Not Every Inconvenience Is an Attack: On Discernment, Spiritual Language, and the Need for Thoughtful Faithfulness
This morning I found myself reflecting on something I’ve seen surface again and again—online, in ministry conversations, and even in my own thoughts when life doesn’t go my way. It’s the language many of us reach for when things fall apart: “It’s an attack from the enemy.”
Now, I don’t come to this topic lightly or cynically. I believe in the unseen. I believe in spiritual warfare. I also believe the enemy would love nothing more than for us to live unaware of his schemes. But I’ve been growing more concerned—pastorally, spiritually, and even linguistically—with how casually we assign the enemy’s fingerprints to nearly every moment of friction or disruption.
Why does this matter to me enough to write today? Because when we misuse or overuse the phrase “attack from the enemy,” we’re not just mislabeling situations—we’re misframing our spiritual lives. We’re potentially turning language that should lead to discernment and maturity into a kind of reflexive shield—one that keeps us from taking honest inventory of ourselves, listening to others, or growing into the deep wisdom of Christ.
So the question I’m asking is this: What happens when we make the devil responsible for our disorganization, discomfort, or disagreement? What do we lose when spiritual warfare language becomes a default explanation for everything that doesn’t go our way?
Let’s consider this together—slowly, kindly, and with a heart for truth.
I. When We Name Every Setback as Satanic, We Short-Circuit Growth
It’s true that spiritual opposition exists—Scripture speaks clearly of this. The enemy prowls. The powers and principalities are real. But there’s a difference between a real spiritual battle and a hard day. When we assume every obstacle is diabolical in origin, we short-circuit our own formation.
We’ve all heard it—perhaps even said it: “The enemy is really after me this week.” And sometimes that may be true. But sometimes the “attack” is that we procrastinated. Or didn’t prepare. Or overextended ourselves and are now reaping the very natural consequences of limits we chose to ignore. Sometimes what we call spiritual warfare is actually just the fruit of poor planning or burnout.
The danger here isn’t just one of exaggeration—it’s one of missed opportunity. If I always assign blame to the enemy, I never pause to consider my own patterns. If I spiritualize my mistakes, I never learn from them. If I assign demonic interference to what might just be human tension, I avoid the hard but healing work of reconciliation. I protect my ego by making the devil the scapegoat.
What we need instead is a deeper, quieter discernment—one that listens not just for what’s wrong out there but also for what’s unfinished in here.
II. The Problem of Unquestionable Language: When “Attack” Becomes a Shield
Perhaps the most concerning part of casually using spiritual warfare language is how it shuts down healthy spiritual conversation. When someone says, “This is an attack from the enemy,” it often becomes a full stop—a kind of holy punctuation that no one is allowed to question. To challenge it is to be seen as lacking faith. To suggest a human factor is to be called insensitive. But this is where community and discernment break down.
Language is powerful. And spiritual language—especially in the context of leadership or influence—must be handled with care. Because when we use phrases that carry divine weight to describe everyday frustrations, we create a culture where reflection is impossible and accountability is unwelcome. Over time, we train ourselves—and those around us—to stop asking deeper questions, to stop listening for the Spirit's subtle nudges, and to fear being seen as irreverent if we raise a concern.
In these settings, we start walking on eggshells—not out of reverence for God, but out of fear of offending a leader’s spiritual interpretation. That’s not discernment. That’s spiritual fragility.
This matters to me because I’ve been in rooms, both online and off, where people were afraid to name real, human concerns because everything had already been declared “an attack.” I’ve watched accountability be dismissed as “opposition,” and I’ve seen how that creates spiritual isolation. When language becomes unquestionable, so does the one wielding it.
That’s not the freedom Christ offers. That’s not how the early church did theology. And that’s not how we grow.
III. What Scripture Actually Teaches: Spirituality with Sober-Minded Clarity
The New Testament is full of references to spiritual struggle, but they are rarely used to dodge responsibility or exaggerate minor inconvenience. Paul, who arguably dealt with more spiritual opposition than most, never conflated spiritual warfare with mere difficulty. He urged the church to be alert (1 Peter 5:8), to test the spirits (1 John 4:1), and to avoid being “blown about by every wind of doctrine” (Ephesians 4:14).
Jesus himself was not casual with language. When tempted in the wilderness (Matthew 4), he responded with precision, with Scripture, and with clarity of mind. He did not dramatize the moment, nor did he brush off difficulty as warfare when it wasn’t. He named reality for what it was. That’s the model.
Paul’s letters often hold this beautiful tension: he sees the spiritual and the practical. In 2 Corinthians 12, when he talks about his “thorn in the flesh,” he attributes it to a “messenger of Satan,” but he also acknowledges that it taught him something. It kept him humble. It led him to deeper reliance on God. He didn’t weaponize that pain against others. He let it soften him.
That’s where I want to live. In that kind of spiritually honest space. Where I take the invisible seriously—but not at the expense of reality.
IV. Jesus on Rain and Reality: When Things “Just Happen”
One of the most quietly profound teachings of Jesus comes in the Sermon on the Mount, where He says, “[God] causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous” (Matthew 5:45). It’s easy to gloss over that line, but it’s a deeply theological statement about the nature of life, God, and the world we inhabit.
Jesus is saying that some things in life—sunlight and rainfall, blessings and burdens—are not distributed based on moral behavior, spiritual warfare, or the quality of your prayer life. Sometimes, it just rains.
This truth pushes back on the simplistic logic that if something goes wrong, it must be a punishment or a sign you’re under demonic attack. Likewise, it challenges the assumption that if something goes well, it must be because you were especially faithful or obedient. Jesus is reminding us that God’s world is more complex, and often more gracious, than our instincts for cause and effect allow.
This matters deeply to me because I’ve walked with people who were convinced their suffering was due to spiritual failure—that a miscarriage, a diagnosis, or a job loss was “because I didn’t pray enough” or “because I let the enemy in.” But Jesus doesn’t teach this kind of transactional faith. He teaches that life—this fallen, fragile, beautiful life—is unpredictable and shared by the righteous and unrighteous alike.
Jesus, in saying this, gives us permission to stop moralizing every inconvenience. He releases us from the exhausting job of always interpreting our pain through a spiritual warfare lens. He dignifies our humanity. He affirms that the world is still spinning, still groaning, still raining—regardless of how well or how poorly you’re performing as a Christian.
And that’s good news. Because it means we can stop striving to decode every storm and instead start looking for God inthe storm.
V. How We Can Become Faithful Stewards of Spiritual Language
So where do we go from here? If the solution isn’t abandonment of spiritual language, but a more faithful stewardship of it, what does that look like?
1. Discernment, Not Deflection
Faithful language invites self-examination. The next time something goes wrong and the phrase “the enemy is attacking me” comes to mind, I want to pause. I want to ask: What’s really happening here? Is there a natural cause? Is this spiritual resistance—or is it just life happening?
Discernment doesn’t rule out the spiritual. It simply slows down our speech and helps us listen.
2. Submit Your Interpretation to Others
We are not meant to discern in isolation. If I think something is spiritually significant, the most faithful thing I can do is share that with others I trust and ask, “Do you see what I see?” If I am the only one hearing from God about my suffering or opposition, I need to ask why. Spiritual discernment without community becomes self-confirmation.
God speaks through the body of Christ. Invite feedback. Receive correction. And be brave enough to listen.
3. Let the Bible Shape Our Imagination
Many Christians learn spiritual language from influencers or platforms—not the Scriptures. But the Bible gives us richer vocabulary. Warfare is real, but so are pruning, discipline, consequence, and randomness in a fallen world. If our spiritual language is limited to a few catchphrases, we’ll miss the texture of God’s voice.
Let the language of Jesus form our spiritual instincts—not just memes or sermons.
4. Make Room for Mystery and Maturity
Not everything has to be explained. Part of spiritual maturity is learning to live with unanswered questions. Sometimes the most faithful thing we can say is: “I don’t know why this is happening, but I trust God in it.” Mystery is not the enemy of faith—it’s the seedbed of humility.
5. Don’t Give the Enemy the Starring Role in Your Life
When everything becomes “an attack,” we end up centering Satan in our story more than we center Jesus. That should unsettle us. Our lives are not primarily about the enemy’s activity. They are about Christ’s presence, Christ’s victory, and Christ’s peace. Let’s speak His name more often.
A Final Word: From a Place of Love and Hope
I didn’t write this to shame anyone or call out specific expressions of faith. I wrote this because I care about the clarity and beauty of our witness. I believe language matters—especially spiritual language. It shapes our imagination. It influences how we see others, how we interpret suffering, and how we walk with God.
I want a faith that honors mystery without manufacturing it. A faith that names the spiritual without neglecting the human. A faith that makes room for real opposition and real accountability.
If that’s the kind of faith you’re hungry for, too—then maybe, today, we can begin by being a little slower with our spiritual declarations, and a little quicker with our spiritual listening.
Because not everything is an attack. But when it is, may we be found faithful—not just in naming it, but in standing firm in love and truth.
Suggested Reading & Listening
For those wanting to think more deeply about spiritual language, leadership, and discernment, these resources offer helpful reflection and critique:
Books
James K.A. Smith, You Are What You Love Explores how our habits and affections shape us spiritually, often more than our intentions or beliefs.
Chuck DeGroat, When Narcissism Comes to Church A pastoral and psychological look at how narcissism takes root in church culture, often masked by spiritualized language.
Scot McKnight & Laura Barringer, A Church Called Tov Examines the culture of toxic churches and how spiritual abuse can be hidden behind claims of spiritual warfare.
Pete Scazzero, Emotionally Healthy Spirituality A call to avoid bypassing emotional maturity in the name of spiritual leadership.
Podcast
The Rise and Fall of Mars Hill (Christianity Today) A well-documented case study of how spiritual warfare language was used to deflect accountability and consolidate control within a high-profile church. A sobering look at the consequences of unchecked leadership.