Tags
abuse, demons, exorcism, frauds, recovery, religion, spirituality, tent revival
My parents gravitated toward a more holy roller flavor of religion. There was an occassion where they brought my siblings and I to a tent revival just outside of the town we lived in. For anyone who has not tasted what a “full gospel” or “spirit filled” religious sect is…you have GOT to check it out. It is nothing short of a fucking side show. I mean really, they should charge people to just come in and see what happens when you mix together a preacher man in a cheap white suit cursing the Devil, a three piece band, a plea for money, and a huge yellow and white tent. What you end up with is a slobbering mess of people crying, yelling in make belief languages and tossing themselves on the ground in a full on spaz attack for three hours straight.
This revival meeting did not disappoint by any means.
For the first hour, it was the choir leader’s job to get every one pumped up. This was done with a careful selections of chanting chorus’ that had a “let’s go to war” flavor. A sense of connection and unification amongst the attendees was heightened with their common goal of running the Devil out-of-town, Amen. The more the people heard that they were doing this by their very presence and super human prayer ability the louder and more maniacal every one got. After all…they were the lambs, not the goats. They were the chosen ones, not the evil doers. They were the ones with über gifts from God who gave them super powers to cast out demons, heal the sick, walk on water, Amen? Amen!
What a bunch of complete and utter bullshit.
I believe that wacko people who get into this kind of charismatic religious non-sense are nothing short of hypocritical liars and bad actors. How do I know this? I faked my way through an exorcism. Add that one to your resume.
So lets back up a bit before I talk about the generations-old demon that was exorcised out of my sinful ass.
My parents had already convinced me that they had an inside communication with God, and that my step father in particular was told in clear terms about every dastardly sinful thing I did. So it was not so far as a reach for them to start identifying demons, smelling evil, and getting some kind of special magical intuition. My mother often said she had the “gift of discernment”. I am going to leave that one alone at the moment because that belongs in an entry of its own, and there is only so much crap I can jam into one entry.
Remember when Ghost Busters came out? We were banned from seeing it, because apparently this movie had the special ability to welcome demons into your home right from the television set. In fact, there is a lunatic out there named Bob Larsen, who had a radio show that generated this. I recently saw him on an episode of Anderson Cooper. He had three young girls with him, who were educated by him to cast out demons. Anderson made a complete fool out of him on national television. Bob is a charlatan. He calls himself a Reverend, but he is not. I googled him. He carries a huge cross with him, that you can go online and buy a replica of. One can even pay to take an online course to be a demon slayer. Wow. So Bob Larsen was a big part of my childhood for a while. My step-father used to record his radio show, and make us listen to it and take notes. Literally. I have a hard time understanding how any half sane adult could begin to buy into this garbage that he talked about, but he was directly responsible for my loss of listening to any music that was not “Christian”, and watching the movie Ghostbusters. I have since seen the movie, and it was hilarious. No, I did not get any ectoplasm on me, and never had an Amityville horror moment because of it.
So with the preparation of the likes of Bob and others who were just as crazy, I was ready to go and see some real serious demonic shit at this tent show. That is really the reason that people go anyway. It is not to hear another heart wrenching story of some tribe in Africa who desperately needs more bibles to help them stop eating each other. We already knew about that, and sitting through that part of the evening equated to listening to sponsors on commercials during a television show. The meat of the evening was definitely in the magical powers that this guy had to face the Devil head on and kick his ass back to hell.
As the evening came, and the temperature in the tent rose with the volume of music, I witnessed a frenzy of insanity. People were lined up the length of the tent for the so-called altar call, where they were doused in oil and passed out into the arms of the worker saints and laid on the floor. Older women wearing pastels would be crying in the audience with their arms up while their husbands sounded out gibberish. I saw people laying on the floor and writhing about like someone was poking them with hot daggers. A mob of the “anointed” would surround them, yell at Satan, and POOF! Devil be gone. They would calm, lay there, chanting sweet nothings to Jesus. They were healed. Free from their disgusting demons of addiction, illness, filthy thoughts, wicked behaviour, you name it.
And now…they were special. God picked them out for a miracle and they were made pure, forgiven, congratulated, hugged, loved and invited out for the coveted coffee at ABC restaurant to follow. This was my only hope to get off the shit list. My only quick avenue to be declared good instead of the wretched, sinful kid I was. So I did what came natural…I lined up.
I knew that this had to be a significant and loud display, given that I was a significantly bad apple. I did not want any lay person exorcising me. I wanted the guy in the white suit to preside over this occasion. Then, and only then, there would be no doubt that I was actually off the hook and should be excepted into my religious freak family with full voting rights.
So he comes down the line…I see him. He is moving rather quickly with his healing oil. Most people got a 2 second slap to the head, down they went and he moved on to the next. When the preacher man got to me, I was no different. Greasy hand to the head, down I went. On to the next. Because I was so far down the line, I had the opportunity to see how other people were getting his attention. They simply did not get up. Instead, they did the snake-like writhing, that was the go sign for the do gooders that a demon or two was lurking, and the preacher had to come back and deal with it.
I had a real vested interest in this whole scene going down right, so I took the cue and did my best exorcist snake manoeuver I could, and sure enough…he came back to me. Now, I have no idea where my parents were at this moment, but I know they were not standing beside me demanding that I get up and stop making an ass out of myself. I heard the preacher man’s voice come closer to me…I felt his hands go on mine. I was really shaking them too, just like I saw everyone else do. I opened my eyes, and inches away from my face was the preacher man screaming at Lucifer himself to get out of me. I went with it. I started screaming, and came up with my own gibberish language that matched any of the more seasoned demon vessels. I am not sure how long the whole thing went, but some how he figured out that my descendants worshipped Satan, and I was lucky enough to have inherited cousin demons. So he cast them out, and after almost throwing my back out, I suddenly calmed and was praising God loud and proud.
I heard people around me cheering and clapping. They came up to me and told me how blessed I was. God used me to demonstrate his amazing power to slay the demons once again. How totally awesome was that? Surely…this was my green light to get back into the good graces of my family. Not only was I blessed…but I was the amazing prodigal.
Well, it did not really turn out that way.
They were eerily silent as we made the 25 minute drive home. There was no celebrating. No conversation. My brothers were freaked out. I did my best to continue with the charade but it was no use. We pulled in the driveway, and they dropped all of us kids off and left.
Looking back, I think that I freaked them out. They really believed this crap…and well, I am sure they struggled with the black sheep getting special treatment from the Holy one and not getting any themselves. Either that, or they knew it was a complete con job that they could not call me on, because they had been preaching it day and night. Either way…the exorcism did nothing for me. What a complete waste of time and effort. So yes…I faked it. I bullshitted the whole thing.
How absolutely desperate and how absolutely sad. Thanks for nothing, Bob.
You must be logged in to post a comment.