Audio Transcript

Should we ever speak directly to the devil? Some Christians do. Many don’t. Who is right? Here’s the question, from Frederic, a listener in Germany: “Pastor John, hello! An episode of APJ — APJ 1439 — really jumpstarted my prayer life. Thank you for it. As I felt really blessed, I was also concerned about something you did there. While you were pressing into reasons why the devil loves it when our prayer life is weak, you even addressed the devil directly, telling him to get out of the way. While I got the point, I was left concerned.

“Should we ever speak to or address the devil directly while praying to God? I know that it is a common practice in many churches to address the devil directly, to rebuke him, in corporate prayers for example. I consider these practices false as I don’t see any biblical reasons to do so. We even read in Jude: ‘But when the archangel Michael, contending with the devil, was disputing about the body of Moses, he did not presume to pronounce a blasphemous judgment, but said, “The Lord rebuke you”’ (Jude 9). It seems like some people spend a lot of time speaking directly to the devil while praying to God. But should we?”

Well, may the Lord give us wisdom not to overemphasize the presence and danger of the devil and demons, and not to underemphasize the presence and the danger of devils and demons. That’s what I’m going to try to do — strike that balance in these few minutes that we have together. I want to get a biblical balance, and you can fall off the fence on both sides here.

Stay Grounded

Here are three preliminary, brief encouragements to set the stage.

First, the devil is not our main problem. Sin is our main problem; we are our main problem. And therefore, we should focus the lion’s share of our spiritual warfare not against Satan and not against other people but against sin in our own heart and life. If you succeed there, you defeat the devil, and you defeat your adversary. What God delights in is your holiness, and if you attain that by putting to death your own sin through the power of the Spirit, you triumph over Satan and over the world. Satan doesn’t care much about being seen. What he cares about is destroying people by trapping them and holding them in sin. So, sin is the main issue. That’s the first preliminary observation.

Second, never forget — preach it to yourself many, many times — that “he who is in you is greater than he who is in the world” (1 John 4:4). Christ, by his death and resurrection, dealt a decisive, defeating blow against Satan. He cannot destroy you except by tempting you to distrust Jesus and walk in sin. Believe in the triumph that you already have — the down payment by the Spirit in your life — and walk in this victory.

“The devil is not our main problem. Sin is our main problem; we are our main problem.”

Third, prioritize the method of demonic deliverance that Paul gives in 2 Timothy 2:24–26. He said to Timothy that he should “not be quarrelsome but kind to everyone, able to teach, patiently enduring evil, correcting his opponents with gentleness.” And then he adds, “God may” — so, as you do that, here’s what God’s going to do, perhaps — “perhaps grant them repentance leading to a knowledge of the truth, and they may come to their senses and escape from the snare of the devil, after being captured by him to do his will.” That’s the steady-state, normal way of defeating the power of the devil in the Christian ministry.

There is a kind of demonic possession that may call for a remarkable power encounter and real exorcism. I’ve been part of one of those in my life. But the ordinary way of deliverance is the way of teaching the truth that Satan cannot stand, and therefore he leaves because truth begins to take hold by God’s grace in people’s lives.

How Not to Speak to the Devil

Now, with those three encouragements in place, here’s what I’d say about speaking to the devil directly.

First, never negotiate with the devil. He is evil through and through. He is too subtle and deceptive, and he is expert in laying traps for people. Never bargain with the devil. Jesus refused to do it in the wilderness. We should refuse to do it everywhere.

Second, never speak to the devil approvingly. In John 8, Jesus said he’s a liar from the beginning, and behind that trickery is a murderous intent. Even when he speaks in half-truths, you would do well not to approve any half of it, because its intent is to trap and deceive.

Third, never speak a self-reliant or self-dependent rebuke to Satan. Now, mark those words: “self-reliant, self-dependent rebuke to Satan.” Any power that we have over Satan does not reside in us by nature. It is the power of Jesus Christ. We do not have authority in ourselves apart from him. We do not have wisdom in ourselves that is sufficient to oppose or figure out the schemes of the devil. It’s all of Christ.

In Whose Authority?

Now, this is where Jude 9 seems to be misunderstood — even by Frederic, who asked us this question, it seems. Frederic, in his question, seemed to use this text to say, “Not even the angel Michael spoke to the devil.” But in fact, the text says the opposite. “When the archangel Michael, contending with the devil, was disputing about the body of Moses, he did not presume to pronounce a blasphemous judgment, but said, ‘The Lord rebuke you.’” He’s talking to the devil. The word you means he was speaking to the devil. But what he would not presume to do, and we should not presume to do, is speak to the devil in his own name or in his own authority. And so, he says, “The Lord rebuke you.”

We know that Jesus had authority over demons and that he spoke to them — like, “Be silent, and come out of him!” (Mark 1:25). And we know that he gave this authority to his disciples in Mark 6:7: “He . . . gave them authority over the unclean spirits.” And we know that when the 72 disciples returned, not just the twelve, to report about their ministry, they said, “Even the demons are subject to us in your name” (Luke 10:17). The words “in your name” mean that’s how they cast out the demons. Jesus cast them out in his own authority; the disciples cast them out in the name of Jesus. “Get out in the name of Jesus” is probably what they said.

So, when 1 Peter 5:9 and James 4:7 say that we should “resist the devil,” I think those commands in 1 Peter and James include those times when the demonic assault on you or your loved one is so plain and so blatant that you should say something like, “No, no, in the name of Jesus, leave me alone” or “Leave my child alone in the name of Jesus. Be gone, Satan — get out of this house.” Then we turn to Christ. Oh yes, we turn to Christ. This is the step that’s probably neglected. At that moment, we turn to Christ — we turn to the promises of Jesus:

“I’ll never leave you.”
“I’ll never forsake you.”
“I’ll always be with you.”
“I bought you; you’re mine.”
“No one can snatch you out of my hand.”
“I will help you.”
“I’ll be your shield.”
“Hold up the shield of faith. Believe in my promises. I’ll protect you. You will never be less than a super-conqueror as you trust in me.”

And then we rest. We rest in his sovereign care.

Fight Daily

So, my answer is yes, Christians may talk like that to the devil, but it will not be their normal, daily way of triumphing over his schemes. That’s the imbalance I’m trying to avoid. The hour-by-hour life of faith and holiness and love will be the normal way, and God will make us very useful in this world of defeating the schemes of the devil as we focus on his promises and defeat our own sins by his power.

My grandfather is no longer here for Christmas.

I scarcely remember one without him, and yet now his absence is becoming the new normal. We no longer gather in his living room to read Luke’s account of Jesus’s birth, sing “Joy to the World,” open presents together, or eat the Christmas dinner he prepared. His chair, once so full of fondness, infectious laughter, and gentlemanly repose, now sits silent, full of memories.

A new sensation now dines with me during my favorite time of year. As the dining table crowds with new faces, new grins, and new babies, nostalgias of past Christmases unfold in the background. Here, more than at any other place or time, days past and days present meet. Here I behold fresh holiday scenes with old eyes. So much is the same, and so much is different.

Loss has made me older.

I look around the table at the bright eyes of the children, and see a joy unburdened. The Christmas they have known is the same today. They can’t see what their parents see. They cannot detect the soft-glowing faces or hear the unspeaking voices. To them, chairs aren’t empty, they’re yet to be filled. They don’t know the ache in our celebration, the wounds that never fully heal.

I now know Christmas as my grandfather had for years — as a mixture of gladness and grief, gratitude and regret, Christmas now and Christmas then. I could not discern the others who dined with us around the table from another life ago — parents, friends, his beloved wife. I never realized his Christmases filled with more than just that single Christmas. I now see the unspoken dimension. I better understand that weathered smile, brimming fuller, yet sadder than once before.

Suffice it to say, Christmases these days aren’t quite the same.

Out with the Old?

With this new experience of Christmas with an empty chair, comes certain threats and temptations.

Jesus once warned about sewing a piece of new cloth onto an old garment; or putting new wine into old wineskins. The wineskins might burst, he taught; the cloth might tear. But here we are. In the mind of the man or woman who has lost, the new is patched with the old; new wine pours into old family wineskins.

Perhaps you can relate. The pressure of sitting and eating and singing where he or she once sat and ate and sang can tear at the heart. You may have lost more than a grandfather. The strain of grief you feel around the holidays nearly concusses. The spouse whose name inscribed upon the ornament is no longer here. One stocking is missing. The beloved child you watched run down the stairs Christmas morning has not made it down for some years now. Christmas, this side of heaven, will never be the same.

I do not pretend to know such depths of despair. But I do know twin temptations that greet those of us who have lost someone. I hope that naming them might help you this Christmas.

Past Swallows Present

The first temptation is to the variety of grief that kidnaps us from life today. This bottomless ache comes when we begin to stare and stare at the empty chair. The grief overwhelms all gladness; the past swallows the present. The good that arrives is not the good that once was, so all current cause for happiness becomes spoiled or forgotten.

This is to step beyond the healthy grief and remembrance of our losses. It poisons the heart by entertaining the question the wise man bids us not to: “Say not,” he warns, “‘Why were the former days better than these?” For, he continues, “it is not from wisdom that you ask this” (Ecclesiastes 7:10). This grief poisons the what is with the what used to be. It hinders the ability to go on.

Grief threatens to lock us in dark cellars of the past, keeping us from enjoying the child playing on the floor or the new faces around the table.

Over-the-Shoulder Guilt

Second is the temptation to bow to the over-the-shoulder guilt bearing down on us. Lewis captures this in A Grief Observed:

There’s no denying that in some sense I “feel better,” and with that comes at once a sort of shame, and a feeling that one is under a sort of obligation to cherish and foment and prolong one’s unhappiness. (53)

“The empty chair can threaten to overwhelm all joy in this Christmas or shame us for feeling any joy this Christmas.”

This temptation sees the empty chair frowning at us. “Why aren’t you sadder? How can Christmas still be merry? Didn’t you love him?” The memory, not remaining in its proper place, looms over our shoulder, patrolling our happiness in the present. This shame is a sickness that tempts us to hate wellness.

So, the empty chair can threaten to overwhelm all joy in this Christmas or shame us for feeling any joy this Christmas — both must be resisted.

Melt the Clouds of Sadness

So what do we do? There the empty chair sits.

Fighting both temptations, I need to remind myself: Christmas is not about family around a dinner table, but about Jesus. And Jesus has promised that for his people — for my grandfather — to be absent from the Christmas table is to be present with him.

I ask myself, Should I wish my grandfather back? Would I, if it stood within my power, recall him from that feast, reunite his soul with his ailing body — reclaim him to sickness, loneliness, sin — summon him from the heaven of Christ himself to a shadowy celebration of Christ on earth?

Somedays I half-consider it.

But I know that if I could speak to him now, he wishes me there. The empty chair heaven longs to see filled is not around our Christmas dinner, but the empty chairs still surrounding Christ. Our places are set already. Better life, real life, true life, lasting life lies in that world. That empty chair of our loved ones departed is not merely a reminder of loss, but a pointer to coming gain.

“That empty chair of our loved ones departed is not merely a reminder of loss, but a pointer to coming gain.”

This place of shadows and darkness, sin and Satan, grief and death, is no place yet for that Happy Reunion. The dull Christmas stab reminds me that life is not what it should be, but it can also remind me life is not what it will soon be for all who believe.

Jesus will come in a Second Advent. He will make all things new. Christmases with empty chairs are numbered; these too shall soon pass. And the greatest chair that shall be occupied, the one that shall restore all things, and bring real joy to the world, is Jesus Christ, the baby once born in Bethlehem, now King that rules the universe. He shall sit and eat with us at his eternal supper of the Lamb.

And until then, while we travel through Christmases present and future, I pray for myself and for you,

Melt the clouds of sin and sadness;Drive the dark of doubt away;Giver of immortal gladness,Fill us with the light of day!

“Youth,” an old writer complained, “is wasted on the young.” Why hand the strongest draught of life to those who least know what to do with it? Why entrust bright eyes and boundless energy to those blowing bubbles and scrolling phones and living best friends with frivolity? With too few scars to instruct them, youth, you may know too well, is often wasted on the young.

Oh, if you could bring an old head to young shoulders — how differently life would have gone. To think, really think, about what decisions you were making, what paths you were taking, what hearts you were breaking — if only you knew then what you know now. But you cannot read through and edit life. The past is well-defended and heartless to your pleas.

Life — to be placed on a bicycle before you can balance. You crashed so many times, and others suffered in your falls. You knew not where to go. And yet now, just as you get riding in the right direction, how cruel, it seems to you, to reach the sidewalk’s end. Why do we finally learn to make the most of summer days in breezy autumn?

Where was the Preacher then to instruct you, “Remember also your Creator in the days of your youth, before the evil days come and the years draw near of which you will say, ‘I have no pleasure in them’” (Ecclesiastes 12:1)? His prophetic voice spoke too softly, and it all passed by so quickly. If only you could go back and live again; this time things would go differently.

Teach Us to Measure Our Days

How vital is it for us to pray with the psalmist?

O Yahweh, make me know my end     and what is the measure of my days;     let me know how fleeting I am! (Psalm 39:4)

How needful is it to “know our end” before we get there? How precious to “measure our days” before we spend them? How priceless to feel our fleetness before our ship sails?

Who shall teach us to measure our days? Man flatters us and hides our end from sight. We conspire, deceiving ourselves, we gods amidst mortals. Satan slithers still, “You will not surely die” (Genesis 3:4). The world catechizes of nothing beyond its walls. Who shall teach us of the ill-favored end we wish forgotten? Who shall speak the truth to make us wise?

O Lord, teach me my end! Make me know the finish of all flesh for the good of my soul. Bring near my casket; let me read my tombstone. Let the clouds of that day surround me, show me how dark is that silence six feet below. There, let me think. There, let me learn. For “it is better to go to the house of mourning than to go to the house of feasting, for this is the end of all mankind, and the living will lay it to heart” (Ecclesiastes 7:2).

Bury me, my Lord — throw dirt upon my aspirations, my dreams, my life — and then exhume what is worthy, what is true, what is good, what is beautiful, that which is pleasing in your sight. I am but a dream, a shadow, a blade of grass blowing in the wind. Show me death to teach me life!

Prayer of the Living

O Lord, in your school, I learn to measure my existence — not by others, but by you.

Behold, you have made my days a few handbreadths,and my lifetime is as nothing before you.Surely all mankind stands as a mere breath! (Psalm 39:5)

In your school, I learn to weigh this life and the vanity of its riches.

Surely a man goes about as a shadow!Surely for nothing they are in turmoil;man heaps up wealth and does not know who will gather! (Psalm 39:6)

In your school, I learn to chasten all other hopes.

And now, O Lord, for what do I wait?[My hope is in . . . these relationships, things, achievements? No.]My hope is in you. (Psalm 39:7)

You discipline me, you correct me, you blight the mirages I misjudge as Joy, and lead me to life in you. Oh, teach me the small dimensions of my days! Send forth your cloud by day; shine forth your fire by night. Lead me safely through this dark and dreary land, this cemetery. Teach me to live while I live. Take me to the end of life that I might learn to live this life as I wait for life with you.

Spend Time with Death

We pray this to our Lord because he must teach us how to measure the days he gives. But we must measure our lives through prayerful meditation. Practically, John Bunyan, that tour guide of the faith, advises us to dwell nearer our death.

It is convenient that thou conclude the grave is thy house, and that thou make thy bed once a day in the grave. . . . The fool puts the evil day far away, but the wise man brings it nigh. Better be ready to die seven years before death comes, than want one day, one hour, one moment, one tear, one sorrowful sigh at the remembrance of the ill-spent life that I have lived. (Christ a Complete Saviour, 221)

“Get an eyeful of Christ, a soulful of Christ, and all your wasted days will be redeemed.”

Our problem is not that death comes too swiftly, but that we visit death too seldomly. Reader, are you ready to die? Conclude now, young person, old person, middle-aged person: The grave is thy house. The wages of your sin is death; to dust you must return. But do not stop there, for your soul does not stop there. We must all read past death’s cold chapter. What lies beyond for you? What final destination is death but the turbulent flight? Eternal life or unending death? Is death gain or utter ruin?

Span of Today

Let that thought be a spur to change. Consider how many days have already escaped unfelt, untasted, unvalued. Life has happened to us more than it has been lived thoughtfully, fearfully by us — how much remains? Perhaps not much. The one life we had to live in this world — how unkindly we passed it before our Creator. Youth is wasted on the young perhaps because death is wasted on the young. Life, how valuable; we, how foolish.

Yet consider more. With all the wasted and mishandled days, realize the potential of time remaining. If you are young enough to read these words, you are young enough to hope.

Much can happen in a day. This day, you can place a phone call to a loved one you’ve not spoken with for years. This day, you can extend forgiveness, repair old bridges, heal scarred marriages. This day, we can choose what is right over what is easy. This day, we can confess sin we’ve kept secret for so long. This day, wars can cease, great enterprises begin, revivals ignite, reformation commence, lives change.

This day, Jesus Christ can place scarred hands upon an irretrievable past and amend it, reclaim it. He decisively saves souls within the bounds of today: “Today, if you hear his voice, do not harden your hearts as in the rebellion” (Hebrews 3:7–8). He will take your wasted and ruined life. He can make something beautiful from it still. From the barren land, flowers may yet grow.

Within the final breaths of this day, you can hear by faith, “Truly, I say to you, today you will be with me in paradise” (Luke 23:43). This day, you can discover the purpose of all days: Jesus Christ. Get an eyeful of Christ, a soulful of Christ, and all your wasted days will be returned to his keeping, and your future days will be sceptered by his care.

Redeemer of Days

One has gone before you to your end, into death, tasting death for his people. He changes the calculus of our days. Even a spoiled life plus Christ equals eternal life. Live 969 years as Methuselah (Genesis 5:27) or 16 like Lady Jane Grey (or younger, as some of our beloved children who died trusting Jesus), if Christ is yours, death is gain. He stands beyond our end; distance from him marks the measure of our days. Our life is fleeting, yes, but we fleet to him.

Hear how Christ can beautifully map upon our brief existence:

Lord, it belongs not to my careWhether I die or live;To love and serve Thee is my share,And this Thy grace must give.

If life be long, I will be glad,That I may long obey;If short, yet why should I be sadTo welcome endless day?

Christ leads me through no darker roomsThan he went through before;He that unto God’s kingdom comesMust enter by this door.

Come, Lord, when grace hath made me meetThy blessed face to see;For if Thy work on earth be sweet,What will Thy glory be!

My knowledge of that life is small,The eye of faith is dim;But ‘tis enough that Christ knows all,And I shall be with Him. (Richard Baxter, “The Covenant and Confidence of Faith”)

Life, how fleeting. Life with Christ, how eternal. Life, how shadowed. Life with Christ, how bright. Life, how regrettable. Life with Christ, how redeemed.