. You know you're following God's leading, but the intrusive, negative thoughts are relentless. Either from faith or from stubbornness, you see the oppressive atmosphere as a good sign. Your spiritual enemies don’t want you here. So you keep going. 

Ahead of you, you hear the worshipers singing and laughing. The wild beat of the drums reverberates in your bones as you duck under tree branches. Occasionally, the music is punctuated by a shout, a burst of eerie triumph. The hairs on your arms stand up. You’re getting close; you catch glimpses of colorful robes between the trees. The closer you come, the more the tree tops seem to press down on you. Noise from the clearing ahead whips across your skin, leaving you raw and exposed.  

The worshipers haven’t seen you yet, but you are moments from stepping into the firelight, and you don’t know what comes next. You count the people you can see, but the whirling dance in the center makes counting difficult. At least thirty are here. Maybe forty.  

Are you really going to expose yourself as a Christian publicly, in front of all these people? Turn back while you still can. 

You step into the open and walk right into the middle of the dancers, ducking to avoid flailing limbs. You lock eyes with one dancer, a gyrating man with eyes outlined in black, and he falters to a stop. Another dancer spots you, and his movements also slow. People on the edges of the circle begin pointing at you and conferring with each other in confusion.

Your heart hammers in your chest, but you sense the presence of the Holy Spirit. You sense the still small voice, clear and unmistakable. His is the only voice that matters. 

Tell them who I Am.

You lift your hands. 

“Quiet!” you shout. Instantly, the whole crowd, from drummers to indignant dancers to confused onlookers, falls silent. Your voice is filled with power that only One can give. The animists are about to hear the name of Jesus for the first time.

That is why you are here, and that is what the Accuser hates and fears but cannot understand—once you give your life to Jesus, there is no turning back.

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