Name the Enemy

Name the Enemy

By: Holly Gernatt BSN, RN, CCRN, Flight Nurse Educator

Why We Cannot Defeat What We Refuse to Identify

A young Christian nurse recently asked me a question that stopped me in my tracks.

"Have you ever been angry at God?"

Without hesitation, I answered, "No."

And strangely enough, my own answer surprised me.

It came so quickly, without thought or preparation. But almost as soon as the word left my mouth, something inside me paused.

Why haven't I ever been angry at the Lord?

Because my life hasn't been easy.

I've known heartbreak. I've experienced loss. I've watched addiction tear through people I love. I've watched families fracture and lives unravel. I've wrestled through my own struggles, searched for identity in the wrong places, and spent years believing things that I now know were never true.

So why, after all of that, had I never been angry with God?

For a moment, I really had to think about it.

And then I realized.

Because I know who my enemy is.

That answer wasn't born from a perfect life. It was born from a lifetime of watching destruction unfold around me and, eventually, within me.

Growing up, I watched addiction quietly steal pieces of my family. My mother was young and trying to navigate life with burdens no young woman should have had to carry. My father desperately wanted to provide for his family, but the choices he made ultimately cost him his life. Aunts, uncles, and other loved ones battled alcoholism and drug addiction.

Brokenness seemed to pass from one generation to the next.

Then there was my own story.

The enemy didn't capture me all at once.

He rarely does.

Looking back, I can see how subtly I became attached to things of this world. Some of those attachments were clearly unhealthy. Others looked perfectly healthy—even good. But slowly, quietly, they began occupying places in my heart that were never meant to belong to them.

There were addictions.

There were attachments.

There was alcohol.

There was the constant search for something more.

And there was false spirituality.

For years, I was deeply involved in a spiritual world that promised enlightenment, healing, purpose, and identity. I searched for truth in places that I now understand were leading me further from the One who is Truth.

I believed I was becoming more spiritual.

In reality, I was becoming more deceived.

The enemy had attached me to a false religion and given me a false identity. I was finding myself in the things of this world instead of discovering who I was in Christ.

And that may be one of the enemy's most subtle tactics of all.

He doesn't always need to destroy us overnight.

Sometimes he simply needs to keep us attached.

Attached to success.

Attached to approval.

Attached to possessions.

Attached to achievement.

Attached to relationships.

Attached to substances.

Attached to spiritual counterfeits.

Attached to anything that keeps us from fully abiding in Jesus Christ.

Not every attachment appears evil. Some may even appear healthy and good. But anything—even a good thing—can become disordered when it begins to define us, master us, or occupy the place in our hearts that belongs to God alone.

Looking back now, I realize something I couldn't see then.

There was an enemy at work.

Not merely poor decisions.

Not merely unfortunate circumstances.

Not merely genetics or environment.

Those things certainly matter, and they should never be ignored. As a critical care flight nurse, I have tremendous respect for medicine, psychology, neuroscience, and the countless ways science helps us understand the incredible way God designed the human body and mind. Science can explain many mechanisms of disease, trauma, addiction, and mental illness, and those insights are gifts that can help people heal.

But Scripture reminds us that there is another dimension to the battle we face.

"For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms."—Ephesians 6:12

Somehow, we've become comfortable labeling almost everything except evil itself.

We identify anxiety.

Depression.

Burnout.

Trauma.

Addiction.

Stress.

Personality disorders.

Attachment styles.

We spend countless hours studying diagnoses, behaviors, and symptoms—and much of that knowledge is valuable.

But somewhere along the way, we've become uncomfortable acknowledging what Scripture openly teaches: there is a real enemy who delights in deception, division, destruction, and death.

If we cannot name the enemy, how can we recognize his tactics?

In every other area of life, we understand this principle.

The military studies opposing forces.

Law enforcement studies criminal behavior.

Healthcare providers study disease.

Firefighters study fire behavior.

Emergency responders train for disasters before they happen.

No one enters a battle without understanding what they're facing.

So why would Christians?

Paul reminds us,

"...so that Satan might not outwit us. For we are not unaware of his schemes."—2 Corinthians 2:11

Notice what Paul does not say.

He does not tell believers to become obsessed with Satan.

He simply tells us not to be ignorant of his schemes.

There is a profound difference.

The enemy's greatest victories often happen when he remains unnamed.

Like dysfunction in a family that no one talks about, what remains hidden often grows stronger. Silence allows wounds to fester. Secrets gain power. Lies become accepted as truth.

I've watched that happen in families.

I've watched it happen in hospitals.

I've watched it happen in my own life.

For years, I could see destruction, but I didn't know what to call it.

Today I do.

Jesus described Satan plainly:

"The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and have it abundantly."—John 10:10

Those words changed how I viewed suffering.

When that young nurse asked if I'd ever been angry with God, my answer wasn't rooted in denial of pain. It was rooted in recognizing who delights in destruction.

God is not the author of evil.

God is not the author of addiction.

God is not the author of deception.

God is not the author of death.

James reminds us,

"Every good and perfect gift is from above..."—James 1:17

Jesus came to give life.

The enemy comes to steal it.

Understanding that distinction transformed the way I viewed my own story.

It also transformed the way I understand identity.

The greatest battle isn't simply over our circumstances.

It's over who we believe we are.

From the very beginning, the serpent questioned God's truth:

"Did God really say...?" (Genesis 3:1)

That strategy hasn't changed.

The enemy had spent years convincing me to build an identity from the things around me.

What I accomplished.

What I believed.

What I possessed.

What others thought of me.

What the world told me I could become.

Even the spiritual identity I had embraced became part of who I thought I was.

But Christ was calling me out of a false identity and into my true one.

Today, the world constantly tells us to create our own identity, define our own truth, and look within ourselves for purpose.

Jesus calls us to something entirely different.

He calls us to deny ourselves, follow Him, remain in Him, and discover our identity through Him.

The prince of this world wants us to become more like the world.

Christ calls us to become more like Him.

And I think that is one of the greatest battles taking place around us today.

The world is constantly discipling us.

Through what we watch.

What we consume.

What we chase.

What we admire.

What we fear.

What we believe will finally make us enough.

The question is not whether we are being shaped.

The question is who is shaping us?

That tension is something every believer experiences.

We live in a world affected by sin, yet we belong to the Kingdom of God.

We experience suffering, yet we cling to hope.

We acknowledge the reality of darkness, yet we walk in the Light of the World.

And perhaps this is where the battle becomes most visible.

We are living on earth while belonging to heaven.

We are surrounded by a world that constantly tells us who we should become, while Christ continually calls us back to who we were created to be.

This is precisely why I began writing Exposing the Enemy.

Not because I want people to become fascinated with Satan.

Not because I want believers to live in fear.

Quite the opposite.

I want believers to become so rooted in Jesus Christ that the enemy's lies lose their power.

I want us to call the enemy what Scripture calls him.

The deceiver.

The accuser.

The tempter.

The father of lies.

The thief who comes to steal, kill, and destroy.

Not so that we become consumed by darkness, but so that we learn to recognize what does not come from Christ.

We study counterfeit money so we won't be deceived by it.

In the same way, we recognize the enemy's tactics so we can remain firmly anchored in God's truth.

Every chapter I write has the same purpose: not to leave readers thinking about the enemy, but to leave them abiding more deeply in Christ.

Because the enemy is not the hero of the story.

Jesus is.

Recently, as I listened to MercyMe's song Oh Death, I was reminded of something beautiful.

The song names death.

It calls it out.

Not to glorify it.

Not to fear it.

But to proclaim that because of Jesus Christ, death no longer has the final word.

And perhaps there is something powerful about naming what we are facing.

We name diseases so we can understand them.

We name wounds so we can treat them.

We name patterns so we can break them.

We name lies so we can replace them with truth.

And Scripture names our enemy.

Not so we will fear him.

So we will recognize him.

The same is true of fear.

The same is true of shame.

The same is true of addiction.

The same is true of deception.

The same is true of every lie the enemy whispers.

We do not expose the enemy to glorify darkness.

We expose him so the light of Christ shines even brighter.

My prayer is that as you read these words—and as you continue this journey with me—you won't become more focused on Satan.

You'll become more captivated by Jesus.

Because in the end, the greatest defense against the enemy's lies isn't fear.

It isn't obsession.

It isn't trying harder.

It's abiding in the One who has already overcome the world.

"In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world."—John 16:33