The Shield of Faith: Holding Steady Under Fire

“Take up the shield of faith, with which you can extinguish all the flaming arrows of the evil one.”— Ephesians 6:16

I’ll never forget the moment a directee sat across from me, shoulders slumped and voice barely audible, and whispered, “I think I’m losing my faith.”

He had been a pastor for over a decade. From behind the pulpit, he preached a sure word. But in the safety of this space, he confessed an inner emptiness unwelcome in the hallowed halls of his church.

He wasn't in crisis because of a scandal or a theological argument. This crisis was quieter and more dangerous—gradual erosion. Years of prayer seemed to go unanswered. The ache of disappointment had calcified. They felt God’s silence more than His presence. And yet, they were there. Still showing up. Still hoping something could be redeemed.

That’s when I remembered this passage. Faith isn’t about certainty. It’s about steadiness. A kind of defiant rootedness when life is most unsteady.

The Shield as a Metaphor

Paul’s image of the “shield of faith” in Ephesians 6 is not decorative—it’s defensive. The Roman shield he references (the scutum) was large enough to cover the whole body, often layered with leather and soaked in water to extinguish fiery darts. It wasn’t flashy. It was functional.

Faith, in this sense, is not a vague spiritual optimism. It’s not crossing your fingers and hoping everything will work out. Faith is a practiced, embodied trust in the character of God. A trust that can hold even when your circumstances don’t make sense. It’s a skill, a posture, a way of standing your ground when the arrows start flying.

All God's Armor

What often gets overlooked in the Armor of God passage is that the armor isn’t ours to begin with. Paul didn’t invent these metaphors. He’s borrowing from the Old Testament, where this armor belongs to God Himself.

In Isaiah 59:17, God is described as a divine warrior who “put on righteousness as a breastplate, and a helmet of salvation on His head.” In Psalm 91:4, His faithfulness is described as a “shield and rampart.” The implication is startling: we are not inventing spiritual resources from scratch—we are clothed in God’s own equipment.

This armor is not a motivational metaphor. It is God’s presence made wearable.

That means faith is not something you manufacture under pressure. It is something you take up, like armor handed to you by Someone stronger.

Faith in Formation

As a spiritual director, I often accompany people who are trying to make sense of their lives in God. They’re not looking for clichés or cold comfort. They’re looking for something real to stand on. And faith, as I’ve come to understand it, is not primarily about intellectual assent. It is about relational trust.

It’s the difference between believing a chair can hold you and actually sitting in it.

Faith is forged in formation. It’s not built in a moment of inspiration or a spark of willpower, but through consistent exposure to the reality of God—especially when the evidence feels scarce. That’s why the shield metaphor works: formation is slow, layered, and often unseen. The Spirit tends to shape us through repetition, silence, prayer, community, Scripture, and wrestling with God in the dark. And like any good armor, it’s fitted over time.

Flaming Arrows and Inner Battles

Paul doesn’t say “if” the flaming arrows come. He says “when.” These arrows take many forms: shame, doubt, accusation, comparison, fear, distraction. They often appear at our most vulnerable moments, and they come not just from “the evil one” but from internalized scripts we’ve carried for years.

In my own life, I’ve faced these arrows most intensely when I am weary—when I am giving more than I’m receiving, when I feel unseen, or when I start wondering if this slow work of formation is actually making any difference. These moments are when my eyes are distracted by my own ego or blinded by pain; these are when the enemy fired targeted darts at my vital organs.

But again and again, I’ve found that when I lift the shield of faith—often in trembling hands—I experience a strange steadiness. A quiet defiance. It doesn’t always remove the arrows, but it stops them from piercing me. Faith doesn’t promise comfort. It promises cover.

A Story from the Chair

One of the most sacred moments I’ve experienced as a spiritual director happened in a session with someone who had been through severe trauma. They were angry with God. Rightfully so. Their words were sharp, raw, even accusatory. And yet, they prayed. They cried out to the God they weren’t sure they trusted anymore.

I sat in silence, tears in my eyes because I recognized what was happening: they were lifting the shield of faith. Not because they were certain—but because they were choosing, in their pain, to remain in the relationship. That is what mature faith looks like. It’s not slick. It’s honest. It’s not the absence of struggle—it’s the refusal to walk away.

That moment reminded me that faith doesn’t mean suppressing doubt. It means bringing our doubt into the presence of God. It means staying connected even when you’re unsure.

Faith Is Not a Fairy Tale

In our modern world, faith is often dismissed as irrational or naive—believing in fairy tales to make ourselves feel better. But biblical faith is not wishful thinking. It’s hard-won trust in the faithfulness of God.

Hebrews 11 doesn’t list people who had it easy. It lists people who endured—who acted, obeyed, resisted, and stayed faithful even when the promises seemed distant. They weren’t heroes because they were perfect. They were heroes because they held the line.

And let’s be honest: we live in a moment when it’s easier to deconstruct faith than to reconstruct or cultivate it. But discipleship is not about winning arguments. It’s about learning how to stand, covered by a shield that’s been tested in fire.

A Call to Join the Practice

If faith is a shield, then formation is the blacksmith’s forge. You don’t stumble into strong faith. You grow it. You train in it. You let it be shaped and reshaped by the Spirit in community, through practices, and with guides.

That’s where spiritual direction comes in. A spiritual director won’t fight your battles for you. But they will help you notice how God is present, even in the struggle. They will help you learn how to lift the shield, how to recognize the arrows, how to trust again.

At Fermata Ministries, we’re committed to that kind of soul-deep discipleship. If you find yourself weary or wondering if you still have the strength to lift your shield—don’t go it alone.

Let’s practice faith together. Let’s stand our ground.

Interested in spiritual direction? Reach out through Fermata Ministries. We’re here to help you hone the craft and skill of faith—because in the fire, formation matters.