Satan's
Who ya gonna cheer?
She walked to the edge of the sports arena. On the field, which was the color of rust, like dried blood, there was a cheerleading practice happening. Curiously, some of the cheerleaders were in their street clothes, some half in uniform, while the rest were decked out with pompoms in brazen devil red.
Give me an S – S!
Give me an A – A!
Give me a T – A – N: T –A –N!
What does it spell? – Satan!
And they cheered wildly.
Why on earth would anyone be cheering for the devil?
A voice called out to her from the sidelines, “Come on in. We have a place reserved on the squad for you.”
Intrigued, she looked down and saw two gates that opened onto the field, a narrow and a wide one. She was about to step through the narrow gate when a voice called from downfield, “No. Use the wide gate.” She opened it according to instruction, went through the wide gate, and stepped onto the field.
Looking about, she noticed the coach standing with his back to her. In his hand he had a drink he seemed to perpetually sip on. He turned about to face his potential new recruit. She recoiled in horror realizing she was standing face to face with none other than the devil himself.
She reared back to rebuke him with the classic, “Get thee behind me, Satan,” but the enemy of her soul shook a bony finger in her face and said, “Uh-uh. You have no authority on this unholy ground.”
She knew better than to get into a conversation or an argument with the devil. Eve did and the serpent proved to be quite a conversationalist, finally talking her and Adam out of Paradise. This was not a good idea.
Still, she had to know. “I do have authority over you in Jesus’ name, devil. What makes this ground unholy?”
He pointed offhandedly towards the gate and said with a devilsh smile, “You chose the wide gate, not the narrow. Besides,” he motioned downward, “all who walk here have willingly trampled upon the blood of the Son of God.”
“But… I… I… I have not! And I chose the wide gate because… well, because you told me to!” she protested.
He shook his head and laughed. “I tell everyone that. Duh. It’s amazing that people keep falling for it.”
She was embarrassed to have stumbled over such an obvious deception. With cheers going on, she looked at the cheerleading squad and her eyes widened in disbelief. The people in the squad were Christians!
Now she had to know. “Why are blood-bought Christians cheering for you? You despise us.”
He smiled and said, “Yes, my child. I do. And they cheer for me for same reason you do. Until I am worshipped like the Most High, I’ll take my praise where I can get it.” He took a long, refreshing sip from his drink which she noted was called a Soured Saint.
“I’m not your child and I don’t cheer for you, devil” she said confidently.
Again, that self-satisfied smirk. “When you do my deeds, you honor me as your father. Even the Bible says you will know them by their fruit, right? Same fruit, same root.” He winked a chilling smile that did not quite reach his eyes and continued, “And you do, too, cheer for me. That’s why I have a place prepared for you on my cheerleading squad.”
She burned with embarrassment.
He leaned in close and said, “Surely you remember Mr. (name withheld), right? All his slander and lies? The way he unmercifully persecuted you? Worse, without cause? The torment, the pain, that dull ache that just won’t go away? He ruined your reputation. I sought and got permission to sift him like wheat.” Silence. “And you’re welcome.”
She grimaced. The only thing worse than a lying devil is one that tells the truth. And he had surgically exposed her sore spot.
Like a spike driven through her hands and feet, he relentlessly pushed. “Now, true, because of your prayers for him, I can’t kill him. But by the standard he judged you I now get to judge him. I have had unfettered access to his mouth for years using him to wreck havoc in the church. Now that he has done all the damage I needed, I get to destroy him. It’s my version of Big Game hunting.”
He sipped on his drink again and said, burping with satisfaction, “I can’t enough of these. I really can’t.” He then leaned closer still and whispered, “You don’t need to put the cheerleader uniform on to cheer. Just learn the song in your heart. No one will ever know.”
There was a deep part of her that was glad to hear Mr. (name withheld) was going to finally get his. She felt something seductively warm and not unpleasant growing inside her. Vengeance? No, it belongs to God. She tried to shake the sensation off by changing the subject.
“Your drink; what exactly is a Soured Saint?” she inquired.
“It is the nectar of the next god. And you should you know, my child. You brewed this drink offering for me.” His calculated words hit like a bombshell and he stared unblinkingly at her, as if measuring her response.
“I WHAT?” she cried.
“To make a Soured Saint, I find a willfully hardened heart. It’s the only place a seed of bitterness can take root; the harder the better. And when you refused to forgive, you granted me access to your hard places. A bitter seed becomes a bitter root which, when mature, becomes bitter fruit. When harvested, I can brew a Soured Saint. And, my darling,” he said, licking his lips with a serpentine tongue, “you are delicious.”
He sipped again with a sublime satisfaction. “I could spend all day sucking Soured Saints dry. In fact,” he smirked, “I do!”
“But I finally forgave him,” she weakly protested.
“Yes, I know. Pity that. Still, you can at least rejoice in the judgment I am allowed to smite him with. I mean,” He said slowly, “he has it coming, right?”
(Way to go, Satan, way to go … Way to go, Satan, way to go…)
And she felt a dizzying intoxication sweep over her almost driving her to her knees in adoration of the hidden darkness, her adultery of the heart, her vile sin of unforgiveness, that she once secretly loved. And then… She remembered whose child she really was. She was bought and paid for with a price: the precious blood of the Son of God. And in the light of his sacrifice on the Cross, the Innocent slain in place of the Guilty, there was no excuse for unforgiveness. None. She chose to forgive. And the beguiling spell was broken.
The rusted blood beneath her feet suddenly turned vibrant red and began again to flow. She was cleansed, forgiven. She was free.
Remembering how to deal with the devil, she again reared back and said with measured words, “It. Is. Written… in Proverbs 24:17, ‘Do not gloat when your enemy falls; when he stumbles, do not let your heart rejoice.’ God, my true Father, takes no pleasure in judgment or in the death of the wicked and neither will I. Now, get thee behind me, Satan!”
The devil winced but pointed to the squad. “Com’on. At least revel in it a bit. After all you’ve suffered? They are madly cheering me on and, as you’ve no doubt noticed, they’re also Christians.” Again, he was telling the truth because she worshiped with several of them.
“No, devil. No! It is also written that I am not to give place to you. Brew your poison somewhere else. I’m leaving.” She heard him slurp his Soured Saint down to the dregs and suddenly, like the last bit of soda through a straw, it went bone dry. Clearly agitated, he nevertheless gave a loud burp and promptly dropped his now empty bottle to the field. She smiled, turned and walked quickly towards the narrow gate and he muttered, “Your loss, sucker.”
She glanced back at the believers who had joined the devil’s cheerleading squad and had to ask. “Why are some of them in street clothes, some halfway in uniform, and some fully clothed in devil red?”
With a tone as icy and cold as death, he replied, “Stay on unholy ground long enough and you eventually join the home team.” She quickened her pace and walked off through the narrow gate, the cheers of the saints who were rejoicing in evil still ringing in her ears. And she realized with a sudden clarity that the saints on the field really did not realize who it was they were cheering for.
She shuddered at the thought of the snare she had almost fallen for and wept for the beguiled saints who rejoiced in seeing God’s judgment on others… not realizing they were each brewing a bitter concoction in their soul that thirsting devils were greedy to drink. They live to suck the life out of Soured Saints.
Give me an “S” anyone?
Bryan Hupperts © 2008
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