If I were the devil

If I were the devil,

I would not come with pitchforks and howls,

Nor haunt your nights with horror and flame.

No — I’d come quiet. Familiar.

Disguised in the voice of your own doubt,

Wearing your comforts like a cloak.

I would not need to steal your salvation —

only your fire.

I’d whisper lullabies of busyness into your ears,

cradling you in a rhythm of distraction.

I would keep your Bible dusty.

Your prayers shallow.

I’d make you yawn at holy things

and hunger for fleeting ones.

I’d convince you that scrolling is rest,

and silence is boring —

until the still, small voice becomes unfamiliar,

eclipsed by algorithms.

I’d fill your calendar and empty your soul.

I’d feed you comfort until you’re bloated,

numb to conviction,

content to “believe” without becoming.

If I were the devil,

I would paint ministry as performance,

so you serve for applause and not obedience.

I’d tell you influence matters more than intimacy.

Likes more than love.

I’d let you post Scripture,

so long as you never live it.

I’d remind you of your wounds daily

so you’d forget the Healer.

I’d drag your past in front of your present

until shame becomes your second skin,

and you limp through life

never realizing the cross already broke your chains.

If I were the devil,

I wouldn’t need to possess you —

just preoccupy you.

Just enough to keep you from the altar,

just enough to keep you from picking up your sword.

I’d make you terrified of holiness —

as if surrender were prison,

as if sacrifice were loss.

And I’d make the narrow road

look like a trail for fools.

I’d let you go to church.

I’d let you sing.

I’d let you talk about Jesus

so long as you don’t look like Him.

I would let you believe you are too broken to be used, too ordinary to be anointed,

too late to turn around.

And I’d do all this so subtly,

you’d never realize

you’ve traded purpose for passivity,

and revival for routine.

But oh—if you ever woke up,

if you ever realized who you are,

Whose you are,

if you ever got desperate enough to pray,

to fast,

to forgive,

to weep and war and worship in truth…

If you ever cracked your Bible open in hunger,

if you ever started living like the tomb is empty,

if you ever became dangerous to the kingdom of darkness —then I would tremble.

Because a Christian fully awake and effective

is a storm the gates of hell cannot withstand.

So if I were the devil,

I’d just keep you sleepy.

Satisfied.

Distracted.

Half-alive.

And call it “normal.”