The Devil in Good Intentions: How Human Love, If Misaligned, Can Block Gods Will-What Feels Right Isn’t Always Righteous.

Human love, when misaligned, can speak with the devil’s voice and not even know it.

Peter didn’t hate Jesus. He wasn’t trying to sabotage the cross. In fact, his words were fueled by deep love and loyalty. But in one of the most shocking moments in the Gospels, Jesus turned to him and said, “Get behind Me, Satan.” Why? Because Peter—driven by human concern and carnal reasoning—unknowingly spoke from a spirit that opposed God’s plan. This message isn’t just about Peter. It’s about us. About how our logic, emotions, and even protective prayers can become spiritual interference when they aren’t aligned with the will of God. If it could happen to Peter, it could happen to anyone. And if we’re not discerning, we may be helping the enemy delay what God is trying to do—while thinking we’re doing the right thing.

No one imagines becoming a hindrance to Jesus—especially not someone who genuinely loves Him, abides in His Word, wakes up in worship, and walks in praise throughout the day. The thought seems unthinkable. Yet Scripture reveals that it’s not only possible, it happened—and not to a Pharisee or stranger, but to one of Jesus’ closest disciples. Peter, the same man who walked on water, confessed Jesus as the Christ, and became a pillar of the early Church, was rebuked by Jesus with the most jarring words in Matthew 16:23:

“Get behind me, Satan! You are a hindrance to me.”

That statement should shake every believer to the core. Because if it could happen to Peter, it can happen to us. And if we’re not spiritually alert, it probably does happen to us—often—without us even realizing it.

The scene is critical. Jesus had just begun revealing His purpose to the disciples—that He must suffer, be rejected, killed, and rise again on the third day. He wasn’t just speaking in riddles—He was declaring, clearly and prophetically, what was about to unfold. This was the divine mission.

It’s possible to love someone so much you interfere with God’s will for them.

But Peter, overcome with emotion and human reasoning, pulls Jesus aside and rebukes Him. Think about that. Peter rebuked the Word made flesh. His intentions may have seemed noble—he didn’t want Jesus to suffer. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing Him. But in that moment, Peter placed his love, fear, and preferences above the plan of God. And Jesus didn’t tolerate it. He immediately confronted Peter’s mindset and exposed its source:

“You are not thinking about God’s concerns but human concerns.”

That’s where this moment becomes so convicting. Jesus wasn’t calling Peter evil, but He was exposing how human logic and emotional reasoning can be hijacked by the enemy if we aren’t aligned with God’s will. Peter loved Jesus. He wasn’t malicious. But his thoughts were rooted in fleshly concern, not spiritual discernment.

That’s what made him a hindrance—and it’s the same trap we fall into today. We resist hard things. We protect our comfort. We speak from fear. And when we do, we may unknowingly stand in the way of the cross God is asking us—or others—to carry.

So what are these “human concerns” that Jesus warned about?

First, there’s the obsession with comfort and safety. Like Peter, we often don’t want ourselves—or our loved ones—to go through anything painful, so we oppose hardship instead of asking God what He’s doing through it. We rebuke what makes us uncomfortable rather than embracing the refining work of suffering. Then there’s the fear of loss. Peter didn’t want to lose Jesus, and we do the same—we cling to relationships, status, routines, or even ministries that God may be asking us to release.

Fear makes us hold tighter when God may be calling us to let go.

Another concern is personal agenda. Peter envisioned Jesus as a reigning king, not a dying servant. His expectations didn’t match the path of sacrifice Jesus laid out. Similarly, we often want God to bless our timeline, our vision, and our idea of success.

When He moves differently, we resist Him—because He’s not doing what we hoped. That leads us to another danger: protective love that becomes control. Sometimes we love someone so much that we try to shield them from God's will. A parent might discourage a child from going into ministry. A spouse might hold their partner back from obedience.

Our love turns into fear-based control, 
and we start playing God without realizing it.

Not everything compassionate is Christlike—some comfort leads to compromise.

Also deeply embedded in human concern is the rejection of the cross, meaning "our" cross. Peter could not accept that Jesus would die. In the same way, we don’t like when God calls us to die to ourselves, to pick up our own crosses, or to walk hard roads. We want resurrection power—but we shy away from crucifixion. The modern church often teaches victory without sacrifice, but Jesus says plainly that anyone who wants to follow Him must deny themselves and carry their cross. That’s not optional. When we resist the cross, we resist Him.

Then there’s our desire to avoid offense or conflict. Peter likely didn’t want anyone to suffer—not Jesus, not himself, not the others. We too shy away from hard conversations or controversial stands because we want to preserve peace. But a peace that compromises truth is not peace at all—it’s avoidance.

Lastly, we trust in earthly wisdom. Peter thought he knew better. His logic didn’t include a crucified Savior. And neither does ours, sometimes. We make decisions based on safety, predictability, or public opinion rather than prayer, revelation, and the Word.

The sobering truth is this: Satan will gladly use our good intentions, our love, our logic, and our protective instincts if they stand in the way of God's plan. He doesn't always come with horns and hatred. Sometimes he comes disguised as comfort, caution, or even compassion. That’s why Jesus was so blunt. He didn’t rebuke Peter for his love, but for the source of his thinking. And He called it what it was: satanic opposition to the will of God.

This moment wasn’t the end for Peter, though. He was later restored, refined, and empowered. He became a cornerstone of the Church and preached with boldness on Pentecost. But it only happened after he surrendered his logic and aligned himself with the Spirit. That’s our hope too. We may stumble, we may unknowingly resist, but Jesus will confront us—sometimes sharply, even painfully—not to shame us, but because He loves us too much to let us stand in the way of what God is doing. He corrects, even with force, to realign us, not to reject us.

This moment in Scripture is an invitation—a call to examine where we may be operating from human concern rather than divine alignment. Where we might be offering advice, prayers, or decisions not from the Spirit, but from fear, familiarity, or comfort. And sometimes, from logic. But here’s the sobering truth: nothing about God’s ways is logical by human standards. His will is revealed, not reasoned. And in this passage, Jesus is not only confronting Peter—He’s showing us something even more alarming: that human concern, when elevated above God’s will, can actually be satanic in origin. 

Satan doesn’t need hate to work—he just needs your "love" to oppose Gods truth and plan.

It doesn't have to look evil to be dangerous. In fact, that’s what makes it so deceptive. Satan is called an angel of light (2 Corinthians 11:14)—he doesn't come wearing horns, he comes dressed in what feels compassionate, sensible, even loving. So if you’re caught up in emotion and leaning on logic, you're already positioned for deception. You might sound protective, passionate, or well-meaning—but if you're not Spirit-led, you're vulnerable to becoming a mouthpiece for the enemy without realizing it. That’s why Jesus didn’t sugarcoat His response to Peter. He recognized the source, and He severed it immediately.

2 Corinthians 11:14 (ESV) says:

“And no wonder, for even Satan disguises himself as an angel of light.”

This verse is Paul’s warning to the Corinthian church that deception doesn’t always come dressed in darkness. Satan doesn’t always tempt with obvious evil—sometimes he comes through what looks wise, beautiful, or even godly. That’s what makes the deception so potent.

In Peter’s case, his concern for Jesus seemed full of love. But Jesus recognized the spirit behind the sentiment. Paul’s words in 2 Corinthians reinforce that same principle: just because something feels right, sounds compassionate, or appears noble—doesn’t mean it’s from God. Without spiritual discernment, we can be swayed by a voice that’s light-wrapped but hell-rooted.

Logic is born of the mind, shaped by sight and experience. Revelation, however, comes by the Spirit—beyond understanding, often beyond reason, and sometimes even in direct contradiction to what appears “wise” to the flesh. If you always agree with what makes sense, you’re probably not walking in the Spirit—you’re just following your own thoughts.

1 Corinthians 1:18 (ESV) says:

“For the word of the cross is folly to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God.”

This verse is a cornerstone for understanding the difference between logic and revelation. What seems foolish to the logical, carnal mind is divine wisdom in disguise. God’s plans don’t require your understanding; they require your obedience. Logic seeks control, but faith yields to the mystery of the Word of God, whether we understand it or not, its truth. That’s why the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved, it is the power of God (1 Corinthians 1:18).

We must be willing to let Jesus lead us—because His way, though it may defy logic, is the only path that leads to life. Human opinions are useless in the kingdom. They may stroke the ego, affirm the flesh, or echo what we want to hear, but they carry no eternal weight. That’s why it’s vital to be Spirit-led, Spirit-filled, and Spirit-surrounded. Surround yourself not with logical voices that simply agree with you or make you feel safe, but with those who honor the Spirit over their own opinion.

True kingdom people will challenge what feels right if it contradicts what is right in the Spirit. They’re not afraid to defy the world’s standards—even their comfort—to walk in alignment with God.

If “I” is your favorite word, you might be building your brand, not God’s Kingdom.

Success is not always a sign of God’s blessing. Satan’s subtleties are rarely crude. He won’t come waving a pitchfork—he’ll come with open doors, applause, growth charts, and opportunities you prayed for. One “yes” after another, and you feel favored. Promoted. Called.

The devil won’t tempt you with sin if he can trap you with success.

But if you never stop to test the source, you may find that what you thought was God’s favor was the enemy’s trap. Satan will fuel your climb if he knows it will cause you to forget your altar, neglect your marriage, and despise your children. He’ll make your platform big enough to echo, but empty enough to destroy you from within. God does not measure success the way man does. He doesn’t count numbers, likes, checks, or influence—He weighs obedience, surrender, and faithfulness in the unseen. So pause. Step back. Ask: “Is this really from You, Lord? Or have I just grown addicted to momentum and applause?”

Because the devil won’t always tempt you with sin—he’ll tempt you with success that keeps you too busy to hear God say “Stop.” He’ll use open doors, praise, and momentum to lead you right out of your calling. And the terrifying thing? You might not even realize it—until your soul is dry, your home is fractured, and the presence you once cherished feels like a memory.

Selfies won’t save you—only surrender will.

If your life revolves around selfies, spotlight, and storytelling that always begins and ends with “I”—I did this, I built that, I overcame, I crushed it, I’m thriving—then you’ve already stepped onto dangerous ground. Because when your voice gets louder than God’s, you're no longer influencing for the Kingdom—you’re building your own. The enemy doesn’t mind your achievements if they keep you distracted.

But even then, even in your exhaustion, your pride, or your regret—if you’ll drop the trophies, silence the noise, and fall back at His feet—Jesus will restore what you lost chasing the wrong crown. He’s not after your platform. He’s after your heart.

According to Scripture, God defines success very differently from how the world does. True success in His eyes is rooted in obedience, faithfulness, humility, and spiritual fruitfulness—not in popularity, wealth, or outward achievement. What pleases Jesus most is a heart that hears God’s voice and obeys it, even when it costs something. In 1 Samuel 15:22, God makes it clear:

“To obey is better than sacrifice.”

He values surrender more than performance. In Matthew 25:21, Jesus commends the “good and faithful servant,” not the most productive or impressive one—because faithfulness in the hidden places matters more than influence in the public ones. James 4:6 tells us that God resists the proud but gives grace to the humble, showing that it’s not the elevated or celebrated who please Him, but those who lower themselves to exalt Him.

In John 15:8, Jesus explains that bearing fruit—evidence of a life led by the Spirit—is what glorifies the Father and proves we are truly His disciples. And perhaps most sobering is Matthew 7:21, where Jesus warns that not everyone who calls Him “Lord” will enter the Kingdom, but only those who do the will of His Father. That’s the dividing line: not passion, not emotion, not good intentions—but alignment with God’s will. Peter didn’t lack love—he lacked spiritual discernment. And that same trap waits for us when we place human logic, protective affection, or personal ambition above surrender.

What pleased Jesus most in the Gospels were not grand accomplishments or emotional declarations, but moments of quiet, unwavering faith—like the centurion who trusted His word without proof, and the woman who poured out worship at His feet. These weren’t acts of performance; they were postures of humility. In the end, success in God’s Kingdom is not about how loudly we speak, how high we climb, or how good our intentions are—it’s about how fully we obey.

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