Hello Satan my old friend

Now, go away. I’ve got stuff to do. God willing, some of what I do today will have worth, value, and even meaning. Some of it will be Good.

Hello? Hello?

Is that you, Satan, my old friend? And here I’m not sure I even believe in you, as such… Yeah, some trick, I know. In the end, the way things have been going, it will turn out you look just like your statues.

Or, are you just the voice of the usual internal demons – of my own making, most of them? Is this just my own weakness, my own doubt, my own fear speaking? My own lack of faith, when it comes down to it?

Every time I take a close look at the pages of my life, there you are, like red mold eating into the margins, always creeping in no matter how many times I cut you out, gnawing at the text, erasing the good in the words and deeds I should be laying down. Not those I’ve already written, not the things I have done, no, those are safe: it’s the stories I’ve yet to write that you’re after. The things I’ve yet to do, that’s what you’re whispering to me about, that there’s no point, that it’s meaningless, that I can’t do it. That it’s too big for me, that I’m too small to do it, to matter at all. I’ll probably just mess it up. There’s no way I can do this. Who am I to even try? It’s just me, all alone, and what do I know anyway? Who am I? What can I change? What power do I have? None at all, whispers the voice. I’m nobody. It’s all for nothing. Worthless. Useless. You will fail, and you know it going in. 

Is it just me, or does everyone hear this? Like Tolkien’s Wormtongue, whispering lies in the ears of the king, turning him against all that is true and good, his own friends and family, the things he values and should be fighting for. Whispering fear, doubt, and distrust into his soul, until he’s nothing but a shrunken, paranoid, weak parody of himself, sitting in the dusty shadows, unable to stand or draw a full breath of air. Barely recognizing those closest to him, distrustful of all – except that voice dripping poison into his mind. That image of King Theoden, his body atrophying together with his spirit, is one of Tolkien’s underappreciated strokes of genius. As all good stories do, it speaks well beyond its own boundaries. If we’re honest, how many of us will admit that we’re Theoden?

Wormtongue served Saruman, who served Sauron, who served Morgoth, the Ultimate Evil. Our Wormtongue could be a servant of the state, servant of a demon, servant of elemental evil. There’s no shortage. Our Wormtongue may speak from the cracks in our own soul, or be the voice of people who have decided that divide-and-conquer is the best tool for social engineering, the best way to ultimate power and whatever utopia lies just over the horizon of their own hubris. Or it may be Evil itself.

Whatever, the idea is always the same: make us powerless, by making us feel helpless and useless. Separate us from each other, and from ourselves, by making us doubt ourselves. By making me think it’s all useless. Nothing I do is any good, has any meaning.

Here’s the thing: odds are, there are nuggets of truth in that steaming, stinking pile of garbage. Because, we all mess up. There really are things in my past. Failures, misdeeds. Sins. And probably, more in my future.

But even so, the voice lies. Because there is also in us, in me, the spark of greatness, of goodness, of light. The spark of the Divine image itself. The potential, in my every action, to bring the world one tiny bit closer to heaven, and farther from hell. To build something good, something worthy. To serve others, starting with those I love. That all has meaning. It can be good. It can mean, it wasn’t for nothing that I got up today. It wasn’t for nothing that I am alive, here and now. And, no accident. It matters, it changes something, that I exist, and that I do what I do. Even if it seems like it only adds just one tiny bit of light – there’s no telling what great, bright beacon that can turn into, down the line. We really can change things, each and every one of us. Like Thoden, I may succeed or fail, but it will not be worthless. Not meaningless. And like him, I’m not alone, no I’m not. We’re all here. Just look around, just reach out. And look up – God is here, with us, waiting patiently. He placed us, me, here, at this time – not so I can sink into despair, but so I can rise, and reach up towards the light, and so I can do – whatever it is. And thereby have meaning.

That, is what the voice fears. That, is what it would take from us, separate us from. The very fact that the voice needs to constantly speak against that hope, that meaning, is proof positive that they exist. Otherwise, why not just let us fail, and despair all on our own?

The dark corner is tempting. It is made, purposefully, to feel safe. If I stay in the corner I will not fail, I will not feel pain. But it’s not safe. It’s dark, dusty, full of cobwebs. It’s atrophy, oblivion, and death. It’s capitulation, for me just as it was for Theoden. And it’s a lie. The truth is out of the dark, and out in the light. The truth is where we can live our lives, fully and truly – and have meaning. 

Hello Darkness, my old friend. It’s been nice to talk with you again. I’m sure we’ll see each other again, soon. Now, go away. I’ve got stuff to do. God willing, some of what I do today will have worth, value, and even meaning. Some of it will be Good.

And may God help us all.