Step Right Up

Captain Kirk is facing a powerful adversary that seems to hold every advantage. Even Spock concludes there's no logical path to success. If this was chess, it would be checkmate.

Kirk isn't convinced. He poses a different question. What if everyone is assuming this is chess, when instead it's a game of poker where the rules allow for deception and bluffing? With television, of course, his "bet" pays off.

The Captain's thought process made me wonder how often we move through life without ever thinking of which game we're a part of. We tend to inherit our assumptions from the culture around us. Eventually, it all becomes so familiar, we stop asking questions and just play along.

We learn to protect our interests, promote ourselves, seek recognition, and maintain control. They can all sound so positive, and those who play often appear successful.

In Scripture, though, we find different instructions. Jesus tells us to serve rather than seek status and to forgive rather than retaliate. He calls us toward humility rather than self-promotion and trust instead of anxious striving. So often, His teachings are the exact opposite of the world's.

It made me wonder whether the issue isn't the game itself, but the assumptions we end up embracing. In Genesis 3, the serpent doesn't begin by attacking God directly. He just questions the rules.

"Did God really say...?" With those four words, the serpent begins moving humanity toward a different set of rules, shifting the conversation from trusting God's wisdom to questioning the necessity of His rules.

And after a few thousand years, it's the very same strategy. Temptation rarely shows up as rebellion. More often it's presented as a shortcut—a way that's better, faster, or just more practical. The enemy doesn't need us to reject God's goals if he can persuade us to simply pursue them according to a different set of rules. His rules. Security, significance, and influence can be legitimate goals. The deception lies in accepting the enemy's methods for how to go about obtaining them.

So, chess or poker? Chess rewards strategy. Poker rewards reading your opponents while concealing information. Each is a clear illustration, but neither captures the spiritual battle particularly well.

No offense to Kirk or Spock, but I think another type of game does. Every carnival game I've ever seen promises a prize. Knock over the bottles. Toss the ring around the target. Throw the ball through the opening. The rewards look attainable, and the challenges seem straightforward.

But what many participants fail to consider is the game was set up to work against them from the outset. The bottles are weighted, the target is smaller than it appears, and the basket is shaped to reject the ball. The objective isn't to help the customer win. No, the objective is to keep us playing.

Years ago, C. S. Lewis wrote The Screwtape Letters. I was struck by his ability to expose temptation by unveiling the enemy's strategy. If Lewis had chosen a carnival midway as his setting, perhaps it might have sounded something like this:

Dear Colleague,

You continue reporting success when your subjects stumble into one temptation or another, but you misunderstand our ultimate objective. Individual failures are useful only because they help accomplish a far greater aim.

We don't need them to reject the Enemy outright. We need only convince them to play by our rules.

Life's little carnival booths we place in front of them remain among our most effective tools. The prizes needn't be valuable. Status, recognition, wealth, control, comfort—our subjects will spend astonishing amounts of time pursuing such things!

The beauty of it all is that they seldom question the game itself. They assume that because everyone around them is playing, the rules must be legitimate. Once they accept that premise, most of our work is done.

Encourage them to measure themselves against one another rather than against the Enemy's standards. Convince them that shortcuts are wisdom, self-promotion is confidence, and manipulation is simply practicality. Above all, keep them focused on "winning." Few will stop long enough to consider whether the game was designed by the Enemy at all.

Your faithful associate...

While fictional, the imaginary memo captures something important. Our true enemy's greatest victories often occur when we begin accepting his assumptions and adopting his rules.

It's precisely what we see during Jesus' wilderness temptation (Matthew 4). Satan repeatedly offers legitimate things through illegitimate means. Hunger and authority are real. So is protection. But each temptation invites Jesus to step outside the Father's plan and operate according to a different set of rules.

Jesus, of course, refuses every offer. He doesn't negotiate or look for a compromise. He simply remains anchored to what His Father has already said.

It's an important lesson. The Christian life isn't merely about avoiding certain sins but is instead recognizing which rules are there to govern our decisions.

Every day we choose between service and self-promotion, trust and control, forgiveness and retaliation. Ultimately, we're deciding between God's standards and the world's.

Much of the Christian life is about refusing to let the enemy define the rules. Jesus never accepted Satan's assumptions, his methods, or his promises. Instead, He remained faithful to what His Father had already revealed.

The enemy continues to invite us to an endless array of carnival booths, and the prizes still sparkle. The promises can still look and sound so appealing, as we see the crowds waiting in line.

But wisdom begins when we stop asking how to win and instead step back to ask a different question: Whose rules am I following?

Once we recognize the game for what it is, we may discover that the goal isn't merely refusing to play. The goal is to stop chasing the enemy's prizes long enough to follow the path God has already placed before us.

The enemy would be content to keep us distracted at those carnival booths for a lifetime. Christ invites us to something better. The question is whether we trust God's way enough to follow Him instead.