The struggle between the Spirit and the flesh is especially hard today.

The news out of London this morning (here in the States) was distressing and disturbing, dredging up solemn memories of airplanes crashing into buildings. Today: bombs in subways and on buses. Civilians killed. People with mortgages, dreams and fears; people in love, late for work, looking for a bite to eat. Men, women, and children whisked into eternity and the presence of God in an instant.

People with no knowledge of God, armed with blind zeal and explosives, self-righteously murder civilians. Cold-blooded killers who think they are heroes, lacking the courage to engage in battle like men, lacking the decency to at least blow themselves up and end their meaningless lives. They take credit for killing image-bearers, glorying in their insanity. Hell awaits them.

My flesh is stirred by what I watch, read, and hear about these non-thinking, bottom-feeding killers. They are psychopaths, clearly: they love nothing and no one. I want to hate them; I want to hunt them down and kill them. Whatever fear I might have felt at one time – a buried feeling emanating from 9-11 – has given way to hatred. And the hatred feels good, and I want to indulge in it. It feels strong.

But then the Holy Spirit brings something to mind, a verse:

For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the powers, against the world forces of this darkness, against the spiritual forces of wickedness in the heavenly places.” – Eph 6:12, NASB

At times like these I don’t want to remember that the terrorists are servants of Satan. They worship demons, follow doctrines of demons, and are wholly slaves of sin. They walk in darkness and are dead in trespasses and sin. Ultimately, they are not the enemy. They serve the enemy – willingly – but they are blind to the truth. Like the pagans of the Old Testament, they serve a god of war, violence, blood, and power. There is no peace for them. They have no answers; they serve a lie.

I don’t want to remember any of that on a day like today because I want someone or something tangible as a focal point for my anger. I don’t want to grieve or be sad – it feels too weak. I want justice – no, I want vengeance. I want to see the people that caused suffering be caused to suffer.

But vengeance doesn’t belong to me. And I have blood on my hands, too: even though these terrorists caused the death of innocent people, I caused the death of the only truly Innocent One in the history of the world. I caused a death and deserved death, but the One whose death I caused chose to die for me. He should never have died; I should. But I won’t: I’ve received mercy; I’ve received grace. He died for my sins – all of them, including my hatred of terrorists.

As a forgiven murderer of the Son of God, I’m now called upon to forgive others who have murdered. My flesh doesn’t want to, but my regenerated spirit knows I need to; the Holy Spirit promises to do it if I’ll let Him. Somehow I will; maybe I have.

But the battle between the flesh and the Spirit is hard, especially on a day like today.


2 Cor 1:13