Wheat

“’Simon, Simon, behold, Satan demanded to have you, that he might sift you like wheat, but I have prayed for you that your faith may not fail. And when you have turned again, strengthen your brothers.’ Peter said to him, ‘Lord, I am ready to go with you both to prison and to death.’ Jesus said, ‘I tell you, Peter, the rooster will not crow this day, until you deny three times that you know me’” (Luke 22:31-34).

The empty stretch of wheat fields—barren battlefields. The humped rows highlighted by snow tell the tale of a battle lost. Monster machines gouge the earth, chew and spit the wheat, their proud golden heads helpless before the steel blades and giant Trojan tires. All the ingenuity and technology of man harnessed thrown against the slender stalks. No chance.

“Simon, Satan has asked to sift you like wheat.” Peter’s brash statement, “I am ready!” Oh Peter! Do you not see the power of the one against you? The wisdom and power, honed by thousands of years, of the Prince of this Age, the Fiery Dragon, thrown against believers. A little wheat stalk—what a match! Martin Luther aptly penned, “For still our ancient foe, doth seek to work us woe; his craft and power are great, and armed with cruel hate, on earth is not his equal.”

I, too. Make sure I have my plans in row; I won’t be susceptible. Deceit—I’ll read another book. Division—I’ll try to meet with all, compromise, or avoid conflict. Discouragement—I’ll try again. Try harder. Set a game plan. Doubt—I’ll weigh the pros and cons. Fear—I’ll do the cost-benefit analysis. Accusation and condemnation—I work up grief, vow to do better. Failure—I put measures in place, try to do restitution, make it up, write it on my calendar and set alarms to not forget again. I snap rubberbands against my wrist. Take a few pages out of Pavlov’s book.

I, like the golden head of wheat, snap. I know an anxiety that seems otherworldly in its force. I know a condemnation that has haunted me for years in a vague fashion from my archenemy. I’ve seen friends hit by blow after blow in a Job-like fashion. Division and discord with no rational roots. Sinning with blind unblushing. Pride with no antidote.

Unlike Peter’s statement, unlike my own battle plans, Jesus responds, “I have prayed.” Jesus, the one who cast out demons and healed and had power go out from him, prayed first. Not a 1-2-3 step to resist Satan from Christ’s own wisdom. Not a battle plan. Not an exhortation. Not telling Peter how weak he really was. Not preaching at him with the truth (although surely Peter was exposed to that). Jesus’ first response—“I have prayed.” I wonder if during Jesus’ 40 days of temptation in the wilderness if much of that time was spent in prayer. In Mark 9, Jesus knew that some demons only came out by prayer—it is prayer that connects us to the authority of God in Christ.

So too, the spiritual armor is primarily God’s armor. These are the things he put on himself (Isa. 59:17). These are the things Christ wins for us and gifts us with—salvation, faith, righteousness, peace, truth, the Spirit. It is no wonder that we are told primarily to stand, to stand, to stand in Ephesians 6:10-20. Our God has not changed, the God of the Old Testament who repeatedly said that the battle is the Lord’s is our same God. It is prayer that is our weapon—because then God fights our battles. A military general is in charge of the battle; the soldiers do not chart their own battle course. It is God alone who will win our battles.

But in face of the Monster Machines and Trojan Tires of division, discouragement, anxiety, fear, sin that ominously clamber over me with gnashing steel teeth—oh, how often I run to my own “I am ready!” instead of prayer.

Wheat Field With Cyrpesses - Van Gogh

“But unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit” (Jn. 12:24). Jesus himself took on flesh, became our little stalks of wheat, and was crushed on the cross—only to crush our ancient foe underneath his heel. He was completely dependent on the Father despite all the temptations of the flesh, despite human wisdom, despite all the minions of darkness thrown against him, despite the totality of the power of evil, he trusted his Father. Dependent. He who helped create the universe, dependent. Him who commanded angels, dependent.

Oh, Jesus, forgive me for my rash plans and attempts to hold my little wheat-head up high for my own golden glory. May your dependence on God be manifested in me, so that your character is lifted up and the Father is glorified by the Spirit! The victory in all of my battles—yours alone. And I, peace. Instead of an empty stretch of beaten wheat, a golden harvest for the Lord. 

Did we in our own strength confide,

our striving would be losing,

were not the right man on our side,

the man of God's own choosing.

Dost ask who that may be?

Christ Jesus, it is he;

Lord Sabaoth, his name,

from age to age the same,

and he must win the battle.

And though this world, with devils filled,

should threaten to undo us,

we will not fear, for God hath willed

his truth to triumph through us.

The Prince of Darkness grim,

we tremble not for him;

his rage we can endure,

for lo, his doom is sure;

one little word shall fell him. 

- A Mighty Fortress is Our God