Lift Up Your Heads, O Gates

On Entering the War Under the Banner of the King of Glory

“Who is the King of glory? The Lord, the mighty, the valiant, the Lord, valiant in war.”

Psalm 23(24):8 Grail Translation

There is a war being waged over your heart.

Not metaphorically. Not emotionally. Not symbolically.

Literally.

The Apostle does not soften the truth to make it palatable. He says it plainly. “Our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the principalities, against the powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against the spirits of evil in the heavens.” These are not abstractions. These are intelligences that hate God and hate you because you were made in His image.

They do not sleep. They do not grow tired. They do not lose interest.

They wait.

They watch.

They study your wounds and press their fingers into them.

The fathers knew this. They did not romanticize the spiritual life. They called it warfare because that is what it is.

Abba Anthony, when he was shown the snares of the demons spread out across the earth, groaned and said, “Who can escape them?” And he heard a voice answer him, “Humility.”

Not brilliance. Not talent. Not intensity.

Humility.

Because humility places you under the protection of God Himself.

The demons cannot endure humility because humility invites the presence of the King.

And when the King enters the field, everything changes.

The psalmist cries out, “Lift up your heads, O gates; lift high, ancient doors. Let him enter, the King of glory.”

This is not poetry. This is a battle cry.

Your heart is the gate.

Your heart is the battlefield.

Your heart is the place where the King desires to enter and establish His throne.

But the gates do not lift themselves.

You must lift them.

You must turn toward Him when everything in you wants to collapse.

You must whisper His Name when your mind is torn apart by distraction.

You must stand when every part of you trembles.

St. Isaac the Syrian says that the man who has begun to resist the demons will feel their fury increase. Not decrease.

Because they know they are losing him.

They tighten their grip. They darken his thoughts. They whisper that he is alone. They whisper that he is weak. They whisper that he will never change.

They are liars.

The Apostle says, “Be strong in the Lord and in the strength of His power.”

Not your power.

His.

The fathers were not strong men by worldly standards. They were old. They were frail. They were hidden. But the demons feared them because they belonged entirely to Christ.

Abba Moses was once asked, “What must a man do to withstand temptation?”

He said, “He must die.”

He meant this.

The demons have power over what still clings to life apart from God. They have power over pride. They have power over self protection. They have power over the part of you that still negotiates with sin.

But they have no power over the man who has placed himself completely in the hands of God.

Because that man no longer stands alone.

“The Lord is my light and my help; whom shall I fear? The Lord is the stronghold of my life; before whom shall I shrink?”

This is not optimism.

This is reality.

Christ did not remain distant from this war. He entered it. He took on flesh. He allowed Himself to be tempted. He allowed Himself to be humiliated. He allowed Himself to be nailed to a cross. And in that moment, when He appeared weakest, He shattered the power of death.

The demons saw Him bleed and thought they had won.

They did not understand that humility is the weapon that destroys them.

Archimandrite Zacharias says that when a man begins to call upon the Name of Jesus with his whole being, he enters into direct conflict with the powers of darkness. The heart becomes a battlefield. The war becomes personal.

This is why prayer feels like dying.

Because it is dying.

It is the death of the false self that lived independently of God.

But it is also the birth of something unshakable.

The psalmist does not say the King of glory is gentle in war.

He says He is mighty.

He says He is valiant.

He says He commands armies.

You do not fight alone.

When you whisper, “Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me,” heaven moves.

Not always visibly. Not always emotionally.

But truly.

The angels stand with those who call upon His Name.

The demons retreat from those who refuse to abandon Him.

St. John Climacus says that the Name of Jesus is a scourge against the enemies.

Not a comfort alone.

A weapon.

This is why they try to make you stop praying.

This is why they try to convince you that your prayer is useless.

They know what it does.

The battle worn soul must hear this.

Your exhaustion does not disqualify you.

Your wounds do not disqualify you.

Your weakness does not disqualify you.

Your weakness is the place where His strength becomes visible.

The Lord does not wait for you to become strong before He enters the battle.

He enters because you are weak.

He enters because you called Him.

He enters because He loves you.

Lift up your heads, O gates.

Lift them when you feel nothing.

Lift them when you feel defeated.

Lift them when you feel surrounded.

Lift them when you feel like you cannot endure another moment.

The King of glory stands at the threshold.

He does not abandon His soldiers.

He does not abandon His children.

He does not abandon those who call upon Him from the dust.

Stand.

Call upon Him.

Whisper His Name into the darkness.

And watch what happens when the Lord, valiant in war, rises to fight for you.