By Prof. Chiwuike Uba, PhD
There is nothing wrong with asking God to protect us from people who genuinely seek our harm, expose injustice, frustrate wicked schemes, and bring justice. But sometimes, let us be honest, our “prayer points” sound less like the Sermon on the Mount and more like a military briefing. “Father, locate my enemies. Wherever they are hiding, expose them. Scatter them. Let them experience what they planned for me!” Really? Is heaven now running a Special Forces unit?
Isaiah 41:11 assures God’s people that those who oppose them will ultimately face God’s judgement. But Christians cannot read Isaiah and conveniently close the Bible before reaching the teachings of Jesus. Christ says, “Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you” (Matthew 5:44). Paul adds, “Do not take revenge… ‘I will repay,’ says the Lord” (Romans 12:19).
So, what exactly are we praying for? Protection, justice and deliverance, or are we simply asking God to execute our personal revenge package with a heavenly signature?
There is a significant difference between praying, *“Lord, protect me, expose wrongdoing and bring justice according to Your will,”* and praying, *“Lord, destroy everybody who is against me.”* The first entrusts justice to God. The second can become revenge wearing a suit, carrying a Bible and speaking in tongues.
And who exactly is this “enemy”? The neighbour who refused to lend you money? Your colleague who got the promotion you wanted? The church member who disagreed with you? Your relative who told you an uncomfortable truth? Your spouse who said, “You are actually the problem here”? Suddenly everybody is an enemy! At this rate, some of us will soon need a spreadsheet to manage our enemies.
But there is an even more uncomfortable question: *what if sometimes we are our own enemies?*
Sometimes, the person standing between us and peace is not a wicked neighbour, jealous colleague, family member, or supposed spiritual adversary. Sometimes, it is the person staring back at us in the mirror.
Our choices can become our enemies. Our pride can become our enemy. Our dishonesty, arrogance, impatience, greed, unforgiving spirit, careless words, broken promises, irresponsible behaviour, and destructive habits can create consequences that no amount of “scatter my enemies” prayer can solve.
Think about it. A person repeatedly mistreats people, loses friends, damages relationships, destroys trust, and then concludes, “My enemies are everywhere!” Really? Could it possibly be that the common denominator in all these conflicts is… you?
Imagine praying, “Lord, destroy everyone working against me!” And heaven responds, *“Are you sure you want Me to start with everybody?”*
Because some of the people and circumstances we are fighting may actually be consequences of our own decisions. Sometimes, what we call an attack is accountability. Sometimes, what we call persecution is correction. Sometimes, what we call an enemy is simply someone courageous enough to tell us the truth we desperately do not want to hear.
There is an interesting parallel here in Igbo customology, particularly in the traditional understanding of ọfọ and ọgụ. In that worldview, ọfọ and ọgụ are closely associated with truth, justice, moral authority, purity and the consequences of wrongdoing. Yet there is a concern that, in contemporary practice, many have retained the language and symbolism of ọfọ while neglecting the reciprocal moral accountability associated with ọgụ.
The important principle here is not simply the cultural terminology, but the moral logic behind it. If someone invokes justice against another person, the question naturally arises: *Am I prepared to stand under the same standard of justice that I am invoking against someone else?*
This is where the traditional moral imagination raises a profoundly uncomfortable question for contemporary Christian prayer. If I pray, *“Lord, let this evil return upon my enemy,”* am I equally prepared to pray, *“Lord, if I have ever done this to another person, let me also receive the judgement I am asking You to administer to them”?*
If not, why not?
Why do we readily pray for judgement when we believe somebody else has wronged us, but suddenly become very careful about judgement when the same standard is turned toward us? Why are we comfortable asking heaven to operate a spiritual principle of reciprocity against our perceived enemies, while conveniently exempting ourselves from the same principle?
That is precisely where the Christian teaching becomes even more challenging.
Jesus says in Matthew 7:12, *“Whatever you want others to do to you, do also to them.”* And before we start asking God to do things to them, perhaps we should pause and ask ourselves what we would want God to do to us if we were standing in their position.
The irony is almost too obvious to ignore. *“Lord, judge my enemies according to what they have done.”* Fine. But what happens when heaven says, *“Excellent. Would you like Me to use the same standard on you?”* Suddenly, everybody becomes interested in grace!
Perhaps that is why the Christian message of grace is so profound. Christ does not merely teach us to demand justice from others. He calls us to recognise our own need for mercy, repentance and forgiveness.
Jesus, however, gives us a rather inconvenient instruction: love your enemies and pray for them. Imagine that! Instead of asking God to “scatter” someone, you may actually have to pray that God blesses them. Very inconvenient theology, isn’t it?
This does not mean Christians should tolerate abuse, oppression, injustice or wickedness. Loving someone does not mean giving them unlimited access to harm you. Forgiveness does not eliminate boundaries. Prayer does not cancel accountability. If someone is genuinely dangerous, wisdom requires appropriate protection and intervention.
But there is a difference between asking God to stop evil and asking God to destroy people because we are angry with them.
This is why Christian prayer must include self-examination alongside spiritual warfare. David’s prayer remains remarkably relevant: *“Search me, O God, and know my heart… and see if there be any wicked way in me”* (Psalm 139:23–24).
Before asking God to deal with our enemies, perhaps we should occasionally ask Him to deal with us.
*“Lord, expose those working against me, but also expose what is wrong in me. Remove those who genuinely seek my destruction, but remove from me the attitudes, behaviours and habits that are destroying my relationships. Fight the battles I cannot fight, but give me the humility to recognise the battles I created myself.”*
That is a much more dangerous prayer because God may actually answer it by changing us.
And there is an intriguing irony here. If our understanding of “enemy” is so broad that everyone who opposes, criticises, frustrates or disagrees with us qualifies, and if we sometimes contribute to the problems we complain about, then indiscriminate prayers for the destruction of our enemies could become rather dangerous. What if, unknowingly, we are asking God to destroy the very person who is part of the problem? What if that person is us?
The same principle challenges the way we understand so-called “judgement prayers.” If I ask God to judge someone according to what they have done to me, perhaps the mature Christian response is to add, *“Lord, judge me by the same standard, and where I have done wrong, give me the humility to repent.”*
Would we still be so enthusiastic about the prayer if the microphone were turned around and the prayer leader said, *“Now everybody who has ever done what you are asking God to punish in another person, please stand up”?* Some prayer warriors might suddenly develop a very strong interest in sitting down!
Perhaps this is where ọfọ and ọgụ, as a moral idea, can provoke a useful conversation with Christian discipleship, without confusing the two religious systems. The deeper question is one of moral consistency: Can I invoke justice against another while refusing to submit myself to the same moral standard?
The Christian answer ought to be no.
The gospel does not teach us to abandon justice. It teaches us to surrender vengeance to God while submitting ourselves to God’s own judgement, correction and transforming grace. We can ask God to expose evil without asking Him to indulge our hatred. We can seek justice without becoming vindictive. We can pray for protection without wishing destruction upon everyone who has offended us.
Perhaps our prayer should therefore change:
*“Lord, defeat evil without allowing evil to defeat me. Protect me without making me hateful. Give me justice without making me vengeful. And if the person I have called my enemy is simply someone I dislike, please give me enough humility to know the difference.”*
Now, that is a prayer worth praying.
And yes, it may be considerably less exciting than shouting “Thunder! Fire! Scatter!” But it sounds remarkably closer to Jesus.
The Christian journey is not simply about asking God to remove our enemies. It is also about becoming the kind of person who creates fewer enemies, heals relationships where possible, accepts correction, apologises when wrong, forgives when wounded, and lives in a manner that reflects Christ.
After all, what if the greatest enemy we need God to defeat is not the person across the street, across the office, across the family table, or across the church pew?
What if, sometimes, the enemy is us? God is with us!