Prisoners in Their Own Armor
Have you ever dealt with a difficult person? You try to like them, help them, understand them, or accept them, but despite your best efforts, they just rub you the wrong way. Maybe it's a family member who always seems to have a sharp word ready. Or perhaps it's that acquaintance at church who bristles at every attempt at friendship. I'll confess, I've had my share of these challenging relationships, and more often than not, I've found myself frustrated, hurt, and ready to throw in the towel.
But this morning, something shifted. As I sat with my Bible open to Job chapter 41, reading about the fearsome Leviathan, God gave me an epiphany that changed everything. The passage describes this creature's impenetrable armor: "His scales are his pride, shut up together as with a close seal. One is so near to another, that no air can come between them" (Job 41:15-16, KJV). The description goes on to detail how nothing can penetrate this armor, not sword, spear, or dart. The Leviathan is completely encased, utterly unreachable.
And that's when it hit me. What if these difficult people aren't being difficult on purpose? What if they're prisoners inside an armor of their own making?
Think about it. After being hurt repeatedly, perhaps betrayed by someone they trusted, wounded by harsh words, or abandoned when they needed someone most, they began building protective walls. Scale by scale, hurt by hurt, they wove an armor so tight that nothing could penetrate it. They thought they were keeping themselves safe from future pain. But in shutting out the bad, they also shut out the good.
That prickly coworker who never accepts help? Maybe she learned early on that accepting help meant owing someone something, and she couldn't afford that debt. That family member who pushes everyone away? Perhaps he's terrified that if he lets anyone close, they'll see his flaws and leave anyway. That church member who criticizes everything? It's possible she's so afraid of being vulnerable that she strikes first to maintain control.
The Leviathan's armor made him formidable but also isolated. Our difficult people are the same. Their protective armor keeps them safe, but it also keeps them lonely. It prevents hurt, but it also prevents healing. It blocks pain, but it also blocks love, joy, and genuine connection.
So what's the solution? How do we deal with these armor-clad souls? First, we need to stop trying to break through with force. Remember, "A soft answer turneth away wrath: but grievous words stir up anger" (Proverbs 15:1, KJV). Battering against someone's defenses only makes them fortify their walls higher.
Second, we need compassion. When we understand that their behavior stems from pain rather than malice, it changes our perspective entirely. Instead of thinking, "Why are they so difficult?" we can ask, "What hurt them so badly that they felt they needed this armor?"
Third, we need patience and prayer. God is the only one who can truly penetrate the armor we build. Our job isn't to force our way in but to consistently demonstrate Christ's love and pray for the Holy Spirit to do His work.
"The effectual fervent prayer of a righteous man availeth much" (James 5:16, KJV).
Finally, we need to examine our own armor. Are we guilty of building our own protective scales? Have we shut people out because we're afraid of being hurt? If God can show me compassion for others in their armor, He can certainly help me recognize and remove my own.
The next time you encounter a difficult person, remember the Leviathan. Remember that beneath all that armor is someone who's been hurt, someone who's afraid, someone who desperately needs the love of Christ, even if they don't know how to receive it. Your kindness might not penetrate their defenses today or even this year, but consistent, Christlike love has a way of finding the gaps between the scales.
After all, God found a way through our armor when we were lost in sin. Surely we can extend the same grace to others.