Demons and fleece
Friends, this is your official notification. You—yes, YOU—may be possessed by a demon!
“But Glen, how do I know if I have a demon?” you ask. Good question.
Have you ever been involved in a non-Christian religion? Dabbled in astrology or the New Age? Played with an Ouija board? Experimented with illegal drugs or homosexuality? Suffered from mental illness? Had an abortion? Had premarital sex or committed adultery? Have you ever thought about killing another person? When you read the Bible, do you have difficulty concentrating? Do you dislike exorcists?
If your answer to any of these questions is ‘yes,’ you may well have a demon. In other words, if you are a more or less normal person, you have doors to demon possession flapping open all over your soul! Be afraid, friend! Be very afraid!
Where did I get this incredible knowledge? From none other than the Reverend Bob Larson.
In case you haven’t heard of him—and if you aren’t an aficionado of Christian radio, you probably haven’t—Bob Larson is a wigged-out, small-time evangelist based in Colorado. Thanks to his unorthodox theology (he believes that practising Christians can be possessed by demons) and his outlandish claims (such as his assertion that there is an identical demon clone of him walking the Earth), Bob has earned himself a well-deserved place of ridicule and semi-obscurity in the evangelical Christian world.
For years, I have tuned in to hear Bob’s zany over-the-phone exorcisms and fire-and-brimstone tirades against liberals, queers, feminists, non-Christians, and Christians who disagree with Bob. I’ve even called his radio show a couple of times and argued with him on the air about such subjects as euthanasia and whether it’s acceptable to kill a gay man who has a crush on you (I’ll leave it up to you to infer which side of that debate I was on).
Bob’s show is on the radio as I type, and I’m being treated to his latest rant about the true culprit behind the September 11 attacks on the Pentagon and World Trade Center:
Bob: “We know why those men flew those planes! We know what was controlling them in the cockpit when they slammed into those towers, don’t we?”
Caller: “Yes we do. It was the devil.”
Bob: “That’s right. Absolutely, it was the devil.”
Caller: “Yep. Pure evil.”
That’s about as sophisticated as the Bob Larson show gets. As a devoted fan, I expect nothing less.
* * *
I am in a crowded conference room at a hotel in downtown Vancouver. I am surrounded by strangeness. Many of the people around me are crying. Most are praying. Demons are busting out all over the room. The elderly woman in front of me convulses and babbles in the voice of a young girl. A member of Bob’s “Spiritual Warfare” team anoints her with oil and asserts, “I bind you in the name of Jesus! Go to torment! Go!”
Meanwhile, Bob is onstage with two audience members named Chuck and Pat. Chuck and Pat are barking and growling. As they are up to date on their shots, it is fair to assume they have demons.
Bob reads a passage of scripture to Chuck. Chuck spits in Bob’s face. “I don’t mind that,” Bob says, slowly wiping the saliva from his countenance. “In fact, I consider it an honour. They did that to my Jesus.” The room explodes with cheering and applause. “Go to torment!” shouts Bob. “Go!” Chuck falls to the floor, unconscious.
Bob turns to Pat. He summons “an angel of light from the throne of heaven” to smite Pat’s demon. Pat screams and jumps back as if she were standing in a shower that suddenly ran cold. “I will win!” Pat’s demon cackles.
Bob looks Pat in the eye. “You won’t win, because Jesus already won!” he shouts. Again, the place explodes with applause. Bob dramatically clobbers Pat on the head with his Bible. She screeches and falls to the floor, unconscious.
Bob turns back to the audience, a macho smirk on his face, and holds up his Bible. “I bet you’ll never doubt this book again!” A huge laugh, and cheer.
Bob will be finishing up with Chuck and Pat in a few minutes. But while they’re unconscious, he has time to make a very special request. “My Canadian ministry is in trouble,” he says. “At the moment, we have less than ten thousand in the bank, and we have outstanding airtime bills for more than that.” The crowd falls silent. “We need to raise fifty thousand dollars this weekend, or my Canadian ministry might have to close its doors forever, and I won’t be able to return to Vancouver.”
Like any respectable wigged-out evangelical organisation, Bob’s ministry is constantly on the brink of financial ruin.
“If Pat were your daughter, if Chuck were your son, you’d trade in your stock, you’d cash your mortgage, you’d do anything to see them set free! I want you give tonight as if Chuck were your son or Pat were your daughter! I want you to pray about writing a five, ten, twenty, fifty thousand dollar cheque!”
And verily, the wallets of the faithful open wide. It seems there’s nothing like a live demonic manifestation to stimulate the giving spirit.
A plastic offering bucket passes over my lap. I put nothing in it. I feel sorry for the sheep whose fleece looks up at me from its depths—naive, frightened people who turned to Christian radio to find comfort and meaning in their lives, and ended up lining the silk pockets of the Reverend Bob Larson.
Meanwhile, Bob stands in the centre of the stage, praying to Jesus, asking him to please move the hearts of the audience so they will give generously. There is a plaintive sound to his voice, and as he stands with his eyes squeezed almost painfully shut, he looks all the world like he could burst into tears at any moment.
It is a spectacle of staggering manipulation. Alas, if this humble Christian audience doesn’t fork over enough cash tonight, they’ll break poor Bob’s heart.
I shake my head in disgust. “How can this weasel live with himself?” I mutter.
But then again, that’s probably just my demon talking. •
Originally published in The Peak, October 15 2001. Never seen a real live demon being cast into the fiery pit of Hell? If Bob’s perpetually cash-strapped ministry is still afloat, you can check his tour itinerary at www.boblarson.org.
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