Is the War Over?
W. Carl Ketcherside
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On one side of this war of the ages is the arch-fiend of the universe. Clever, cunning, scheming and sly, Satan plots his attack and plans his blitzkrieg. He is flanked by all the demons of hell, masters of infiltration. These trained spies from Tartarus are conversant with every human weakness. They are fully aware of the love for ease, luxury and popularity, which motivate so many. They can play any tune upon the strings of the heart, which the mood of the minute demands.
This concourse of diabolical geniuses has lulled the opposition into sleep. They have administered a sleeping potion which has produced a state of lethargy. While "Christians" slumber, their armament is being stolen or sabotaged. Most men are lazy. They are spiritual "gold bricks," passing the buck to others. The result is that a state of uneasy truce exists. A tacit agreement has been made to let the devil alone if he will leave us alone. He is perfectly agreeable to such an arrangement. Any cessation of hostilities is a victory for the forces of evil.
The congregation of saints in these days acts as if a permanent peace pact had been signed. They are conducting themselves as men on leave. But there can be no real truce with Satan. The battle is incessant. It is a gruelling hand-to-hand fight with swords -- bloody, dirty, hard! It is not for namby-pamby, coddled, weak-stomached, spoiled babies. It is not a "Children's Crusade." It is for soldiers who are grown up, emotionally mature, willing to endure hardships, to suffer and die for a cause. It is for men who can be reviled, maligned, misunderstood, betrayed and hated, yet who will dare to stand with their backs against the rocky ramparts of Jerusalem and swing the sword until death relaxes the grip.
The devil has infiltrated the congregation with his own fifth column. There are too many in it who just "belong." They didn't know there was a fight on. They thought they were enrolling for a Sunday School picnic. The devil persuaded them to "join up" at a time of great emotional stress. They were high-pressured in by a professional recruiting agent who enlisted them with promises of how pleasant and sweet life would be. The life in the foxholes is not for them. They want cushioned pews, soft carpets, ice water fountains and air conditioning on the battlefield. They want to loll back and doze in comfort while their hired champion swings a few ineffective blows at an invisible enemy.
How Satan must laugh in his headquarters tent. He never made a bolder stroke nor pulled a slicker coup, than when he convinced the "followers of the Lamb" to move the battle off the field and into the house. And when his demons collected up all the swords, and put little pre-digested pellets of God's revelation in their stead, he rendered the soldiers helpless. You could study the average "class quarterlies" for a quarter of a century, and be just as much of a push over for the devil as when you started. He has taken away our guns and given us cap pistols, he has substituted pea shooters for heavy armament. How it must scare the legion of demons when a company of Christian
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The army is infested with a horde of people who do not know which side they are on. They vacillate back and forth, hunting a lieutenant who suits them, looking for a preacher to please them. Some who fight for years, grow old and get tired, then sell out and desert to the enemy. Weak as dish water without detergent, they are ever learning and never able to come to a knowledge of the truth. To them principle means nothing. They have no positive convictions. They are impotent, feeble, defenceless and wishy-washy. They want the whole army to stop fighting and baby them. They would turn the elders into nursemaids instead of field directors. They did not enlist to serve but to be served. They built upon a foundation of sand and they cannot stand the roar and shock of battle. They are spectators, mess hall soldiers. They do not intend to face the sulphurous, fiery darts of the wicked.
Many of our brethren are like little boys playing at war with broomsticks for guns and kitchen chairs for fortresses. They expect Satan to fall over and play dead when they yell "Bang!" They do not attend services as those who go to an ammunition depot to load up for combat. They go like those who belong to the country club or a high school fraternity. They have no thought of slogging with wet feet through sleet and snow on the front lines, of standing watch through the dark night at some disputed barricade, of creeping and slithering under the barbed wire of sin with the acrid smell of smoke in the nostrils and the groans of the dying in the ears.
They have sheathed their swords, buried the hatchet and smoked the calumet of peace with the emissaries of hell! The white flag is flying! We've learned how to negotiate with the devil, and outsmart him at his own game. We've placed diplomats in the pulpits and all we need to do is to make ourselves comfortable and let them explain the terms of the compromise. War is now civilized. The devil has been tamed and pacified. Hell isn't hot any longer. There's nothing to get excited about. Anyone who still insists on wielding the sword is a fanatic, a hobbyist and a radical. The fangs of the Old Serpent have been extracted. The teeth of the Dragon have been pulled. It's easy now. The baptistery is ready, the water is warmed, it will only take five minutes and the battle will be over and the victory won! There will be nothing left to do except "go to church" and pay!