Deliver us from Evil

“Deliver us from Evil – Lord's Prayer 8”

Ephesians 6:10-17 & Matthew 12:38-45

Preacher: Rev. Mark Bartsch

Kobe Union Church

March 1, 2026

When Jesus teaches us to pray, “And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil” (Matthew 6:13), He is teaching us to be honest about the terrain we walk every day. For many of us, the concept of "evil" has been sterilized. I personally grew up in environments where "evil" was synonymous only with personal mistakes, the internal struggle to be a "good person" or the failure to follow the rules.

While our own fallen nature is a reality, the Bible presents a much more complex and challenging picture. The Christian life is not lived on neutral ground. There is a real, calculated, and ancient opposition who wishes us no good—who does not wish us to grow closer to God or follow Him.

Scripture is direct about this. Paul writes in the book of Ephesians: “For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers over this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places” (Eph 6:12). Our ultimate battle is not political. It is not cultural. It is not merely a personality conflict with a difficult neighbor or a struggle with a bad habit. There is a spiritual dimension behind the visible world—a "present darkness" that seeks to devour us.

And here is the hard truth: it is a battle we are not prepared to win on our own. Left to ourselves, we do not stand a chance. As we have discussed previously, our natural defenses are non-existent in the spiritual realm. Naturally speaking, a sheep has a better shot against a pack of wolves than we do against the evil one on our own. The only way we survive is by sticking close to and calling on the name of Jesus to protect us.

Jesus calls Himself the Shepherd and says, “I am the good shepherd. The good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep” (John 10:11). To understand the gravity of "Deliver us from evil," we have to admit our own vulnerability. Safety is not found in becoming "stronger," "smarter," or "tougher" on our own. It is found in our proximity to the Shepherd. The moment we think we have figured out the terrain better than the Shepherd, we are in real danger.

Last week, we saw Jesus in the desert. He didn't confront the tempter with physical power. He didn’t hit him. He refuted Satan three times, and each time with the Word of God. He showed us that the real battlefield is almost always in the mind and in the heart, and the weapon the enemy uses is the lie.

The thing that a lie hates most in the world is the light of truth. “Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path” (Psalm 119:105). Too many of us are stumbling simply because we aren't turning on the light of Scripture. We are trying to navigate a dark, dangerous room by memory rather than by the lamp of Scripture. And in that dark room (called life), the enemy from time to time moves the furniture around and then stands back and watches us run into things at full speed.

One of the most dangerous lies of the enemy is self-sufficiency (I am totally guilty of this). I want to fight my own battles. I want to be the hero of my own story. But Jesus describes Satan’s nature plainly: “He was a murderer from the beginning, and does not stand in the truth, because there is no truth in him. When he lies, he speaks out of his own character, for he is a liar and the father of lies” (John 8:44).

The enemy rarely approaches with an obvious, horns-and-pitchfork evil that would make us run in terror. That Hollywood image actually serves the enemy—it makes him seem comical or fictional, something for a movie screen rather than a Monday morning. His real strategy is much more subtle. His sole purpose is to draw us away from the Lord and the fullness of life we have with Jesus. Instead of a frontal assault, he whispers subtle distortions designed to pull us away from the shepherd. He whispers that we can handle things ourselves, that we’ve grown enough, and that we don’t need to depend on anyone anymore.

This independence is deadly. We see the result of this in the parable of the man who cleaned out his house. He swept it clean and put everything in order but relied on his own strength to keep it that way. Because the house was empty of God’s presence, the demon returned with seven others more evil than he was. “And the last state of that person is worse than the first” (Matthew 12:45). Like a cockroach that finds an empty, dark corner to multiply, evil infests the places where we rely on ourselves rather than being filled with the Holy Spirit.

To understand how the Father of Lies operates in a community, I think about the book Needful Things by Stephen King. I read it years ago. It’s not great literature, but he tells a good story. In this story, a stranger opens a shop in a small town. The shop is filled with items that seem to be exactly what each person "needs" to make them feel complete: a rare baseball card, a medicinal cure, or a piece of jewelry that sparks a memory of better times.

But the price is never just money. To get their "needful thing," each person has to perform a "small favor"—a prank against a neighbor or whispering a rumor. Individually, these acts seem harmless. But collectively, they turn the town into a living hell. Neighbors who have lived peacefully for decades suddenly start seeing each other as enemies. And the real enemy just leans back and laughs. If you want a more theological book I can recommend books on the subject.

The enemy’s strategy within our churches and families is rarely a direct attack. Instead, it is a subtle negotiation. He finds the one thing you think you need more than God—your reputation, your comfort, your right to be angry, or your desire for control. He offers it to you, but the "favor" he asks in return is a small compromise of your character.

As James 1:14 says, we are tempted when we are lured and enticed by our own desires. We aren't just attacked from the outside; we are often compromised from the inside because we have traded our peace for a "trinket" that isn't from God. The enemy suggests the lie that obedience is a loss and that God is holding out on us.

When Martha complained about her sister, Jesus corrected her: "Martha, Martha, you are anxious and troubled about many things, but one thing is needed." That "one thing" is staying connected to Him.

The lie hasn’t changed since the Garden of Eden: “Did God actually say…?” (Genesis 3:1). The whisper is still the same—that God cannot be trusted with your future, so you must protect yourself; that “common sense” tells us not to forgive; it tells us to secure our own happiness first. It trains us to see our neighbors not as people to be loved, but as obstacles to be managed.

And when that whisper works—when we take the deal, when we compromise, when we step outside of trust—the enemy makes what I call the “Great Switch.” He stops being the Tempter and becomes the Accuser. The same voice that said, “You deserve this,” now says, “How could you?” The same whisper that said, “No one will know,” now hisses, “Everyone will see.” “Put on some clothes. Hide yourself. Cover your shame.”

As truth is to a lie, confession is to the accuser. It is vital to know the difference between the two voices in your head. The Holy Spirit convicts specifically to lead you toward restoration and renewal. The Father of Lies condemns vaguely to push you toward despair and hopelessness. The Spirit says, “That word you spoke was unkind—come, let’s heal it.” The Accuser says, “You are unkind. You are a fraud. A real Christian wouldn’t have done that.” One voice restores your identity; the other attacks it.

There is an old story of a young warrior who tells his chief about a war inside him. One side wants to do what is right for the tribe; the other side wants to look after himself. The warrior asks, “Which side will win?” The chief replies, “The one you feed.”

That is not just folklore; that is discipleship. So the real question is: What are you feeding on? We live in a world that is “groaning” (Romans 8:22). Creation itself feels the fracture of sin. We live in the “already but not yet”—between Christ’s victory on the Cross and the final restoration of all things. The enemy’s goal is not to win. He knows he lost. His goal is simpler and darker: to drag you down with him. To make you live as though the Cross never happened.

But the victory belongs to those who stay connected to the one thing necessary—Jesus. The center of our hope is not our willpower. It is not our maturity. It is not our discipline. It is that Christ has already won.

The cross was not a tragic accident. It was not a near miss. It was total triumph. As Colossians 2:15 tells us, Jesus disarmed the powers and authorities and made a public spectacle of them. What looked like defeat was disarmament. What looked like shame was victory. Because the Cross was decisive, we do not have to live in fear.

Spiritual warfare is not about becoming impressive warriors who generate our own strength. It is about remaining in the One who has already conquered. And in Him, we are more than conquerors. Paul declares that nothing in all creation can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord (Romans 8:38–39). Nothing external can tear you away from Christ’s love.

The only danger is wandering—not because God lets go, but because we sometimes choose the illusion of independence over the safety of the fold. We pray, “Deliver us from evil,” because we admit three things: The battle is real, we are weak, but Christ is strong.

The Good Shepherd has already laid down His life. He has faced the lion and the wolf and emerged victorious. The Father of Lies does not have the final word; the Shepherd does. And His word is this: “Fear not, little flock, for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom” (Luke 12:32).

So how do we fight? Not with noise, but with active reliance on Christ.

1. Audit the voice. When a thought comes, examine it. The Holy Spirit convicts specifically and constructively. The Accuser condemns destructively. If the voice attacks your identity (“You’re worthless. You’re a failure”), it is not the Spirit of Christ. The Spirit corrects behavior but anchors identity in grace. Do not debate with a lie. Identify it as an intruder and turn toward the Shepherd.

2. Verbalize the truth. The enemy moves the furniture in the dark, so turn on the light. Jesus did not merely think Scripture in the wilderness; He spoke it. When fear says, “You are alone,” say out loud, “The Lord is my shepherd.” When shame says, “God is finished with you,” say, “There is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.” Speaking truth shifts the atmosphere from your unstable feelings to God’s unchanging reality.

3. Fill the house. It is not enough to empty yourself of bad habits. An empty house invites occupation. Fill your heart with worship and with gratitude.

4. Kill the secrecy. The enemy’s favorite weapon is isolation. Shame grows in silence, but it withers in the light. When you feel under attack, speak to a trusted brother or sister. The moment the struggle is voiced, the Accuser loses leverage. The sheep pen is not a prison; it is protection.

And now we come to the table. This is where the battle is reframed. Which side are we feeding? We are here to stop feeding on the trinkets of the world—the pride, the self-protection, the false independence—and to feed on the one thing necessary. This bread and this cup remind us that the price for our peace has already been paid. We do not come to this table because we have won the battle; we come because the Shepherd has led us.

If you have been listening to the Accuser, listen now to the Savior. You are not summoned here to be shamed. You are invited here to be restored. This is His body, broken for you. His blood, shed for you. Forgiveness, if you ask for it, is given to you.

Let’s pray.

Discussion Questions

1. If the "Shopkeeper" were to open a store in your life today, what "trinket" would he put in the window to tempt you into independence from the Shepherd? How does "staying in the light" with others (killing the secrecy) help you see that trinket for what it actually is?

2. When you fail, is your internal dialogue more likely to say, "I did something bad" (Spirit) or "I am bad" (Accuser)? Based on the "Great Switch" described in the passage, what is one specific Truth from Scripture you can "verbalize" this week to counter a vague feeling of shame?