Growing up charismatic, a lesson I learned all-too-well as a child was one of empowerment; that because I was a child of the King, I had power over devils, to cast them out, as well as to “bind Satan”, a common phrase that was often doled out during prayers and which essentially meant that you tied Satan up (spiritually of course) so that he could no longer take a part in whatever particular situation you were praying about. This was hammered into me from multiple pastors at multiple churches, and as a child I accepted the theological ideas wholesale. I was quite the little charismatic kid, and accepting that this was how the spiritual landscape worked, and that I was a little soldier boy in a vast, cosmos spanning spiritual war with the devil, I prayed continuously, every day, casting devils out of the shadows, binding Satan over everything I could think of, and asserting to Satan, like Sarah standing before the Goblin King Jareth, “you have no power over me!” (sorry, Labyrinth reference. RIP David Bowie!)
The whole thing was a shame. Sure, I received lots of praise from other students at church who commented that I prayed like a pastor, and teachers who thought that I was quite the little prayer warrior. I absolutely believed in what I was doing, and there was no insincerity in my heart about any of this; regardless, this entire theology of spiritual warfare that I had been handed left me, as a child, altogether empty and absolutely terrified of the spiritual forces around me. This was not something that I spoke of to anyone. Occasionally I would have conversations with my mom in which I would reveal some of my insecurities, but for the most part I kept them to myself because I felt that, if this was how things were, then all of my fears and uncertainties were the result of my lack of faith. That frightened me most of all, because, you know, “it is impossible to please God without faith.”, which is part of Hebrews 11:6. I say part, because I've ripped it entirely out of context, but as a child what did I know of context? Actually, as an adult I've come to discover that this entire theology I had been taught as a child had been based on scriptures ripped out of their context.
Now, not to blow my own horn here, but I was really a pretty sharp kid growing up. I've always had an analytical mind, even from a young age. As child, though, I accepted what I was being taught from my pastors and teachers because they were adults (and supposedly subject experts) and as such they were supposed to know this stuff and I was simply supposed to learn from them. I had my own Bible but the idea of reading scripture in context was foreign to me. Unlike other books, the Bible was taught to me by men and women who opened it and simply picked out verses. The Bible simply seemed more like a dictionary of disjointed spiritual ideas rather than a cohesive narrative work. Given this shaky foundation it’s natural that, when analyzing the problems I encountered with the theology I was being taught, I didn't come to the correct conclusions, and so I placed the blame on myself. But I knew there were problems. I was taught, and believed, that there were demons all around us, constantly seeking to bring about our destruction. Demonic possession was a common thing, and every church, pastor (and occasionally kid) I met had their own personal story of encountering someone who was possessed. Although believers themselves could not be possessed, there was this other thing sometimes referred to as demonic oppression which was kind of the version of possession that Satan dished out on believers, where a demon couldn't enter your body and take control, but they could follow you around all day filling you with despair and fear and all manner of spiritual ill. I also learned that demons were specialists: you had your demons of sickness, of poverty, of “heaviness” and every other ailment, whether spiritual or physical. Anything that was wrong in the world, you had a demon to blame, and if you had a demon to blame, you had a demon to target. Enter the prayer warrior, dressed in the armor of God, ready to wage spiritual warfare, binding and casting out the evil one!
I very quickly learned that binding and casting out demons was perhaps the emptiest spiritual experience I have ever had. I was told I was empowered because I was an heir of Christ. I was shown verses from scripture that explain that if I resisted the devil, he would flee from me. Taught from the Bible that I could lay hands on the sick and cast out devils and perform miracles, and all I had to do was stand up and proclaim it all in the name of Jesus. So I stood, I proclaimed, I invoked the name of Jesus, and I absolutely hated the fact that God had placed such responsibility on me.
You see, this is where my analytical nature kicked in. If devils were in the shadows making me afraid and I stood up and cast them out, shouldn't I be less afraid? But rather than feel any sense of relief when I was scared, I only felt that if there were demons watching me from the shadows, they were laughing at me. I would ask God to forgive me because I did not enough faith, but more faith never came, and I wondered if God was angry, or if he was listening at all because of that same lack of faith. I felt hopeless, because I knew that all I had to do was have faith and proclaim that faith, but when I did, I felt that nothing was happening, which only meant that I didn't have faith after all. In this manner I went around and around, guilty, afraid and confused.
It wasn't just my childish fear of the dark that had taken on such a confusing spiritual tone. When I was young, my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. She was undergoing chemotherapy and often sick and stuck in bed. This may have been frightening enough for a child, but what made it worse is that I fully understood the risk involved, because just before my mother was diagnosed, my aunt had been diagnosed and died of the same illness. Learning that my mom had the same cancer was not just unsettling, it was terrifying. I didn't know if my mom was going to live, and every day I had the horrible thought that my mother could die. However, I had been taught all about faith and healing and casting out demons of sickness, and so my prayers were continuously turned towards my mom. The problem was, she wasn't being healed. I prayed, I proclaimed, I tried ever so hard to believe that she was healed “in Jesus’ name!” but she wasn't healed. There was no miracle, no instant faith healing like individuals the likes of Benny Hinn were selling (TBN was a common fixture at my grandparents’ house). Again I recognized that, this being the spiritual reality of the world, if nothing was happening, then it was my own fault. After all, God had made all the tools available, therefore the problem was clearly my failure to use them. God desired his children to be healthy and prosperous (also a staple line in the churches I attended) and therefore I could not accept that God didn't want to heal my mother. No, the fault was my own, because I did not have faith to declare her healed.
Now, it should be apparent that one of the major issues with this “faith” theology is not just the utter ineffectiveness of it, but the fact that God had ceased to be a father. He was more like a blacksmith, like the Greek Hephaestus, hammering out spiritual weapons and giving them to us to wield. He may desire our wellbeing, but rather than seek it himself he simply gives us tools and tells us to use them in faith. I believed with all my heart that there was no reason for Mom to have cancer, because if I had faith and did not doubt I could declare her healed and she would most certainly be healed, altogether in an instant, just the same as Peter taking a lame man by the hand and bidding him walk. But I was in despair because she was not healed, and if she was not healed then I did not have faith. Mind you, I was not at this point concerned for myself because of my lack of faith, but in absolute despair because she was still sick and might even die. I was in despair because I knew that I could heal her if I could just believe, but her continued sickness was evidence of my failure. I was not failing myself, not only failing God, but I was failing my mother, and because I could not simply make myself have more faith, I felt that there was no hope at all. Eventually I began to withdraw from prayer, not privately, but publicly for others. I didn't want to pray for people, because I began to recognize that even when I was at my best, my prayers did not move mountains, did not bring healing, did not do much of anything so far as I could tell.
In the midst of all of this I never turned away from God, for I recognized that Jesus was the only source of salvation. But I knew that if we were engaged in spiritual warfare as I had been taught, that I was an altogether useless soldier, unskilled and ill-suited for war, and God was probably very unhappy with me. Perhaps, being so weak and faithless, I would never see Heaven. Thankfully, God, in his mercy, grace, and providence, pulled me out of this mire of theological confusion and slowly helped me to see the fallacy of it all. He helped me to realize that he is in control of my life and my destiny, as well as that of everyone around me. That he, as a father, has a purpose even in the unpleasant things that he allows his children to experience, to train us and to teach us what is right and wrong, and to rely solely upon him. He taught me that he is not a blacksmith crafting weapons for us to wield, but a caring, divine parent who will himself protect us when the need arises, even when we do not call upon him at all, because he loves us more deeply than we can ever imagine. He taught me that the burden of faith does not lie with me, because it is his gift which was to me when he granted me to believe on his son Jesus. He taught me that my prayers for my mother were not unanswered, but misguided, because the burden of healing was never on me, but always a part of his divine plan (I am pleased to report that my mother is a cancer survivor and still with me today). He taught me to let go of the responsibilities of so-called spiritual empowerment, saying, as he said to his disciples years ago, “don’t rejoice because evil spirits obey you; rejoice because your names are registered in heaven.” (Luke 10:20)
Now I myself am a father, with a beautiful little girl who just celebrated her first birthday. If there is one thing I would teach her, it is to rest herself fully in God, to trust in him to care for her and seek her good. I hope that my own parenting will model this lesson for her, so that as she learns to trust in and rely upon me, she will find it an easy lesson to apply when she considers her heavenly Father, who loves her even more than I.
