It’s Time to Fight Back
Scripture: I trust in the Lord for safety. How foolish of you to say to me, “Fly away like a bird to the mountains, because the wicked have drawn their bows and aimed their arrows to shoot from the shadows at good people. There is nothing a good person can do when everything falls apart.” The Lord is in his holy temple; he has his throne in heaven. He watches people everywhere and knows what they are doing. He examines the good and the wicked alike; the lawless he hates with all his heart. He sends down flaming coals and burning sulphur on the wicked; he punishes them with scorching winds. The Lord is righteous and loves good deeds; those who do them will live in his presence. — Psalm 11:1-7
A week or so ago, I had a remarkably powerful morning.
After an early walk, I came back to my kitchen and started making breakfast. As I prepared my eggs, sipped my coffee, and let Gospel Flow play through the speakers, something unexpected happened. I don’t know whether it was the music or my mood or some combination of both — but suddenly I was overwhelmed by the Holy Spirit.
I began to worship right there in the kitchen. For those unfamiliar with what that looks like for me — and everyone is different — it means a charismatic, often physical, personal expression of joy, gratitude, and celebration in response to the goodness of God. Tears streaming down my face, I found my mind turning to a question I’d been sitting with: whether to stay in the city where I live or finally give in to the pull I’d been feeling to leave after some deeply frustrating experiences.
And in the middle of that kitchen worship, I felt God say clearly: Stay. It’s time to stop running and fight — fight for yourself, your family, and your people.
After that, something clicked. I realized I had been running for a very long time. Not the physical kind — though I could use more of that. I mean the emotional kind of running that trauma teaches you.
My version of running isn’t the restless, place-to-place variety where you’re always chasing something better. I understand you can’t outrun yourself. My version is subtler: being physically present while always being mentally prepared to leave at a moment’s notice, braced for some devastating event that, honestly, rarely happens anymore. It’s a trauma response I developed during one of the hardest seasons of my adult life — a period when I lost nearly everything that mattered to me. And it has lingered, with real and lasting effects.
Sometimes we give our trauma-fueled fear free reign. And when we do, that fear doesn’t just sit quietly — it causes havoc. It damages our spirits, our minds, our bodies, our relationships, our work. Worse, it builds a kind of prison around us — a perpetual loop of doubt and anxiety that keeps us from stepping into the full, abundant life God intends.
In those moments, the answer isn’t to run from the pain, or simply endure it. The answer is to face it, fight it, and win.
For me — and I suspect for many of us — this is the moment to stop dreaming about greener pastures or running toward ones we imagine are greener. Instead, we are called to fight for the ground where we already stand. To cultivate the barren yard in front of us and transform it into the beautiful, living ground it was always designed to be.
In our scripture this morning, the psalmist is presented with a choice: run to safety, as some unnamed voice advises, or stay, trust God, and fight. According to the psalm, the psalmist chooses to stay.
Before we dismiss the advice to run, it’s worth acknowledging it’s not unreasonable. When people design harm in secret and strike from hidden places, the logical, self-protective reflex is to flee. Some would call that wisdom.
But the psalmist calls it foolish. And while the psalm doesn’t fully explain why, many of us understand intuitively: when you run once, you can spend your whole life running. Sometimes the harder path — and the more prudent one — is the decision to stay and fight back.
I recently bought a journal. On the cover is a quote from The Lion King — Rafiki to Simba: “The past can hurt. But the way I see it, you can either run from it or learn from it. Remember who you are.”
In the film, Simba — the rightful heir to the throne of the Pridelands — flees his home under the weight of guilt and shame, manipulated by his uncle Scar into believing he caused his father’s death. He ends up in a distant oasis, living a carefree life carefully designed to keep him from having to face what happened. The distractions work, for a while.
The quote on my journal comes from the scene where Simba’s father, along with the kings of the past, visits him in spirit and reminds him of who he is. Kings don’t hide in fear and shame. Kings don’t run from trauma. They stay, they face it, they fight, and they lead — not just for themselves, but for the people depending on them. His father’s voice calls him back to his purpose and reminds him that no amount of shame, fear, or regret is more powerful than the call he was born to fulfill.
Energized, Simba returns home — only to be met by Scar, who publicly excoriates him and declares him responsible for Mufasa’s death. The accusation is calculated. It mainlines Simba’s deepest shame and fear, and the confidence he’d reclaimed instantly collapses. He mounts a weak, uncertain defense against a self-assured Scar.
What Simba doesn’t fully grasp in the moment is that Scar isn’t interested in truth. He knows the truth — he is the truth. He killed Mufasa and engineered the trauma Simba has been carrying all these years. Scar is interested in power and control. And when he’s convinced the threat is neutralized, he reveals his guilt with a smile.
That confession reignites Simba. He faces the trauma, pushes past the fear and the shame, fights his uncle, and demands the pride hear what really happened. A battle follows. The lions reclaim the Pridelands. Simba takes the throne.
You know the movie.
The reason The Lion King resonates so deeply is that its central motif is nearly universal: returning to the place of our pain, shame, or loss — and with boldness, fighting back. Facing our murky, hurtful past, trembling or not, in order to fulfill the call God placed on our lives.
There are a lot of Simbas in this world. People given a calling from birth who set it aside — or forgot it entirely — somewhere in the middle of trauma, failure, and fear. Instead of fighting back, they settled for a comfortable life of avoidance where the wound never has to be touched.
But running from our calling, however difficult the circumstances surrounding it, doesn’t make things better. It tends to make things harder — for us and for the people who need what only we can offer.
Yes, there are safer places than the place of our calling. Yes, there are people who throw arrows from the shadows — and if you’ve spent any time on the internet, you know exactly what that looks like. Their harm can be real. And like Scar, these adversaries are rarely interested in honest conversation, whatever they may claim. They are interested in power, control, and sometimes pain simply for the sake of it.
But here is the difference between the Lion King’s wisdom and the psalmist’s: Rafiki reminds Simba of who he is. The psalmist reminds us of whose we are.
The call to fight back is not just about our own strength, our own courage, our own grit. It is a reminder of the God who gave us the call and who walks with us as we seek to fulfill it.
So if God has called you to fight back — fight. Follow that call.
And when you fight, fight with good. Fight with kindness, decency, determination, and self-respect. Fight with a love for your neighbor that is foreign to your opponent. Fight with an abiding hope and a stubborn refusal to be stopped in the pursuit of justice, freedom, fairness, and dignity.
Trust that God will not only provide the safety you need — God will provide the victory God has promised.
It is time. Fight back. Face the trauma. Cast off the fear, the shame, the regret that has weighed you down and kept you from the life God has called you to live.
The Lion King quote isn’t the only thing I carry from that film. I also have a tattoo on my right shoulder it partly inspired — a roaring lion, similar to Simba in the moment after his pride defeats Scar and his hyenas. That roar marks the end of the violence that had torn his world apart and signals the beginning of healing and restoration.
It is my prayer — for me, for you, for all of us — that when we face the trauma that can so deeply mire our lives, we win the fight. And when — not if — we win, may our roar mark not only the strength of our spirits and the power of our God, but may it signal the beginning of the healing our lives, our homes, and our world so desperately need and so richly deserve.
Amen.
