The Belief in a Personal Devil is Crazy-Making

"On the left side of your paper, I want you to write down in black all the ways The Enemy is telling you lies," the retreat leader directed. "Then on the right, I want you to write in red a list of your identity in Christ." She pointed us to a section of the Bible that included letters from one of the Christian church's most dramatic converts, Saint Paul. I can no longer remember the exact reference, and I don't want to look it up.

I participated in the above exercise often in a similar setting over 25 years. As a lifelong journaler, I agree that writing down what swirls in our heads is a great practice. I think it's important to see our thoughts on paper reflected back to us. I don't know the exact science, but I still believe pen and paper soothe us more than a keyboard. However, this exercise represents only one way I was separated from my true identity (for decades) as a Christian who took her faith extremely seriously. Practices like these are problematic.

I believed in a personal devil pretty much for all of my 20s and 30s. The churches I was a part of did, too. I blame this book for a lot of the insanity. Many Christians believe a fallen angel leads legions of demons that fuck with us, and we have to resist them. We thought there was always a supernatural battle raging between God and Satan. We were the foot soldiers for God's side. We were the casualties or conquerors. To be a conqueror required heated prayer, fasting, and a constant policing of our thoughts. We prayed over everything from sound systems to untreated mental illness. We prayed that the Enemy would not "gain a foothold," as if Satan was a masterful rock climber trying to scale us.

In 2010, Todd and I started attending a local Anglican church we could walk to. Mainline Christian churches are much saner about the possibility of Satan. I don't remember ever hearing about "him." After 20 years of living as if an invisible enemy was trying to take me out (how exhausting), I began to see things differently.

The more I separated from evangelicalism, the more I found all this fight against The Devil illogical and destructive. If Jesus's last words were, "It is finished," why were we acting like it wasn’t? I now believe the answer to this is pretty simple. Christians don't know how to handle the reality that evil still exists, so we blame it on something we cannot see. This is coupled with a suspicion of traditional therapy, especially by those who are not Christians. Christians often can’t accept bad things happen to good people (a great book, by the way). This belief distracted me from so many parts of my humanity. How could I know who Jenny was if two entities outside of me were always trying to get to me and I was responsible for who won?

This mindset is crazy-making. It led to me rejecting vast parts of myself. It bred earth-shaking fear. I spent so many years and significant events in my life in a panic that I would fall off a spiritual cliff. After all, if I could lose a battle against the Enemy when I was trying so hard to do all the right things, imagine the freefall if I didn't?

Todd asked me to marry him by writing me a letter because he lost a bet. The Dallas Cowboys (my team) beat the San Francisco 49ers (his team) in the playoffs, and writing me a letter was my wager. We sat in a park in Sacramento on a warm February evening while he read it to me, and he proposed at the end. I said yes right away. I had told a girlfriend months before, "If I go on a date with him, he's going to ask me to marry him." Todd felt like home, and I wanted to live there.

But our church leadership had to be involved in this life-changing decision, and they were not convinced…true story…that Todd was good enough of a Christian. The following day, my pastor refused to announce it to our gathering, a common practice. Two days later, I tried to have a one-on-one conversation with my pastor's wife about it. This woman held more authority in our church's culture than her husband, and she stumbled through her lack of acceptance of my choice. A few days after that, I was reprimanded for putting her in an uncomfortable position. I was involved with these people one way or another every day, and they disapproved of my choice. I was terrified that God didn't approve either. But Todd was my place of gentleness and peace. I was subjecting myself to so much stress trying to be a good Christian with this community; it's no wonder I couldn't imagine giving him up.

One night during this week that should have been celebrated, I arrived on the steps of a couple who were my mentors so they could pray for me. I felt so at the mercy of this unseen Enemy, and I was panicked with fear. They prayed for me with fervor and fight so the Enemy would leave me alone. These are the memories I have of the week I got engaged. What a tragedy.

Fast forward ten years later. My family started spending a lot of time with families who introduced us to ways of thinking and living that I had not yet known. In the simplest terms, they had (a LOT) more money than we did and it exposed me to experiences I had only imagined. One of the other moms, in particular, took me under her wing in many ways. She invited me to be myself. Early on, I shared my email address with her — jen at wellspring dot com. "Do you ever go by Jen?" she asked me. I took a beat. No, I didn't. Why WAS that my email address? I have never gone by Jen with anyone.

Hanging out with this community gave me a crash course in knowing what I wanted. This friend modeled to me a life full of color, music, adventure, and nuance. And she challenged me to know MY answers to what I bring to the table of life. But I was scared of her all the time. She exposed the tight leash I had put around my neck and all the ways I was rejecting myself. She called the true Jenny forward, and I had to decide how to show up authentically. I wasn't good at this. I squirmed and felt insecure and exposed.

One time she invited me to help her make cheese in one of her two kitchens with windows that canvassed her 50 acres on a swimmable creek. There was no way I could show up for that, and I wiggled my way out of it somehow. Decisions like this were fraught with self-doubt. To hang out in a kitchen like that with a talented woman felt impossible. I was 40 years old and not comfortable in my own skin. So much of my formation into adulthood had been spent committed to spiritual matters. I didn't know how to just be me in situations like hanging out with another mom in a beautiful kitchen (that she designed herself, btw.). I spent so much time in my head trying to get close to God. In contrast, an Enemy (my sensitivity, unresolved trauma, lack of skill, and awareness of who I was) tried to take me out.

Even though I don't attend church anymore or believe in the power of something outside myself being in charge, I hear rumblings of a culture that makes more room for individuality. The Enneagram has taken off as a framework, and there seems to be more of an openness to trained therapists. I am thankful. But I had to finally separate myself entirely from spending so much time concentrating on something outside myself. Side note: (you guys, not having to show up on a Sunday morning to anything but a leisurely breakfast is the best!). I needed to know Jenny. Jenny loves flowers and sexy stories and people of ALL walks of life. Jenny wants to laugh and be irreverent, which offended too many. Jenny is a woman who wants to be expressive, and too many men couldn't give me room for that. My desperate need to know myself was what started me out the door.