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A mighty fortress is our God. … On earth he has no equal (ELW, 503-505).
I’m a Lutheran, baptized, confirmed and ordained in that faith. Yet I was already on the aging end of life’s spectrum when I realized these two phrases from “A Mighty Fortress Is Our God” are about different beings. God is God, but in the last line of this verse by Martin Luther, “he” refers to the devil, who is trying to control us with “craft and dreadful might.”
Luther, according to the Book of Concord index, speaks of the devil as “a liar and a murderer” and “the cause of all sin.” He “hinders God’s Word and work.”
I realized the truth of his warning when I understood that painful incidents I’d experienced were personal attacks. The devil attacks, but God rescues and heals.
My graduation from seminary was on a Sunday in 1988. The first attack was five days later. I looked up from my riding mower in time to see something blue twisting and crashing down on me.
The swing set we had embedded in 3 feet of concrete was painted blue. After both posts broke off, the entire set swiveled so the end was 17 feet out of alignment and aiming for my head. It was the 4-by-4 crosspiece I glimpsed when something told me to look up, away from the grass I was mowing. I threw my arm across my head and survived.
Later in my ministry, I chose another route to begin exposing how the devil corrupts us in our simple, daily lives. While serving Living Word Lutheran Church in Memphis, I was nearing the end of a sermon on the devil when I realized no one in the congregation was coughing. There was no whispering. Or snoozing. Or checking their watches. The expectant stillness remained as I began whistling the tune to “Now I Know My ABCs” to see if it would break the seeming trance. An unrecognized figure in the congregation stood and joined me for the last line.
“You know your letters too,” I said. “Shall we say them together?”
“That’s a good idea,” they responded. “I’ll start. A: accusing.”
“What?”
“A: accusing. It’s the first letter in the ‘ABCs of Sacrilege.’”
“This will be interesting,” I replied. “Mine are the ‘ABCs of Scripture.’ A: ‘All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God’” (Romans 3:23).
While I was proclaiming Scripture, the devil produced 26 words that made his havoc in our lives easier to create: Backstabbing, Coveting, Denigrating, Evading, Faking, Gossiping, Hating, Insulting, Jeering, Killing, Lying, Murmuring. Name-calling, Ostracizing, Putting-down, Quarreling, Rebelling, Stealing, Tattling, Undermining, Vengeance-seeking, Whining, Xenophobying, Yelling and Zodiacking. In all of these words, the challenge for us is to check our own behavior, not to point fingers at others.
And as I think of Lent, two of the words come to mind. We forget the danger in lying, but vengeance-seeking is perhaps the hardest one to avoid. The thought of seeking vengeance may please us, but if we consult Scripture, we can find our strength. “‘Vengeance is mine; I will repay,’ says the Lord” (Romans 12:19).
Acting in love
When we are on the receiving end of lies or hurt, choosing our response is helped by asking three questions: Am I taking a certain stance because it’s what I want? Is it because the devil is nudging me to punish? Or is it what God would have me do to please him by acting in love?
A fullness of grace and calm has filled my days when I don’t seek revenge, in spite of lies and rumors rumbling. Payback builds chasms, not bridges. I protect myself from incorrect assumptions and from looking foolish. I leave the door open to welcome the offender back.
The Lenten season, in between the bookends of Ash Wednesday and Maundy Thursday, is a time set apart for self-examination. We have an opportunity to review our relationship with the Lord and learn about ourselves. We face our faults and discover that our need for forgiveness will be answered by Jesus on the cross.
We reach Maundy Thursday when absolution is ours again, no longer withheld. We are forgiven. Jesus died to overcome the power of the devil, and he did that. The wicked one can no longer snatch anyone he wants. He must now insinuate, sneak and lie to get someone’s agreement to take control over them. Even one’s nod can lead to destruction, but the devil must back off when we say “no.” Our joy and our Easter alleluias become heartfelt love.
I find such love in the figure of Ike in the poem “A True Believer” by Lois Hayward, whose collection Take a Closer Look (Tangram, 2025) reflects her ministry experiences at a supermax prison:
Today when we talked about evil.
He said it all comes of Satan
going to and fro on the earth,
creating havoc, trying to foil
God’s plans and corrupt His people.
He has read his Bible I don’t know
how many times. (He has plenty of time.)
He is drawing his own theology.
He has just drawn Mary Queen of Heaven
floating on a field of stars.
Below her, God’s only son
dying on a hill of skulls, a fierce dog
standing guard. Satan is given a small place
at the edge of the drawing and is speaking:
“Damn him! He did it! Back to the drawing board.”
Ike feels God’s love and God’s loss.
He tells me he could never stand by
while people killed his only Son.
Butterflies frame the whole scene.
