The Unholy Trinity of Manipulation

There are some Bible studies where I close my notebook feeling encouraged, refreshed and spiritually moisturized.

Then there are the ones where I realize I have spent entirely too much time identifying what is wrong with everybody else while God is quietly circling things in me.

This was the second kind.

Because it is remarkably easy to recognize manipulation when I am the one being manipulated.

It is considerably harder to admit when the manipulation worked because it found something in me willing to cooperate with it.

Yeah.

I didn’t like that sentence either.

Yet lately I have been learning that I can acknowledge what someone did to me without pretending I had absolutely no participation in what happened next. I can recognize that someone influenced me without handing them ownership of every choice I made. I can name manipulation without using manipulation as an excuse to never examine myself.

Apparently God decided Monday morning was an excellent time for that conversation.

Cute.

Because the uncomfortable truth I keep coming back to is this:

The enemy can have influence without having the final choice.

Someone can lie to me. Pressure me. Manipulate me. Exploit something vulnerable in me. Make sin look reasonable. Make dysfunction look normal. Make control look like love. Make compromise sound biblical.

Still, eventually there comes a place where influence meets my agreement.

That does not absolve the person doing the manipulating. It does, however, force me to ask a question I would much rather ask about everybody else:

What in me made that influence effective?

That question is what took me into 1 Kings 21.

I thought I was studying Jezebel.

Turns out I needed to meet Ahab too.

Because somewhere between a king throwing a full-grown temper tantrum over somebody else’s vineyard and his wife essentially saying, “Oh, get up. I’ll handle it,” I started seeing something I hadn’t paid enough attention to before.

Jezebel was absolutely dangerous. Manipulative. Deceptive. Controlling. Ruthless. Spiritually corrupt.

But Jezebel’s toxicity did not operate by itself.

It found something in Ahab it could work with.

And suddenly this study stopped being about identifying Jezebels.

It became about understanding influence.

1 Kings 21 begins with something seemingly simple.

Ahab wants Naboth’s vineyard.

The vineyard is near Ahab’s palace, so Ahab offers Naboth either a better vineyard or money for it. Naboth refuses:

“The LORD forbid that I should give you the inheritance of my ancestors.” (1 Kings 21:3)

Naboth wasn’t simply being difficult.

This land was his ancestral inheritance. His refusal was tied to obedience and Israel’s covenant with God.

God’s standard said no.

Naboth said no.

Ahab heard no.

And apparently Ahab did not have “receiving no gracefully” listed among his spiritual gifts.

Verse 4 says Ahab went home “sullen and angry.” He laid on his bed, turned his face toward the wall and refused to eat.

Sir.

You are the king of Israel.

Please turn around.

It would be funny if what happens next weren’t so devastating.

Because before Jezebel ever enters the situation, Scripture shows me something about Ahab.

He wants something. He cannot have it. And he does not know how to steward the disappointment.

That matters.

Because when I cannot steward disappointment, I become vulnerable to anybody willing to tell me I shouldn’t have to.

That one found me.

There have been plenty of times when the most vulnerable version of me wasn’t necessarily broken me.

It was disappointed me.

Angry me.

Rejected me.

Lonely me.

Tired me.

The version of me who desperately wanted somebody to come along and say, “You’re right. You shouldn’t have to deal with this.”

Because sometimes I don’t actually want wisdom.

I want agreement.

Then Jezebel walks in.

She asks why Ahab is so upset, and he tells her about Naboth refusing to give him the vineyard.

Her response in verse 7 is fascinating:

“Is this how you act as king over Israel?”

Translation according to the Jazmin International Version:

Boy, ain’t you the KING?

There it is.

She doesn’t start with the vineyard.

She touches his identity.

You are the king.

You have power.

Who is Naboth to tell you no?

Why should someone else’s boundary keep you from getting what you want?

Then she tells him to get up, eat and cheer up because she will get Naboth’s vineyard for him.

Jezebel recognizes exactly where Ahab is vulnerable and exploits it.

And that is where I started understanding the difference between influence and manipulation.

Influence affects me.

Manipulation intentionally uses influence to move me toward someone else’s desired outcome.

Manipulation wants to know what I want, what I fear, where I am insecure, where I am wounded and what I desperately need to hear, then uses that information to move me.

Jezebel did not create everything wrong inside Ahab.

She learned how to work with what was already there.

Whew.

That has stayed with me because Jezebel’s toxic traits worked particularly well with Ahab.

Ahab was passive. Emotionally reactive. Indecisive. Entitled. Easily influenced. He wanted something that did not belong to him, and when he couldn’t get it, he retreated instead of dealing with himself.

Jezebel was almost the perfect toxic counterpart.

She was decisive. Dominant. Strategic. Controlling. Ruthless.

So when Ahab encountered a boundary he couldn’t overcome, Jezebel stepped into the space he surrendered.

And that is where this became personal for me.

Because sometimes what looks like an “Ahab” tendency didn’t begin as weakness.

Sometimes it began as survival.

If speaking up once made things worse, silence can start feeling safe.

If making decisions once brought punishment, letting somebody else decide can feel like protection.

If conflict once threatened connection, people-pleasing can feel like love.

If I spent enough time simply trying to survive, somebody walking into my life saying, “Don’t worry, I’ll handle it,” can feel like relief.

Until “I’ll handle it” slowly becomes “I’ll decide for you.”

Until their voice gets louder and mine gets quieter.

Until I stop asking myself what I think, what I want, what I discern or even what God has been showing me because it feels easier to trust somebody else’s certainty than wrestle with my own.

That is where survival can become dangerous.

What once taught me how to make it through can eventually teach me how to disappear inside somebody else’s influence.

I don’t want to shame the version of myself that learned how to survive.

I do have to confront what those survival mechanisms can make me susceptible to.

Because what protected me in one season can make me vulnerable in another.

Passivity can attract control.

Insecurity can make flattery intoxicating.

Fear of abandonment can make manipulation look like affection.

Indecision can make domination look like leadership.

Exhaustion can make somebody controlling everything feel like somebody finally caring.

And suddenly I am calling something safe simply because I don’t have to make the decisions anymore.

That is not always safety.

Sometimes that is just Ahab finding Jezebel.

The more I studied 1 Kings 21, the more I saw five characteristics operating together in Jezebel: manipulation, deception, ruthlessness, control and spiritual corruption.

First, manipulation.

Jezebel recognizes Ahab’s emotional state and uses it. She knows exactly where to press.

Then comes deception.

She writes letters in Ahab’s name and seals them with his seal.

She uses his identity and his authority without hesitation.

She doesn’t just lie. She creates an entire false reality and gives it credibility by attaching Ahab’s name to it.

Then ruthlessness.

Naboth’s humanity becomes irrelevant because he stands between her and the desired outcome.

That is terrifying to me because ruthlessness doesn’t always look like throwing literal stones.

Sometimes people bleed without blood ever touching the floor.

I can throw words. Reputations. Trust. Relationships. Secrets. Someone’s vulnerability.

When getting what I want becomes more important than how somebody else is affected, I need to pay attention.

Then there is control.

Jezebel disregards God’s law because God’s order interferes with her desired outcome.

She does not ask whether Ahab should have the vineyard.

She decides he will.

Control does not always say, “There is no God.”

Sometimes control says, “I know what God said. I just know how this needs to turn out.”

That one stung a little.

Then comes the characteristic that disturbed me most.

Spiritual corruption.

Jezebel calls a fast.

A whole fast.

She takes something intended to be sacred and uses it as part of a scheme built on deception.

She arranges for two false witnesses to accuse Naboth of cursing God and the king. Naboth is taken outside the city and stoned to death.

Jezebel didn’t simply commit evil.

She dressed evil in religious clothing.

And that is where I had to stop pointing at Jezebel.

Because I know something about using God-language to make myself more comfortable with something God never approved.

“God knows my heart.”

Oh, He absolutely does.

That phrase used to comfort me considerably more before I realized what I was actually saying.

There were seasons when I drank too much.

Used drugs.

Made destructive decisions.

Did things I am not proud of.

And somehow I could still find enough spiritual vocabulary to pacify myself.

“God knows my heart.”

“I’m still praying.”

“Me and God have our own relationship.”

“God understands.”

Technically?

True.

Also not the defense I thought it was.

Because yes.

God knew my heart.

That was part of the problem.

There were times I prayed while already knowing what I intended to do after saying amen.

Times I called something grace when what I really wanted was permission.

Times I used the goodness of God to make myself more comfortable with behavior I knew did not honor Him.

I wasn’t always rejecting God.

Sometimes I was using my understanding of God to pacify myself while disobeying Him.

I am not proud of that.

I am also no longer interested in pretending it didn’t happen.

Because I am learning that one of the first steps of deliverance is being delivered from deception.

Sometimes I need God to free me from the lie before I can even recognize what the lie has allowed to keep me bound.

Ignorance is expensive.

Whatever area I remain ignorant in becomes an area where I can be under influence and not even know it.

One thing that has completely changed the way I study Scripture is paying attention to what is often called the law of first mention.

I don’t treat it like some rigid formula where the first appearance of something determines everything the Bible will ever say about it. Scripture deserves more careful study than that.

Still, seeing how an idea first appears can give me a framework for watching that theme develop throughout Scripture.

So when I started thinking about influence, I went backward.

Way backward.

Genesis 3.

The serpent.

Eve.

The fruit.

And something became painfully obvious.

The serpent never made Eve eat.

He talked.

“Did God really say…?”

He questioned. Distorted. Suggested. Reframed.

The serpent influenced Eve’s perception of God before influencing her decision about the fruit.

Because if I can be convinced that God’s character is questionable, His instructions suddenly become negotiable.

The serpent essentially suggests that God is withholding something good.

Suddenly disobedience doesn’t look like rebellion.

It looks like liberation.

That is manipulation.

Yet the serpent never picks the fruit.

Eve does.

Adam eats too.

The enemy provided influence.

Humanity provided agreement.

That realization has messed with me because there have been portions of my life where I wanted to say:

“The enemy made me…”

No.

The enemy influenced me.

Temptation influenced me.

Alcohol influenced me.

Drugs influenced me.

People influenced me.

Trauma influenced me.

Loneliness influenced me.

Anger influenced me.

Fear influenced me.

My environment influenced me.

My wounds influenced me.

Those influences were real.

Some were incredibly powerful. Some found me when I was vulnerable. Some deliberately exploited vulnerability. Some came through things I had not healed from yet.

I can acknowledge every bit of that without pretending I had no choices left.

The influence was not always mine.

The choice eventually was.

And that realization is not condemnation.

It is responsibility.

More importantly, it means I am not powerless.

Naturally, this made me think about The Lion King because apparently Disney has been providing supplemental theology courses my entire life.

Scar is a master manipulator.

Yet Scar doesn’t overpower Simba.

He influences what Simba believes.

After Mufasa dies, Simba is traumatized, terrified and drowning in guilt.

Scar approaches him at probably the most vulnerable moment of his life.

Then Scar gives Simba an interpretation of what just happened.

This is your fault.

What will your mother think?

Then comes the solution:

Run away.

Scar doesn’t drag Simba out of Pride Rock.

Simba runs.

Because manipulation is most effective when I become convinced that the manipulator’s desired outcome is actually my best decision.

That’ll preach.

Scar didn’t create Simba’s grief.

He exploited it.

He didn’t create the trauma.

He gave the trauma a false explanation.

He did not need to physically control Simba once he controlled the story Simba believed.

That is what deception does.

And the moment Simba eventually learns the truth, Scar’s influence begins losing its power.

Scar hasn’t changed.

Simba’s understanding has.

There it is again.

Deliverance from deception.

Sometimes getting free isn’t only about getting away from the person manipulating me.

Sometimes getting free means discovering what I believed while I was under their influence.

This might be the most convicting part of 1 Kings 21 for me.

After Naboth is killed, Jezebel tells Ahab:

“Get up and take possession of the vineyard of Naboth the Jezreelite that he refused to sell you. He is no longer alive, but dead.” (1 Kings 21:15)

Then verse 16 says Ahab gets up and goes to take possession of it.

He walked into the vineyard.

Jezebel manipulated.

Jezebel deceived.

Jezebel forged the letters.

Jezebel used his seal.

Jezebel arranged the false witnesses.

Jezebel orchestrated the circumstances that resulted in Naboth’s death.

Ahab still walked into the vineyard.

And God held him accountable.

Elijah confronts Ahab in verse 19:

“Have you not murdered a man and seized his property?”

Excuse me, Elijah.

Technically…

Ahab didn’t throw the stones.

Apparently heaven was not interested in technicalities.

Ahab benefited from what was done.

He accepted the vineyard.

He allowed someone else to do the dirty work and then enjoyed the result.

His passivity did not erase his responsibility.

Then 1 Kings 21:25 brings the entire thing together:

“There was never anyone like Ahab, who sold himself to do evil in the eyes of the LORD, urged on by Jezebel his wife.”

Urged on.

Influenced.

Scripture acknowledges Jezebel’s influence.

It does not erase Ahab’s choice.

Look at the other words.

Ahab “sold himself.”

Jezebel influenced.

Ahab participated.

Both things can be true.

Someone can have genuinely manipulated me, and I can still need to examine my choices.

Someone can have exploited my vulnerability, and I can still need God to heal what made that influence so powerful.

Someone else can be wrong without automatically making everything I did in response right.

Whew.

Because apparently there are no plea deals available in this Bible study.

Ephesians 5:18 says:

“Do not get drunk on wine, which leads to debauchery. Instead, be filled with the Spirit.”

That verse reads differently to me now.

Because being drunk is literally being under the influence of something.

Paul contrasts that with being filled with the Spirit.

And I am realizing there is never really a moment in my life when nothing is influencing me.

Something is shaping what I think.

Something is feeding what I desire.

Something is informing what I believe.

Something is teaching me what normal looks like.

Something is discipling me.

So perhaps the question isn’t simply:

How much of the Holy Spirit do I have?

Maybe the better question is:

How much of me does the Holy Spirit have?

Because the Spirit is not a thing I collect.

He is a Person I surrender to.

Galatians 5 shows me the evidence of His influence through His fruit: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control.

That last one feels especially important now.

Self-control.

The Holy Spirit influences me without manipulating me.

He convicts without deceiving.

He leads without exploiting.

He corrects without controlling.

He does not weaponize my insecurity.

He does not need my fear to keep me obedient.

He does not use my wounds against me.

He heals them so they no longer have to control me.

Manipulation asks, “How can I use what is vulnerable in you to get what I want?”

God asks, “Will you give Me what is vulnerable in you so I can make you whole?”

One exploits the wound.

The other heals it.

It is incredibly easy to study Jezebel and immediately start making a mental attendance sheet.

“Yep. That’s her.”

“Definitely him.”

“Knew it.”

“Lord, thank You for this confirmation.”

Meanwhile God is standing there like:

Wonderful.

Now let’s discuss you.

Rude.

Because maybe the most important question isn’t only who has manipulated me.

Maybe I also need to ask what in me was susceptible to their influence.

Where does rejection make approval irresistible?

Where does insecurity make flattery powerful?

Where does exhaustion make control feel like care?

Where does fear make passivity feel like peace?

Where has survival made somebody else’s certainty feel safer than trusting what God is showing me?

Where have I wanted something so badly that I stopped asking how the vineyard became available?

Where have I benefited from something I knew was wrong while comforting myself with, “Well, technically, I didn’t do it”?

And perhaps most painfully:

Where have I blamed someone else’s influence for a choice that eventually became mine?

None of that excuses manipulation.

It does not minimize abuse.

It does not remove responsibility from people who deliberately exploit vulnerability.

Jezebel is responsible for Jezebel.

The serpent is responsible for the serpent.

Scar is absolutely responsible for Scar.

Ahab is responsible for Ahab.

Eve is responsible for Eve.

And I am responsible for me.

Strangely enough, that realization does not make me feel powerless.

It gives something back to me.

Because if somebody else’s influence completely determines who I become, then my freedom depends on them changing.

If influence is real but choice still belongs to me, God can teach me to choose differently.

I can learn boundaries.

I can question motives.

I can recognize manipulation.

I can stop confusing certainty with wisdom.

I can heal the places where control once felt like love.

I can stop calling passivity peace.

I can stop calling domination leadership.

I can stop calling fear discernment.

I can stop calling permission grace.

I can stop sprinkling Jesus over decisions He never cosigned.

And I can celebrate the fact that I survived while still being willing to investigate what survival cost me.

Because maybe I survived the relationship, but my confidence didn’t.

Maybe I survived the environment, but my boundaries didn’t.

Maybe I survived the season, but my joy didn’t.

Maybe I survived what happened, but stopped trusting my own discernment.

Maybe I survived by becoming quiet, agreeable, adaptable and easy to control.

Thank God I survived.

Now I want God to restore whatever I had to leave behind to do it.

Because sometimes freedom means going back for what survival left on the battlefield.

And maybe that is why 1 Kings 21 hit me the way it did.

I thought I was studying Jezebel.

God showed me influence.

I thought I was learning how manipulators operate.

God showed me where I can be manipulated.

I thought I was studying Ahab’s weakness.

God showed me places where survival has made me passive.

I thought I was studying Naboth’s vineyard.

God showed me the places where I have wanted something badly enough to become dangerously comfortable with how I got it.

I thought I was studying them.

God, in His usual fashion, handed me a mirror.

The serpent can whisper.

Jezebel can manipulate.

Scar can lie.

People can pressure me.

My wounds can scream.

My history can make suggestions.

My flesh can put together a surprisingly compelling PowerPoint presentation, complete with transitions, supporting evidence and a closing argument.

The enemy can influence.

But influence is not the choice.

The choice is mine.

So maybe deliverance isn’t only God removing every Jezebel from my life.

Maybe sometimes deliverance is God healing the places in me that made Jezebel’s influence effective.

Maybe freedom isn’t finally reaching a place where nothing can influence me.

Maybe freedom is knowing who and what is influencing me, recognizing when something has been given too much access and becoming increasingly intentional about whose voice gets the final say.

Because something will influence me.

The question is not whether I am under the influence.

The question is:

Who am I under the influence of?