Big God, Little Devil: A Radical Shift in the Approach to Spiritual Warfare and Deliverance reveals how many modern approaches to deliverance unintentionally magnify the devil instead of God, turning ministry into anxiety and spectacle. Dr. Sean Tobin flips the perspective, offering a Christ-centered vision grounded in love, healing, and communion with the Church. In this “big God, little devil” worldview, deliverance is not a dramatic showdown but a grace-filled way of life—where even the enemy’s attacks become openings for deeper freedom and union with Christ. In this summary, I’ve reordered and synthesized the book around my two favorite themes: healing the whole person (Acts 3) and spiritual warfare (Ephesians 6).
1st — Walking, Leaping, and Praising—Healing the Whole Person (Acts 3)
Introduction — Jesus’s Pattern: Healing the Whole Person — Jesus never separated deliverance from healing; He always restored the whole person—body, soul, and spirit. “May the God of peace himself sanctify you completely, and may your whole spirit and soul and body be kept blameless at the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ” (1 Thessalonians 5:23). The paralytic walked, the demoniac was clothed and restored to community, and the crippled man at the Beautiful Gate rose, walked, and entered the temple “walking and leaping and praising God” (Acts 3:8). These movements—walking, leaping, and praising—reveal the divine pattern of integrated healing: bodily restoration, emotional renewal, and spiritual communion. This echoes the Exodus journey—out of Egypt (freedom of the body), through the wilderness (formation of the soul), and into the Promised Land (union of the spirit). The goal is never merely to expel darkness but to fill every part of the person with divine light. While the enemy constantly seeks diabolical fragmentation—spirit from body, thought from feeling, person from person—God seeks divine integration, for “He came to reconcile all things, whether on earth or in heaven, making peace by the blood of His Cross” (Col 1:20). Where evil isolates and disembodies, Christ reconciles and restores.
1. Walking: Restoration of the Body (Freedom from Egypt) — Healing begins in the body, because personhood begins there. Before we can think or speak, we learn identity through touch, presence, and trust. That’s why the enemy attacks the body—through trauma, addiction, and shame—trying to fracture what God made sacred. But Christ begins where the enemy ends, indwelling the body and sanctifying it as a temple of the Holy Spirit (1 Cor 6:19). God designed them with a “window of tolerance,” a zone of peace where the nervous system is regulated and the soul is receptive to grace. Outside that window—whether in anxious hyperarousal or numb hypoarousal—the enemy exploits vulnerability, feeding fear or isolation. Jesus reverses this pattern: He calms before He casts out, restoring safety before revelation. True warfare begins not by shouting at darkness but by grounding ourselves in God’s presence—through breath, stillness, and sacramental awareness. Deliverance is not escape from the body but its sanctification, as Christ restores what Egypt enslaved and fills every part with His light.
2. Leaping: Renewal of the Soul (Through the Wilderness) — Spiritual attack often pulls us upward into fear and overthinking (fight-or-flight), but the Spirit moves downward, grounding us in peace (rest and restore). Healing, then, does not come from mental mastery but from receiving the Spirit’s descent into the real, embodied places of pain. When we slow our breathing, feel our feet on the ground, or pray through the rhythm of the Rosary or our heartbeat, we interrupt fear’s cycle and create space for communion. The breath becomes prayer, the body becomes temple, the nervous system becomes the tabernacle of peace. In this downward movement, we also learn emotional integration: feelings are not enemies to cast out but messengers revealing our interpretations of reality. Emotions and memories, rather than enemies, become invitations for encounter, as we bring them to Jesus for reinterpretation: “When we invite Jesus into our painful past, we’re not performing a technique—we’re initiating relationship” (158). The goal isn’t to erase pain but to transform it—moving from abandonment to accompaniment, from striving to rest, until our souls, like a child with its mother (Ps 131:2), dwell in quiet trust.
3. Praising: Communion of the Spirit (Into the Promised Land) — At the Beautiful Gate, Peter doesn’t merely command healing—he extends his hand: “In the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, rise up and walk” (Acts 3:6). Then he lifts. That’s resurrection: not just casting out darkness, but raising people into life. The man stands, walks, and then leaps—body, soul, and spirit restored. His healing unfolds in movement: walking (freedom), leaping (joy), and praising (communion). Deliverance reaches its goal not when torment ends, but when worship begins: “The culmination of healing is to worship without fear, to be gathered into divine communion, to be restored before the eyes of all. It isn’t just about being free from oppression; it’s about being free for adoration” (160). Here, Tobin recommends practices like lectio divina, Eucharistic adoration, Sabbath rest, praise and worship music—aimed at communal worship where we walk, leap, and praise together in the Body of Christ.
Conclusion — From Survival to Resurrection — Jesus does more than drive out demons—He raises sons and daughters. From the boy in Mark 9 to Lazarus to the man at the Beautiful Gate, He takes them by the hand and lifts. Deliverance isn’t a moment but a movement: from paralysis to presence, from survival to praise, from fractured to filled. The Christian life is resurrection—and resurrection begins with touch, with walking, leaping, and praising. Where are you on the journey? Have you begun to walk but feel stuck? Leapt once in joy but lost the rhythm of praise? Praised but avoided the deep healing of body or heart? God wants to meet you in it all—not just to deliver you from something, but to raise you into Someone. The path remains the same: out of Egypt (freedom in the body), through the wilderness (healing in the soul), and into the Promised Land (communion in the spirit). He still says, “Rise, take up your mat, and walk.” You were not saved only from darkness—you were saved for glory. Deliverance is not subtraction but saturation—the fullness of Christ filling every part of you until the Kingdom advances through your very life.
2nd — The Armor of God: Standing in a Victory Already Won (Ephesians 6)
Introduction — Paul opens spiritual warfare not with panic but with placement: “Be strong in the Lord and in the strength of his power” (Eph 6:10) because our real contest is against “spiritual forces of evil” (Eph 6:12). In the Catholic tradition (Augustine, Aquinas), evil isn’t a rival substance to Good; it’s a privation—the absence of God’s order, beauty, and love. This understanding radically shifts our approach to spiritual warfare. If evil is privation, then the solution is not resistance but fulfillment. And demons? They are parasites. They feed on emptiness. They cannot occupy what is already filled with the presence of God, which is why the best way to protect yourself against evil is to not obsess over the darkness—rather to be so full of light that darkness has no place to hide. Dr. Tobin calls this Kingdom physics: the introduction of a greater substance displaces the lesser. When love enters, fear must leave; when light shines, darkness cannot remain. Perfect love doesn’t fight fear—it simply drives it out (1 John 4:18). “Greater is He who is in you than he who is in the world” (1 John 4:4).
Christ Our Armor — Scripture’s twin commands—“Put on the full armor of God” (Eph 6:11) and “Put on the Lord Jesus Christ” (Rom 13:14)—reveal one reality: the armor is Christ Himself. All the armor Paul lists—truth, righteousness, peace, salvation, faith, and the Word—are not weapons we grasp in crisis but elements of Jesus’ own life clothing us from within. Our authority comes from being in Jesus — “Behold, I have given you authority…over all the power of the enemy” (Luke 10:19). Note that this authority was given, not earned. God didn’t base the authority on the disciples’ performance, maturity, or sinlessness, but solely on their relationship with Christ. The same is true for us. Our authority flows from Christ, not from our performance. Jesus said, “I have given you authority…over all the power of the enemy” (Luke 10:19). Given, not earned. We are “seated with Him in the heavenly places” (Eph 2:6), and from that placement we enforce—not achieve—victory He already secured. The enemy attacks wherever we doubt our identity, because he knows our authority springs from our sonship. But Jesus shows us the way: His deliverance ministry was marked not by fear or theatrics but by composure, confidence, and communion with the Father. He didn’t merely resist darkness; He advanced against it. His entire life was an invasion of enemy territory, and He invites us to walk the same path. Scripture does not picture believers as victims holding the line—it calls us coheirs who enforce Christ’s triumph: “The God of peace will soon crush Satan under your feet” (Rom 16:20). Practicing God’s presence isn’t optional or decorative—it’s warfare. Spiritual warfare is not fundamentally about knowing the right methods but about knowing the right Person. We don’t fight for victory; we fight from it. We stand not on our strength but on our placement in Christ. We don’t gain authority by effort; we receive it through union. And as that union deepens, confidence grows, because we remember the ancient truth: “The battle belongs to the Lord” (1 Sam 17:47).
Each Piece, One Person — Every piece of the armor reveals not a tool but a Person: the Belt of Truth steadies us because Christ is Truth; the Breastplate of Righteousness guards our heart because Christ is our righteousness; the Shoes of Peace give traction because Christ is our peace; the Helmet of Salvation protects our mind because Christ is our salvation; the Sword of the Spirit cuts through lies because Christ is the Word; and the Shield of Faith covers us not because our belief is perfect, but because His faithfulness surrounds us (Ps 91). The armor works because Jesus wears it in us. We don’t stand on techniques—we stand in a Person. Deliverance is not begging God to remove the enemy but enforcing the victory Jesus already won (Lk 10:19). This is why Scripture never calls us to become spiritual detectives, endlessly tracking curses or studying the enemy. We expose darkness not by staring into it, but by walking in the light (Eph 5:11). Jesus trained His disciples not to analyze deception but to abide so deeply in the Father that lies became instantly recognizable—just as counterfeit currency is detected by knowing the real. Even when the seventy-two rejoiced that demons obeyed them, Jesus redirected their focus: “Rejoice that your names are written in heaven” (Lk 10:20). Deliverance is not about being impressed with power; it is about being anchored in identity.
Not Alone: The Armor in Community — Spiritual warfare is never solo combat; Paul’s commands are plural because Christians advance as one Body under one Head, like Roman soldiers locking shields. The Rite of Exorcism reveals this truth—it is not a private duel but a sacred drama where Heaven and Earth meet, as the Church gathers like a family around her wounded member. The exorcist does not merely imitate Christ but embodies His mission to “destroy the works of the devil” (1 Jn 3:8), acting in the name and authority of Jesus while the praying community surrounds in faith. What seems a battle between one priest and a demon is really the collision between isolated darkness and communal light. We fight not as isolated servants striving for approval, but as sons and daughters who already belong to the Father—heirs who inherit authority rather than earn it (Rom 8:15). Childlikeness is not sentimental; it is strategic, for it bypasses the enemy’s weapons of fear, pride, and self-reliance. St. Thérèse revealed that the soul in grace need not fear the devil, who flees even from the gaze of a child. Her “little way” of simplicity, dependence, and wonder shows that holiness is received more than achieved, and that in the battle we are not climbing toward God so much as being lifted by Him. This lifting happens most powerfully in community, where we learn trust by being held, healed by being known, and strengthened when another believer raises their shield beside ours. The Church becomes the family of restoration, the living embodiment of the Father’s embrace, where authority flows not from force but from communion. In this posture, we stop fighting with our own strength and rediscover the joy that terrifies the enemy, for as Tobin writes, “In the natural battles, we take up arms. In spiritual ones, we’re taken up into His.”
The Hidden Layer: Praise — Beneath every piece lies the forgotten foundation: the garment of praise (Is 61:3). Praise doesn’t come after victory; praise establishes it. It anchors the heart in wonder, turns despair into confidence, and clothes us with a Presence the enemy cannot imitate or withstand. While the armor equips us for battle, praise positions us inside the Victor. Worship aligns us with heaven’s order—submit to God, then resist the devil (Jas 4:7)—and the enemy’s accusations fall silent (Ps 8:2). Scripture’s rhythm is consistent: singers before soldiers, praise before breakthrough (2 Chr 20; Acts 16; Jos 6). The Mass, the Church’s highest praise, ushers us into the heavenly liturgy where Christ’s victory is not recalled but made present (Heb 12:22; CCC 1324). Praise reframes every battle from fear to faith: we stop telling God how big the storm is and start telling the storm how big our God is. As the Catechism teaches, “Praise… recognizes most immediately that God is God… and carries every other form of prayer toward Him who is its source and goal” (CCC 2639). When we choose praise, we’re not escaping the battle—we’re stepping onto the ground where victory is already waiting.
The Enemy: Our Reluctant Sparring Partner — In the spiritual life, the enemy—though opposed to God’s purposes—often becomes an unwitting instrument of our formation: he keeps his distance, loosing accusations and deceptions like arrows from behind battlements precisely because he knows he is already defeated; the shield of faith not only blocks these arrows, it emboldens us to advance. And if an arrow slips through—fear, accusation, doubt—receive it as an invitation, not a condemnation: it exposes where God is refining belief, healing a wound, or strengthening identity. The questions shift from “What did I do wrong?” to “Lord, what are You refining, revealing, or drawing out of me?”; from “Why is this happening to me?” to “Where is God transforming me?”—moving us from reacting in fear to responding in faith. Every hit becomes a divine diagnostic that turns warfare from desperate defense into purposeful partnership with God’s sanctifying work. And remember the paradox: the enemy doesn’t waste ammunition on territory he already controls; he fights hardest where he feels most threatened—so resistance after obedience is rarely a warning and usually confirmation that you’re advancing exactly where God wants you. Here is the beauty of battle: what was meant to break you becomes the ground where God builds you; the enemy whispers, “You’re under attack,” but the Father declares, “You’re under construction.” You do not emerge diminished but radiant, for what the enemy intends for evil God turns to glory. The devil never gets the final word; at most, he becomes the unwilling servant of your transformation—so when fear or darkness presses in, don’t panic; pause, realign your heart, and ask not “What is the devil doing?” but “What is God revealing?”
Mary: Your Mother in the Battle — Exorcists worldwide testify that Mary’s presence carries immense authority in spiritual warfare because she is perfectly united to Him. Demons fear her purity, humility, and the radiance of the One they rejected. From the first promise in Genesis 3:15 to Jesus’s words on the Cross—“Behold, your mother!” (Jn 19:27)—Mary stands as a mother who disarms fear, silences accusation, and restores trust. As the Immaculate Conception, she simply stands—calm, surrendered, maternal—between the enemy and her child, shielding, covering, and reminding us who we are beneath her loving mantle. Yet she does something deeper: she heals attachment. At the Cross, Jesus gave her to John amid trauma, providing a secure base when everything familiar collapsed. Likewise, in our moments of confusion, fear, or shame, Mary re-anchors us. Her tenderness lowers defenses so that hidden wounds can surface and be healed, fulfilling Simeon’s prophecy that “the secret thoughts of many may be laid bare” (Lk 2:35). Her motherhood is not escape from battle—it is the gentle strength that forms us into children who trust the Father.
The Armor as a Way of Life — The armor is not a crisis kit but the everyday clothing of a disciple. It shapes how we live: abiding in truth, walking in righteousness, moving in peace, trusting with faith, thinking with salvation, speaking by the Spirit. This is not striving for God’s approval but standing in the triumph Christ has already won (Col 2:15). Our stance becomes amazement rather than anxiety, confidence rather than scrambling. In the Kingdom, authority flows from worship—from hearts anchored in the Father, clothed in the Son, and empowered by the Spirit.
Review
This book really changed how I see spiritual warfare. It’s a radical shift from fear to faith, from obsessing over the enemy to fixing our eyes on the greatness of God. I loved how the author keeps Jesus at the center—his stories of real deliverance and deep healing from his own ministry were powerful and moving. Honestly, I did find the book a bit scattered and in need of clearer structure, but the insights are so rich it’s worth the effort. Overall, it’s a book I’d highly recommend for anyone who wants to approach deliverance not with panic, but with peace, confidence, and awe at how big our God really is.
Prodigal Catholic 
Thanks a lot. Be blessed Reverend….