“I know what Paul says,” he interrupted, “but I seriously doubt he had in mind Christians wanting to have a meeting with Satan. I’m pretty sure he would think that indicative of a much larger problem.”
“Yeah, that’s probably true,” I conceded.
I actually appreciated being called out on that point. That was him being a good pastor.
“But, when I asked you about meeting Satan I didn’t necessarily assume you exercised such power or control, it was more of a rhetorical way of . . . well, I guess you can say that I’m just very fascinated with your ability to know and feel the presence of Satan in your church, because I couldn’t. I would not have had any idea that Satan was here today had you not informed us. Therefore, I assume you have some kind of connection that I presently lack and I was just wondering how I could make such a connection. I mean, apparently that’s not a bad thing, because if it were a bad thing then you yourself would not have the connection. But you do, and I feel like I don’t. So, I’m asking for an ‘in.’”
The only “in” I received was the “end” of our conversation.
He abruptly cut me off and told me he was late for lunch or a committee meeting or something. He also said something about his knowing better than to attempt to have a conversation with someone like me whose only purpose was to tear down and not edify, which, by the way, I find patently false. I am all about edification. I’m just opposed to the kind of edification that one cannot, under a simple line of questioning, articulate and defend. It makes us look bad. The least we should be able to do is tolerate a few questions of clarification. All I was asking is that if he can feel the presence of the Devil in his services could he tell me how, so that I could better relay this information to others in order to lead more people to God? I know, I know. I’m sure that sounds messed up—attempting to encounter Satan in order to grow closer to God.
I bet they don’t teach that in seminary.
Unfortunately, the more I delve into this project the more I realize that a prerequisite to knowing Satan may be knowing God. Maybe Tommy was right. Maybe Satan only comes with the whole belief-in-God package. In that respect, perhaps we are safer not knowing God. At least then we cannot come under Satan’s influence. But if that’s true, it only reconfirms the intelligibility of this experiment, because it means that in knowing Satan, I also open myself up to the possibility of knowing God, right?
Right?
Maybe.
Decapitated Chickens . . . It’s a Metaphor
It was the Christians who gave the Devil almost the presence of a god.
—Richard Cavendish
One of my professors at Trevecca Nazarene University once stated, “Evangelicals seem to always be in desperate need of an enemy.” I take this to refer to their penchant for being defined more by what they are against than what they are for. This very well may be the case, though I would by no means limit this practice to evangelicals. Whether it is liberals or conservatives, Christians or pagans, anarchists or theocrats, Duke fans and everyone else, the tendency to be defined more by what you are against than what you are for is always tantalizing. In terms of Satan, I think it very well may be the tendency of many Christians to fall prey to this sort of trap. This was not only obvious during much of my upbringing, and I believe in some regards to the previous conversation, but also in my university setting. Granted, many students who attended Trevecca while I was there came from very pious Nazarene backgrounds, so it was hardly surprising to find students who had never been to a movie, a concert (except for the horror of “Carman”), went dancing, or smoked a cigarette. These latter two activities I can only assume were created by the Devil since engaging in them landed you either a fine or placed on social probation.
This tendency to be defined by what you are against was regularly reinforced by the school’s choice of speakers in their mandatory chapel services. For instance, during my first year at Trevecca we had a revivalist come to our school for a week. For many students, revivals provided the opportunity to rekindle that fire with God so vital to Christian discipleship. For some of us religion majors, revivals were an opportunity for us to dissect and analyze the content of the preacher. This was, in a sense, part of our training, and I was happy to put my newly apprenticed skills to work. I was excited about attending this revival. I wasn’t excited because I thought I was going to experience that Nazarene holy grail known as entire sanctification; I had other reasons. You see, there was a bit of controversy before it even began. Prior to the arrival of the evangelist, a number of his intercessory crew showed up at our chapel in order to exorcize the demons in residence.
I kid you not.
That’s a true story.
Such activity did not bode well with many at our school, including a large number of our faculty. After all, how could we not take offence at the idea that our chapel, where services were dedicated to the praise of the triune God, was host to a legion of demons? The very idea that our holy space harbored fallen angels was an affront to many within our school. For me, however, it was a time of great excitement. Whatever was going to happen, it was bound to be interesting.
And interesting it was. During the first service one of the evangelist’s intercessors sat in the front row chanting “Jesus, Jesus, Jesus.” He did this the entire time.
I mean, the entire time.
As he did, I tried to keep count, but I couldn’t keep up. It wounded my brain to even try. One funny thing did come out of it though: a friend of mine, an older religion major whose focus was the Hebrew Bible, had the good sense to follow up with an occasional, “Moses, Moses, Moses.”
Who said Nazarenes were bereft of humor?
We were later told that the recitation of “Jesus, Jesus, Jesus” was this person’s mantra meant to keep the evangelist safe from demonic intervention.
“I thought they already prayed the demons out of here?” I queried.
One of my professors, who I knew secretly thought this all a pompous show, looked at me as if to say, “Tripp, you’re not helping things.”
We were informed by his intercessory crew that this particular evangelist was so in tune with the workings of the Holy Spirit that he was often a primary target for demonic attack.
I know, that just doesn’t make sense, right? Though it did make me sort of glad to be a half-ass Christian. If getting close to God makes you more susceptible to Satan’s all-out arsenal, I think I will keep my distance (of course, here I am now trying to get a closer look, so take that as you will).
Apparently, this revivalist was sort of like a religious Dean and Sam Winchester. You know those guys from the television show Supernatural? They go around hunting demons, ghosts, and all sorts of angry spirits in order to save the bodies and souls of their fellow humans. Instead of using shotguns filled with salt and Latin incantations, this evangelist spent most of his time preaching out of the Gospel of Matthew (chosen due to its large number of references to demons), and having his crew say Jesus’ name over and over and over again.
“How many times do you have to say the name ‘Jesus’ before they leave? Is there a magical number that you have to hit before they listen to you?” I asked.
Despite a number of my friends finding my questions humorous (though that was not my intention, I truly was seeking clarification), our guests were not quite as pleased with the sacrilege coming out of my mouth.
Before they could scold me, I quickly added, “Plus, I thought the battle had already been won.”
“It has been won,” stated one of his spiritual warfare henchmen. “But Satan is like a chicken with its head cut off. It still flaps its wings around the yard with the ability to hurt others with its thrashing talons, not even knowing it’s doomed.”
Satan is like a decapitated chicken with thrashing talons.
You just can’t make that stuff up.
As entertaining as