Out of the Devil’s Cauldron 10 page

Twelve to fifteen men ran from their seats, trying to rescue the pastor. As I felt hands from all over tackling me, the men flew around like ragdolls, being tossed and thrown around the sanctuary.

To my dismay I felt the urge to run out of the building. I got as far as the door, looking to fly through the streets in the condition I was in. But something greater than me—greater than the demons—wouldn’t allow it.

Back to the altar I returned for the kill. And as I did, a large group of men ran up behind me again and tried to grapple me to the floor.

“Joe, run this way!”

“Robert, Steve, come to the front now!” “We need help!”

I felt myself reeling when someone climbed on my back. Then the weight of another person, and yet another, created a heap of bodies. I gained control of my balance, moving the huddle of men clamped around me from one side of the altar to the other with Herculean strength. Reversing my steps, I toppled someone to the floor, and a few more fell when I wrestled out of the grips that held my arms. Someone flew off my back like a rodeo rider on a wild stallion, and I flipped another person over when he grabbed at my neck. The power was exhilarating.

With the pastor in the clear, I lunged for him again. But this time something or someone came between us, a power greater than the one within me. Again I was tackled by the men, only to rise with ease, sweeping men three times my weight off me with effortless moves.

The mob of strong-armed men rolled back like weaklings, and someone else approached—Ray, the ex-witchcraft member from the very clan I was in. He didn’t grab

me or even try to touch me. He hugged me and said, “John, John, just say these words: Jesus is Lord! Just repeat these words, John. Jesus is Lord! Repeat them after me.” I tried to speak but my lips had clamped shut as if someone had sewn them closed with needle and thread.

Tossing people off me, the struggle spun me toward an amazing sight: the congregation, a wall of people—saints of God—locked in loud intercessory prayer for me and warfare prayer against a host of demons. Every outstretched hand in the place caused me to weaken. The struggle at the altar ended when the words came out of my mouth: “Jesus is Lord.”

Something flew out of me, and I felt deflated. The men still held me but not in a grappling hold like before. The force to subdue was over, and what remained were the voices of the men and women of the congregation—some weeping, some rejoicing, others speaking in a language I could not understand.

Drenched in sweat from the physical struggle, I was followed to the men’s room by Ray, an usher named Tony, and another man. With my hair tousled and clothes disheveled, they wanted to make sure I was all right. I leaned against a sink, turned on the faucet, and threw water in my face, droplets falling from my brow to my nose to my chin. I waited for the questions I felt should have come my way from the three men standing beside me, but to my surprise they kept silent. What they wanted to know they would find out later.

Hell Returns to Church

The following Sunday I attended church as usual with some embarrassment and shame for what had happened the week before. All week long I had felt the demons’ anger toward me. But I had had a taste of the goodness of Jesus, and for the first time the inescapable truth of the awful mess I was in came to me with a shuddering fear.

During Bible class, I was glad no one mentioned anything about the fiasco at the altar. And it was this that helped me to understand the love of Jesus in others. When the service started, I went and sat in my seat, taking in the presence of God while the worship team lifted up their voices in praise. What a good day to be alive.

When the music ended, we all sat and the associate pastor took the podium. But before he even said a word, I began to feel that same rage and sickness again. Something swirled behind me, around me, in me, and I ran to the altar for help.

As the pastor started his message, a pair of hands reached for his throat—my hands. Instantly, every able-bodied man in the congregation flew out of their seats in one mad rush to protect their pastor, to tear me away from him. It was the same scene happening all over again. In the huddle, the associate pastor tried praying for me, but I was too busy tossing grown men about.

Ushers flew off my back effortlessly. This was not what

I had come to do, but they, the demons that had possessed me again, came for revenge a second time around. They were in full control of me. Hell came to church that day.

A fear I had never known raced through my mind as I realized Satan had no intentions of letting me go. He intended to make me his forever, whether I liked it or not, whether I served him or not. At that moment I cried out to Jesus. Not with my voice. My lips were stitched shut again. But within my heart—the place where only God hears.

A wall of men tried dragging me out of the sanctuary into the hallway, away from the altar, away from those who came to church that day, but burning hot energy surged through me, and more people tumbled away. A moment later, the intercessory prayers of the people began taking effect, and I was hustled out of the gym, subdued by the wave of men determined to see my deliverance. They called this type of prayer “spiritual warfare.”

A legion of demonic spirits seeped out of me like air gushing from a balloon, and when everything was calm again, someone got a seat for me and I slumped into the chair. The pastor approached.

“John, how do you feel? Is everything okay now? Don’t worry, everything’s going to be all right.”

What would I tell him? How could I explain that what I had just done was not really me? It was them, my so-called friends from the dark side coming to lay claim on me. I waited for an onslaught of questions, but instead what I got was a surge of the love of Jesus, a wall that would keep me from

doing more damage that day. I was so humiliated, so ashamed of my uncontrollable actions. What label had I earned from these people? One thing was clear. If I didn’t break the contract, I could count on the bounty-hunting demons visiting me again. The question was when.

To my surprise, I found myself back at church the following Sunday yet again, seeking answers to the awful ruckus I had created two weeks in a row. But something positive had happened in my life; otherwise I would have been attending a demonic service at the other church I belonged to that day.

At the end of another service, all the men of the church banded together and marched toward me. But it wasn’t to tackle me to the floor. It was to present me with a gift. Tony, the man who had followed me to the bathroom after my first outburst, handed it to me and said, “The Lord has impressed upon our hearts to bless you with our congregational sweatshirt.”

A warm feeling came over me. The men of the church considered me one of them. I choked back tears and the overwhelming feeling of acceptance that came with it. The blue sweatshirt was designed with the church’s logo. It had my name embroidered on the front, and on the back a Roman helmet and gladiator’s sword stood out beneath the arched word “Warriors.” They told me it was a text from the Bible— Ephesians 6:17: “Take the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God.” The message was clear. If I put on the helmet and wielded the sword the way I was

supposed to, I would be able to withstand the attacks of the devil and his demons.

How could it be that people who didn’t know me would show me this kind of love, knowing I was a devil-worshipper and not one of them?

Chapter 15

Jesus Takes Me to Hell

In the following weeks, a strong sense of bewilderment stirred within me. I was about to lose my mind. Who did I really belong to? As long as I continued to be pulled by the devil and wooed by the light, the tug-of-war would not let up. I knew I had to get rid of everything in my apartment that kept me tied to the religion and its demons.

As I paced around my apartment, going from room to room, I confronted the cauldron that was in the closet and the demonic symbols painted on the walls. I stared down into the cauldron, knowing what was in it—human bones and dried blood from the many animal sacrifices. My eyes darted across the room to the corner, where the statue of an Indian chief stood. We locked eyes, and for a moment it seemed as if his ceramic eyes came to life, burning with an unholy fire and hatred for me. A mounting tension welled within me from the many years I was faithful to the spirits. The smell of betrayal hung heavy in the air. But I was overcome by the strange power of the commitment I had made years ago. As long as I

was in this state of mind, suspended between laughing and crying, the devil had me where he wanted—confused.

Nothing could clear my head now. Not the burning taste of liquor or advice from plastered friends at the bars; and nothing could fill my empty heart. Not the dim nightclubs that pounded with loud music or the sexy women who threw themselves at me. Nothing worked anymore. It was because I still felt a love and a commitment to the religion. I had lived in that world for twenty-five years. It was like a marriage, and now I sensed it was coming to an end. I was torn between two worlds. That night before going to bed, I felt spiritually drained. I had no strength in my body and no sense of direction. There was nothing left in me to the point that I thought about ending it all. As I went into my bedroom and switched off the lights, I sat on my bed in the dark and began to talk to God out loud.

“Leave me alone,” I said with a deep, heavy sigh. “I was fine the way I was, and then You showed up. My life was perfect until You came around. Why’d You have to come along and mess everything up? I don’t want to serve You; I made up my mind. I don’t believe in You. Unless You can prove to me You are more powerful than the devil I serve, I’m staying in this religion. I’m not going to put my trust in a name. It’s just another name to me.”

I lay on the bed, about to fall asleep. As my eyes got heavy, my last words came out in a whisper: “If You are more powerful than witchcraft, then show me or leave me alone.”

Train Ride to the Abyss

That night God caused me to fall into a deep sleep, and I dreamed. I found myself in a packed subway train, and I knew this train was heading straight to hell. The train was traveling so fast, at a speed I could not imagine. The people’s faces looked drained and confused, and I felt as though I could not breathe. I found a spot to grab onto, and there before me was a young woman dressed in a stylish business suit looking into my eyes.

I got a good look at the woman. She had a knockout smile that highlighted a beautiful face. Everything about her was striking. She moved her lips and said something to me. “I’m going to hell, and I’m dragging you with me!” she said in a devilish language.

Fear ripped through me as the young woman reached for my arm. She gripped me with the strength of a man, and when she did I pulled away so hard I jolted myself from sleep. Eyes darting at every corner of my bedroom, I was looking to hide from the attractive pursuer with the demonic voice. But a moment later, I found myself tumbling back into another surreal setting.

This time I stood on a high platform, looking onto the subway tracks below. Beside me was a devil-worshipping cousin of mine. I asked him, “How do I get down from here?”

“If you want to get to the platform, you’ll have to slide down that rope.” He pointed to a long rope dangling down into

the tracks. “Or you can enter the tunnel until you exit onto the street.”

The dangling rope looked dangerous, but I wanted to find my way home. So instead I opted for the darkness of the long, foreboding tunnel. The tunnel was narrower than I thought, more pitch black than I imagined. I knew I was not in a normal tunnel but one of the tunnels of hell. How long would I have to be here, strangled in my fear? Walking deeper into the tunnel, I felt uneasy and the fear grew stronger, like no fear I ever felt on earth. Heat emanated from the tunnel, as if I were walking into the mouth of a dragon. With every step I took, my feet sank into a soft, unfamiliar surface. Suddenly, the devil himself stood in front of me. He was over 12 feet tall, with gruesome-looking features and deep red eyes. I noticed that his wings were stained and dirty.

As he spoke, heat came out of his mouth. “I have given you everything: wealth, women, and power,” he said in a deep, echoing voice. “People fear you because of me. I was like a father to you, and now you want to throw it all away? Don’t you know you can never get rid of me?”

I looked into his churning eyes, and what I saw made me want to run in the direction I had come, but my feet felt cemented to the ground and I couldn’t move. I couldn’t scream to save my life.

“If you won’t serve me,” he continued, “then I’ll have to destroy you.”

He tried to grab me, and I backed up.

“You fool,” he said, laughing. “You can’t get away. You

belong to me!”

As he went to grab me once again, something appeared in my right hand, and I looked at it with amazement. It was a 3-foot cross. As soon as he reached for me, I put the cross on him, and he lost all strength and power and fell to his knees. In shock at what had taken place, I continued running through the tunnel as fast as I could. When I reached the end of the tunnel, the same fear gripped me again, only this time much stronger and much worse. The devil appeared for the second time, angrier than before, speaking to me in demonic tongues and telling me how he was going to destroy me.

“I have no plans of leaving you!” I shouted, my whole body trembling.

He pointed his long finger at me. “You liar!” he said in a screaming voice.

“No, no,” I pleaded, “I’m just confused! Bear with me. I’ll get it back together.”

“No!” he said once again, his voice echoing down the tunnel. “I’m going to keep you here in hell with me so your body on earth won’t wake up. You’ll be pronounced dead.”

When I saw I had no way out, I pulled down my T-shirt and showed him the scars on my chest. “I will use these to destroy you,” I said.

He laughed out loud. “You fool. I gave you those scars.” The scars were physical evidence of the contract I had made on the night I sold my soul. That infuriated him even more. He attempted to grab me again, this time with a greater fury. As he reached for me, the cross appeared in my right

hand for a second time, standing between him and me. I pushed the cross on him, and his strength snapped out of his body and he fell to his knees.

That’s when I woke up from my dream. I sat bolt upright in bed, my eyes wide open, my body shaking in a cold sweat. I looked around the room, trying to get my thoughts together. Suddenly I realized it was a dream that God had used to show me He was bigger and more powerful than anything I had served for twenty-five years in witchcraft.

“Oh, my God,” I said, my voice shaking. “You are real and You do love me. Despite everything I said against You, how I mocked You and laughed at Your church, how I ridiculed Christians, trying to break their faith, and recruited some to the dark side—in spite of all this You still love me. Now, Jesus, I give my life to you. I will serve You instead of the demons, and You will be Lord over my life. You are the true God.”

I took out a piece of paper, marking the day in 1999, and wrote out a vow to the Lord that for all the days of my life, I would serve Him and be fully surrendered to His will.

Jesus Christ had delivered me from witchcraft. Never again to return.

Chapter 16

The Real Battle Begins

Filled with a new joy, as I went through the next few days I told many people that I was a born-again Christian. Rachael decided that we should go our separate ways because she wanted to date other people. My life had to go on with Jesus.

One afternoon I was walking down Metropolitan Avenue, coming to the corner of McGraw. A cool fall breeze blew down the sidewalk, and blue skies shone overhead. As I walked along I bumped into an old buddy, Big John. I could see the excitement on his face as I approached him.

“Hey, John, hey John!” he said as we slapped hands. “I have good news for you. I’ve been wanting to see you, man.”

“What’s up, Big? What’s on your mind?”

“I got this person who’s willing to pay you over $10,000 to hire your witchcraft powers. I told them you’re the best of the best.”

I gave him a broad smile. “Big John, I have better news for you.”

He grinned back. “So tell me.”

“I’m a born-again Christian now,” I said. “I serve Jesus Christ.”

Big’s face went blank and he went into shock. “No, John, no! You’re playing games with me. How could it be? I know you’re playing.”

“No, I’m not. I’m being truthful with you.”

“But it can’t be,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief. I glanced over his shoulder. “Hey, here comes my mother,” I said as I saw her walking down the sidewalk. “Ask

her. She’ll tell you.”

His voice cracking, Big turned to my mother. “Is it true John is a Christian?”

“Absolutely, yes,” my mother said.

Big John stared at me for a moment, saying nothing, and just turned and walked away, crushed by the news that I was no longer the devil worshipper he once knew. Sad to say, in my heart I thought he would be happy for me, but I guess not.

Nighttime Visitations

That night I went home and talked to God before getting ready for bed. It started like any other night. After turning off my bedside lamp, I tucked myself under the covers and fell asleep.

A little after midnight I woke up with a start. What was it that had awakened me? Instantly I knew—an evil presence

sat next to me on my bed. I braced myself to make sense of what was sitting there. My room had turned ice-cold like a refrigerator, and a heavy presence hung over the room. The presence was so thick I could almost touch it. My stomach knotted, and every hair on my body stood on end.

As I tried to pray, an invisible pair of hands grabbed me by the throat and locked me in a chokehold while I felt I was being lifted off the bed. I gasped for air and tried to fight the thing off me, but I couldn’t release myself. Unable to speak, I cried out to Jesus in my thoughts, “Help me, Jesus! Help me, Jesus! Help me!”

Suddenly the hands gripping my throat released me, I dropped back onto the mattress, and everything in the room returned to normal. I barely got any sleep that night, knowing they could come back at any moment.

The next day as I sat at the diner, waiting for my breakfast, I tried to make sense of everything that took place the night before. I opened up my Bible to the book of John and started to read about the life of Jesus to get spiritual strength. “Jesus, I pray that You have control over my life, and help me fight all these evil spirits that I have denounced and left behind to serve You. In Your precious name, amen.”

I remembered the many stories I had heard in the occult about those who left the religion or betrayed it and then paid the ultimate price, and I guessed my number had come up. The witches and warlocks of espiritismo, Santeria, and Palo wanted me dead. The battle had just begun.

That night as I went to bed, I hoped and prayed that

what happened the night before would not repeat itself. Eventually I forced myself to sleep, and in the middle of the night the room went cold again as I became aware of a presence sitting on the opposite side of the bed. That presence decided to lie next to me—I knew I couldn’t even turn over because it was so real. The mattress sank down with the weight of the thing lying next to me. Paralyzed with fear, I knew I had to face it, not knowing the outcome of what the night would bring. This went on all night long for many nights in a row.

Other nights, my bed would shake so hard it felt I was being raised off the floor. I wanted to scream aloud in the darkness, but my screams would not come out. The demons that were sent to torment me were trying to separate my body from my spirit. It felt as if they were trying to rip my soul out. Those nights were pure evil. I knew that the demons were sent every night to finish me off. To them I was a traitor, but to Jesus Christ, I became a son. I prayed my heart out for my Savior to rescue me from the dark night of my soul—the anguish and suffering and torment I thought would never stop.

I learned to sleep during the day and pray at night, doing my best to pray, but I didn’t know how because I was a baby Christian and had not yet learned to defend myself spiritually against the onslaught of the demons. Insomnia is a terrible thing. Your body begs for sleep, but something from within steals it away—fear! That’s what had me awake, night after night, pulse racing, waiting for them to come for me, and come they did.

After thirty days of hell, one night it all came to an end.

It left me wondering and asking myself many questions. I asked God repeatedly why He had allowed demon spirits to torment me night after night. He never answered. Sometime later, I got a life-changing response. This time it was God talking. He said, “I wanted to see how much you loved Me.”

Burying the Past

As the days moved along, things got brighter and I looked forward to my water baptism—a full immersion the way Jesus had done in the Jordan River. To my surprise I was being accepted by the brothers and sisters in the church, because at one time they did not know how to relate to me because of where I came from. They were either afraid or shy about approaching me. But I thanked God that things were looking up.

“Hey, John, you’re being baptized in a few days. How do you feel, man?” Tony said as he greeted me in Bible class.

I smiled. “I feel great and I’m looking forward to it. I’m glad it’s coming along and that the Lord Jesus Christ is giving me an opportunity to be baptized.”

“Amen to that, John.”

A woman named Evelyn turned around and said, “John, we’ve all been praying for you, and we’re so happy you’re being baptized.”

The warm responses from the people in church touched my heart.

The day leading up to the baptism, we had one final meeting with the pastor. He went over everything that needed to be said and what time we had to be at the church. “The church where you’re being baptized is located at Prospect Avenue and 168^th Street. Be there on time. The baptism starts at 4:30, so we need you there about four o’clock.” I felt a little nervous, with butterflies in my stomach, but the baptism excited me because it was something so different from what I knew for twenty-five years of ceremony after ceremony. This was something that would actually be good for me.

Saturday morning dawned bright, and I jumped out of bed, excited and eager to get to church—so excited I got there at three o’clock in the afternoon. I gathered my belongings in a bag, the extra clothing I would wear after the baptism, and made my way to Prospect Avenue. As I got to the church, the pastors were there along with those who were going to help with the baptism. They separated the men from the women, put us in different rooms, and got us ready for the baptism.

As the service started, I heard the pastor announce to the congregation that a baptism was about to take place. My heart racing at 90 miles an hour, I peeked through a crack in the door of the back room and saw the auditorium filled to capacity with family members and friends gathered there to watch. I breathed a prayer, asking the Holy Spirit to calm my nerves, and then gestured to the other men to go first so I could give myself a chance to calm down.

Finally I looked around the room, and to my amazement I was the only one left there. It was time. As I walked out to the

baptism pool in the main auditorium, the entire congregation stood to their feet, cheering and applauding. It was a standing ovation. That day was truly a miracle, that God could take a devil worshipper out of hell and get him baptized in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. That is truly a miracle —only God can do that.

Chapter 17

‘I See Jesus in You’

I was a new creation in Christ. Never again to let anger drive me to get back at people. During one church service I heard a voice say: Leave the church and return to us. We can forgive and make things right.

I refused to speak to the demons the way I had done in the past. Instead, I prayed to God in Jesus’ name, asking Him to wage war on my behalf. I envisioned a host of heaven’s angels surrounding me, giving me the courage to keep pushing myself into the things of God: praying, worshipping, and seeking His face.

Not long after this the Lord released me from Grace and Mercy Fellowship, but I did not return to the devil. Instead I found a wonderful new congregation on Manhattan’s west side called Times Square Church. The church was founded in 1987 by David Wilkerson, a pastor whose story became famous worldwide when he preached the gospel of Jesus Christ to gang members in New York City, and most notably one named Nicky Cruz. Nicky’s conversion is described in the books The

Cross and the Switchblade and Run, Baby, Run . It was there,at Times Square Church, that I started to settle in, making new friends and signing up for discipleship classes. I was feeling like my old self once more—confident—not intimidated by the sea of faces surrounding me. God’s favor was shining down on me like the noonday sun, and eventually the loneliness that gnawed away at me for the longest time lifted.

Facing the Devil on Fifth Avenue

One weekday afternoon, as I was coming across Fifth Avenue at 57^th Street, heading to a department store, right there in front of me was this tall, stocky, dark-skinned ex-cult member I hadn’t seen in the several years since I became a Christian. He was fourth in rank in the occult. I waited patiently as he crossed the avenue and came up to greet me.

“Hello, John, how are you?” he said, his dark eyes trying to pierce through me. “Long time no see,” he added, knowing full well that I was a Christian and to them a traitor.

“I’m doing very well, Will,” I said. He stretched out his hand, and as we made contact it felt as if everything on Fifth and 57^th went into slow motion. Will refused to let my hand go, and I wondered what was happening as he held it in a firm grip. As he locked eyes with me, unblinking, I broke the grip of the handshake. When it broke, everything went back to normal, at its normal pace. We stood there confronting each other, spiritually, physically, mentally, and emotionally, and he

started to shake like he was going into convulsions. I wondered what was going on. Since I hadn’t seen him in years, maybe, I thought, he had Parkinson’s disease, but I soon realized he was being demon-possessed at two o’clock in the afternoon in the middle of Fifth Avenue. As he tried to speak to me, his eyes rolled back in his head. All I saw were the whites of his eyes. He couldn’t control himself and didn’t know what was happening, like some force hit him straight on and knocked all his powers away. As Will backed away from me, we said our goodbyes. I continued down the sidewalk, and the Holy Spirit clearly said to me, “He was trying to curse you, and I broke the curse.” I praised and thanked my Lord Jesus Christ for loving me and protecting me.

Funeral for a Friend

Date: 2016-04-22; view: 651