Ministering Like Jesus - with the Help of Demons?!

I was speaking at a friend's church in the Seattle area - Saturday night and Sunday morning. Saturday night was a primer on Neo-Paganism in America, and a little bit about our story in Salem Massachusetts.

On Saturday Night I told the story of our Halloween Outreach, and the tents of ministering Christians who offer "Psalm Readings," Dream Interpretation, and counsel people who sometimes wait in line for up to an hour. I described the people who make up this wildly divergent group categorized as Neo-Pagans. The Wiccans, Witches, Druids, Shaman, and assorted Pagan groups were loosely defined, and the incredible urban myths which grew out of the 1980's with the fear mongering-created by the likes of Mike Warnke was challenged.

A number of the people sat on the edge of their seats, and were deeply interested in a subject relevant to their children, and their children's friends at school. Their own kids were perhaps the most captivated by the teaching.

We entered a time of discussion and questions. Some people had questions which helped them further define this group called Neo-Pagans. Others were thankful for the teaching, and described people they knew who fit this people group called Neo-Pagans.

From the back of the room, a couple people had been stirring, and they came forward with some accusing questions about my allegiance to Jesus. Soon one lady, who was new to the fellowship began to describe the evil spirit I brought into the room, and said that if the leadership did not reject me fully, and throw me out, she would leave the church.

I sat down and gave her the platform, and established a dialogue with her. Some people sided with me, and others were now not sure what to think. One man began to side with her, under the belief that doing a "Psalm Reading" was a kind of compromising syncretistic action which would lead other Christians astray.

The evening did not end with any resolution in respect to this woman's concern that I was demonized, and bringing evil spirits into the church. She did not dialogue with those of us who were willing to talk through the issues, instead her pontificating remained a condemnation of my spiritual state, with no evidence but a subjective discernment of evil spirits filling the room, and swarming like gnats on a hot summer day all around me.

The following morning I spoke again, and this time I gave a simple testimony of my salvation, followed by how that experience influenced by missiology (although I did not use the word missiology for sake of keeping it simple.) My new-found buddy Jim Henderson from Off the Map was there.

He had a sense of the previous evening's difficulty, and grinned graciously, and understandingly in the back of the room. After the service, the youth and their parents gathered around to tell me how much the teachings had meant to them.

Later that day I was leaving for the airport to come home, and a young man who was a friend of the Pastor's son came out to tell me that he had understood Jesus for the first time during my teaching on Neo-Paganism the night before. He now wanted to be a follower of this Jesus.

I'm not sure which part of this surprised me the most: the lady who assumed I had devil's with me when I came to the church, or the kid who found Jesus in a primer for Christians on the subject of Neo-Paganism.

Is this how Jesus felt? He did good, and was accused simultaneously of doing his work under the power and influence of devils. I would enjoy following in the footsteps of Jesus the Heretic, and working under the power of the same Spirit.

These are the ongoing stories of previous experiences from the last two years. As I prepare a proposal to put our story onto the printed page, your input is deeply appreciated.

A Waldensian Adventure: Fleeing to Rennie's Hill

For Jeff and I the words hung low over our heads like a smoky night sky with the sounds of whistling shells, periodic bursts of light and bone shaking blasts. The tension wound tight in our chests, and we were expecting something to drop on us with destruction and death at any moment.

"I will be sending two District leaders to discuss your future in the Salem (attach denomination here) Church." That was the sentence in the e-mail we received which told us that our District Supervisor was going to attempt to shut me down, and have me removed from the church.

Our counsellor from the denomination who followed us through the whole event, called immediately after I forwarded the e-mail to him.

"Phil, whatever you are going to do, Do it now."

We made appeals to the necessary people, but it was Friday, and no one would get this info until Monday or Tuesday morning.

Over my twenty years in the denomination, I had heard stories of District Supervisors coming to churches on a Sunday and taking over the services. We were meeting in the newly leased outreach center on Sunday evenings, and wondered whether this District Supervisor, who had shown no evidence that a decent discussion could be held with him would attempt to pull off one of these hostile take-overs.

It was only two days until Sunday, and after 5 months of struggling, we weren't up for a battle.

We talked to the church council, and came up with a plan. We called every person in our little church. We e-mailed those who had an e-mail addresses. On Sunday evening at 6pm, when we met for services, we posted someone at the door, just in case an individual was missed in our contacts.

Meanwhile like fleeing Waldensians, we found a cave in the hills and meet there for church. In truth it was Rennie's house, but she does live on a hill. About 35 of us were packed into the two rooms which made our catacomb sanctuary. We were seated on floors, and laps, and standing in the hall.

My old friend from California, Steve Maddox was there with some of his troup who came for the trip. This was adventure at its best: a sense of danger, and a need to hide from a stronger enemy. Is this how the first-century church responded to persecution? Is this how the Chinese church lived? Were we walking the path of the persecuted Waldensians? Okay, maybe not, but we felt the sense of danger, and adventure that night.

We were being a bit dramatic, but still we faced a very real threat of being shut down as a church, and our people were up for the adventure.

It might not have been the mountains of Northern Italy. We might not have been meeting in a cave, but we ran and hid to save our little fellowship that day.

The District leadership never did show up that Sunday evening, but the adventure was worth the effort. We discovered that we were a real church without that fancy old bank building.

If you are following this blog, you will notice that here, and at Square No More I will be retelling tales of our adventures last year. I am currently compiling information for a book proposal, and so any input you can give as I put small vignettes of our story together would be appreciated.

Of Fingernails, Postage, and Short Tasks Made Long

Today I folded some letters, put them into their #10 envelopes, addressed the envelopes which I had believed would take far too long to find the addresses for, placed the 39¢ stamp in the top right-hand corner, and nervously scraped my fingernails with my thumbnail.

The letters had been written for quite some time. I had to hold on to them, because I was told it was wise to wait until a proper time. It is near, or at the proper time now.

Placing the postage on the letter was the strangest of moments in this activity. The postage made the act feel irretrievable. Of course, I could waste the handful of 39¢ little stickies, but that would not sit well with me. Consequently I scraped my fingernails with my thumbnail. It's an action I nervously perform. I take the thumbnail of one hand, and scrape the underneath side of the fingernails on the opposite hand as if I was cleaning them. Sometimes I guess I really am, but often I am just habitually acting, and often nervously so. The latter is what occured today.

I was writing to people who had been my source of struggle for almost a year, and doing so in a manner our church council had decided was good some months back. Yet I needed to wait until a certain time. That time is near, maybe now. So, the letters (except for just a few) are ready to pony up, and head west.

It took me far more time thinking of this action, than performing it. I dreaded hunting down addresses, and envisioned searching for days. It actually took about an hour.

What strange mental disease creates such distortion in my time anticipator? and why do postage stamps make me revert to a bad habit of fingernail scraping?

The tension of communicating with people who had been my source of stress for almost a year was the reason for this twisted emotional moment of time warp, and quirky habits.


...meanwhile my home team is choking in the Playoffs, but still you gotta love them Pads.

A Man Named Phil?

Rose Wolf has been bringing me books. Rose has a Doctorate in Fantasy Literature, and is a walking encyclopedia of memorized poetry, and literature knowledge. She calls herself a Wiccan-Christian, and believes that the old ways point to Jesus.

When I mention something I am interested in, Rose finds wonderful used books at great prices, and gives them to me. I may have to call the library we want to build in The Vault at our church the Rose Wolf Library if this keeps up.

I mentioned that I was blogging about insanity, and a variety of stress related disorders because I noticed the similarities of my responses to a year of heavy stress to psychological disorders of various kinds. So she brought me this book called, "A Man Named Dave." I just finished "A Man Named Dave."

Throughout the book, Dave Pelzer the writer of a trilogy of books about his life of abuse as a child, and his eventual redemption speaks of feeling unworthy around other people. He knew that when his mother severely abused him it was not his fault, but he still could not look people in the eyes due to a deep sense of unworthiness.

This weekend, a friend from my former denomination called. He was in Salem, and happened at the time of his call to be standing in front of our church meeting location. It was extremely uncomfortable for me to talk to this guy. He does not yet even know about the heinous manner in which we were falsely accused by our "superiors" (Man! is that word a sick misnomer or what!?), and that we are no longer in the same denomination. So, he talked on as though things were like they always had been, and I fumbled to find something to say.

Why do I feel ashamed when my situation was caused by someone above me ("above me?" is that another poor way of describing authority?), and we had done our best to rectify things in a graceful and Biblical manner? I realized I was behaving like Dave. Does this happen to all people who live through abusive situations?

I in no way received the damaging treatment Dave did, but we did live through Hell brought on by someone who acted like the Devil, and now I am the one hanging my head. What's up with that?!

I suppose it is a result of abuse. Just when I think I am over it all, I find another way in which I have been affected by our experiences. I realize that this is a lesson not just for me, but for the the whole church, and so from this experience which relates to "A Man Named Dave" I find there is a man named Phil, and his experiences teach me that abusive church leadership leads to Christians who live with shame, and that shame may not belong to them but to the abusive leaders themselves.

Walking Forrest, and Kites without Tails

Billy Adams and I used to make kites from paper and balsa wood in Junior High. We lived a few doors away from each other, in the same mobile home park in Escondido. We would take our kites out into the field on the corner of East Valley Parkway and Citrus Avenue. It's not field anymore though. It's a shopping center.

We tried to make the smallest kites which could still fly. We created 5 to 7 inch kites which we sometimes could get to fly about 50 feet up in the air. We typically built traditional diamond shaped kites, and they needed tails. Without tails they would spin around, and quickly dive head first into the ground, at which point we would need to begin building another kite. But we wanted our kites to fly higher, so we had to make the tails as light as possible, while still creating enough drag to keep them upright.

Some guy named Daniel Bernoulli figured out that as the velocity of air passing around the kite increased, the air pressure decreased. When the pressure is decreased enough the kite goes up against the force of gravity. A kite is a type of airfoil, like a wing on an airplane. An airfoil is a surface which is designed to create lift when air passes over it.

Mr. Bernoulli wasn't really working with an airfoil though. He figured this out on a

chalkboard with math

back in 1738, so that makes him a pretty smart guy. Other smart people are still trying to figure out how it works today, but they are not sure how it works, they just know that it does. So I guess we trust our lives to Daniel Bernoulli when we get in an airplane, and look out at those skinny little wings as they lift the bird much bigger than a house into the air.

Walking Forrest is like flying a kite without a tail.

Not all kites have tails, but if Forrest was a kite, he would be a traditional diamond shaped kite which needs a tail. The purpose of the tail is to create drag below the towing point, and ensure stability. If the kite had no tail, it would spin in circles like some of the kites Billy Adams and I made in Junior High.

When I walk Forrest he goes to the right, and the left, and he tries to run ahead, and then he stops, and goes behind me to smell something. He would run in the road in front of passing cars, if I did not keep him controlled with the leash. He is so excited to be out for a walk, that he runs every direction possible, and tries to discover every new thing in sight. He does have a long tail, but his tail doesn't help him go straight. Maybe it doesn't create enough drag below the towing point.

I suppose people who enjoy having everything in control don't like walking dogs like Forrest. Control freaks would be quite mad at the end of the walk. Forrest would not want to go straight without constant coaxing. You most certainly have to carry bags to pick up after him, and although he moves much faster than Holly during the walk, he takes far longer to actually cover the distance.

I am a lot like Forrest. I like adventure, and discovering new things. I don't like tours, because I always get in trouble for breaking the rules, or sneaking away from the tour group. I don't like monotony. I do like surprises, and mystery. I am not good to walk with a leash either I suppose.

I don't even mind not understanding how that skinny little wing is able to hold the big fat airplane up in the sky. I wonder if control freaks are afraid of flying? Does it bother them that nobody really understands how the Bernoulli principle works?

There seems to be something similar to the fear of flying, and the control freak's fear of not having a situation under his power. Being frustrated walking Forrest, and being afraid of flying are not terribly different from one another, they are both situations which lack control, and I imagine are both based in fear.

My Christian life will be an adventure, not a list of dos and don'ts established to keep me in line. I want to examine the fringes of humanity, and get to know the people others are afraid of. The Christians I know are afraid of Witches. I live in town with quite a few Witches. So, like Forrest I will run around and meet them, and make friends with them, because I figure they are regular people with regular lives, and if they do something a bit irregular, I would like to know why.

In my little mind I dream that if I run around long enough, the Bernoulli effect will take place, and a miracle will happen - I will fly. Maybe it's not real flying, but flying high on life, and experiencing God doing His stuff as I find ways to simply love people - even people others are afraid of. No, especially people others are afraid of.

I did not realize it, but there was a control freak trying to walk me on a short leash, and so he yanked real hard without warning me first. I don't wear the collar they attached that leash to anymore. They can go and find someone else's collar to yank.

Talking to the Shah of I Ran

I was talking to the Shah of Iran yesterday.

You don't believe me? Which one? you ask. Okay so I have a slight problem. The modern Iranian monarchy began in 1501, and was abolished in 1979 under the leadership of a guy with a far more intimidating name than Shah - he was called Ayatollah. I realize that Mohammed Reza Pahlavi was the last Shah, and died in 1980, and is buried in Egypt.

But some guy named the Shah of Iran called me anyway.

He suggested that I do something quite difficult. He suggested that I invite some antagonistic people to come speak to our group, and describe the reasons for their aggressive actions. He suggested it would be healthy to do so.

Darn, I just want uncomfortable things to go away. Why does he have to go and suggest something self-depricating, and dangerous. I feel like I can only handle so many days of Crow for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

Of course, he said it was for my good, and for the churches' good too. Well, I am not sure what I will do, but the fact that I struggle with the idea challenged my level of courage.

Dave said to me a month ago (yep, that's the same Dave who is the original "everybody ought to have a Dave" guy) "Phil, listen to me carefully, I need to tell you this. Don't let them wear you out."

Darn again. I think that Shah and Dave are saying the same thing: Face the fan.

I remember back in 1979, when the Shah had to flee Iran, people wore T-Shirts which had a picture of Mohammed Reza Pahlavi, and the shirt said, "I Ran." That's what I want to do, but the Shah who called me said I should not. Dave said that too.

How can he ask me to do this?! Who does he think he is? The Shah of Iran?