I was in an emergency room late one night. Victims of Satan filled the halls. A child—puffy, swollen eyes, beaten by her father. A woman—bruised cheeks, bloody nose. “My boyfriend got drunk and hit me,” she said, weeping.
Jesus saw victims of Satan too. He saw a leper one day…fingers gnarled…skin ulcerated…face disfigured. He got indignant. A holy anger, a compassionate disgust…and it moved him to action. I’m convinced that the same Satan stalks today, causing hunger, confusion in the Mideast, the apathy in Christ’s church. And Satan giggles among the dying.
Oh, dear Father, May we never grow so holy, may we never be so mature, may we never be so religious, that we see the footprints of Satan and stay calm.