IN THE BAD OLD DAYS OF CHRISTIAN ROCK MUSIC.

Whenever I tune in a Christian rock music station, I'm amazed at all the god-honouring tunes available to teenagers. When I was their age, music like that was difficult to find.

In my upcoming How I Was Razed: A Journey from Cultism to Christianity memoir, I wrote about the continual chiding I received from elderly members about my love of rock music. In this excerpt, I sought to find records that rocked as well as praised the Lord.

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While looking through the records in the Bible store one day, an exciting idea struck me. I rushed to the counter and asked the cashier, "Do you have any Christian rock music albums?"

"We only sell contemporary Christian music, but you might like this album by Emmanuel," she said. "They're a local group too."

I took a chance and bought it.

When I worked up the nerve to listen to the Crayons album, I liked a few of the tracks. I particularly enjoyed "You Colour My Life." With the proper promotion, the tune might have been a hit on secular radio stations. Most of the other tracks suffered from the same form of blatant pontificating common to that genre. I ended up listening to the handful of songs which appealed to me.

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How I Was Razed is the testimony of how God revealed his true character to me after charismatic house church elders misled me for more than fifteen years. You're welcome to contact me directly for more information about this upcoming paperback.

"THAT AIN'T WHAT I CALL ROCK 'N' ROLL."

In one of his comedy routines, Bill Cosby related how his mother used to put raisins in his Cream of Wheat porridge so he wouldn't notice the lumps. That didn't fool Bill's throat one bit. The lumps still made him gag.

In a similar fashion, one church elder thought she could lure me away from the supposed evils of rock music. In this excerpt from my upcoming memoir, I knew that whatever she wanted me to hear wouldn't satisfy me.

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Sister Eileen dropped the subject but Sister Roberta phoned several days later.

"You really shouldn't listen to that horrid rock music," she admonished. "Why don't you listen to nice wholesome records?"

I sighed and then replied, "Well, I happen to like rock music better."

"You shouldn't be listening to that worldly music. It's so ungodly. Remember what Paul wrote to the Philippians about thinking on things noble, good, and praiseworthy? There are so many uplifting Christian songs you could be listening to."

Then an idea struck her. "Say, why don't I tape some nice sprightly tunes for you?"

"No, thanks. I like the stuff I hear on CHED."

"Well, if you ask me, you're certainly being influenced by satanic forces when you listen to that unholy racket."

I fumed the rest of that day. "Why, Lord, is it so hard to find Christian rock?" I repeated as I paced my room.

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How I Was Razed is the testimony of how God revealed his true character to me after charismatic house church elders misled me for more than fifteen years. You're welcome to contact me directly for more information about this upcoming paperback.

"WHY SHOULD THE DEVIL HAVE ALL THE GOOD MUSIC?"

Christian rock pioneer, Larry Norman, expressed this sentiment in a song on his album called Just Visiting This Planet He received plenty of persecution because of his God-honouring tunes. Because many older Christians believed rock music would lead teenagers into hell, they condemned every form of it.

In my upcoming How I Was Razed: A Journey from Cultism to Christianity memoir, I related how one church member took it upon herself to rectify my taste in music.

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In spite of my efforts to bring people to Thee Church, certain members fretted once more about my apparent lack of sanctification. Because I remained a fan of rock music and had already purchased several dozen LPs, they sought to rectify my musical tastes.

"I'm concerned about the music you're listening to," Sister Eileen began as we finished eating supper one Wednesday evening in August. "I've bought you this nice album of music for young people." She pulled a record out of a plastic shopping bag and handed it to me. "I'm sure you'll like it."

I frowned as I examined the contrived cover art on the album in my hands. "Thanks," I replied, though I felt little gratitude.

The record sounded far worse than I feared when I played it the next afternoon. The moralistic, goody-two-shoes tone of its ghastly tunes and skits set my teeth on edge. Whoever composed both tried to relate to teenagers, but it sounded mawkish. Only my duty as a friend to Sister Eileen kept me listening to both sides of the disk.

"So, what did you think of that record?" she asked at lunch after the Sunday service.

"Well," I stalled, "I certainly appreciate you buying it for me."

"Yes, but did you enjoy the music?"

"Well, it's really not what I like listening to," I mumbled as I stared at my lap.

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How I Was Razed is the testimony of how God revealed his true character to me after charismatic house church elders misled me for more than fifteen years. You're welcome to contact me directly for more information about this upcoming paperback.

THE CRUEL SHEPHERD.

We should expect every representative of Jesus Christ to speak the truth about all matters. Furthermore, we believe they should have our best interest at heart in whatever they say and do.

Such isn't always the case in houses of worship today. I once attended a home-based church led by a lay preacher who had delusions of grandeur. In my upcoming How I Was Razed: A Journey from Cultism to Christianity memoir, I wrote the following account of the cruellest thing he said about me. Even worse, he spoke it behind my back at a meeting that I missed due to work. I borrowed a recording of it from the church and heard his outrageous diagnosis of my poor sight.

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The minute I arrived home, I threaded the tape on the machine. I enjoyed the recording until I heard Sister Roberta ask, "Why isn't Bruce being healed? We've prayed faithfully for him, but he still has poor sight."

Brother Herald drew a long breath, then explained, "The reason God hasn't given him full sight is because he lusts after it."

I gasped as if he had kicked me in the crotch.

"But can you blame him?" Brother Herald continued as his voice became choked with emotion. "To see his young playmates running around and not being able to join them when he was a child - it's no wonder he wants sight so badly."

Then he opened the scriptures to James 4:1 and read. "From whence come wars and fightings among you? Come they not hence, even of your lusts that war in your members? Ye lust, and have not: ye kill, and desire to have, and cannot obtain: ye fight and war, yet ye have not, because ye ask not. Ye ask, and receive not, because ye ask amiss, that ye may consume it upon your lusts."

His follow-up statements wounded me even deeper. "There is also generational sin in his ancestry. I will not mention the scarlet lady, but we know God punishes those who hate him to the third and fourth generation. It has been revealed to me that this is a generational sin but I have put a stop to it. His children will not be affected by this curse."

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How I Was Razed is the testimony of how God revealed his true character to me after charismatic house church elders misled me for more than fifteen years. You're welcome to contact me directly for more information about this upcoming paperback.

BEWARE OF HYPOCRISY.

Have you ever noticed how easy it is to find fault with others while ignoring your own? Like it or not, we all tend to excuse failures in our own beliefs and conduct. Like using a mirror to check if our faces are dirty, all of us need to objectively examine ourselves with unflinching honesty. The best mirror I know of is The Holy Bible.

From How I Was Razed: A Journey from Cultism to Christianity, here's how hearing of the phony profession of my brother offended me while I was guilty of the same thing

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While Linda and I strolled toward Diane's house one evening after eating at a fast food restaurant, I vented my frustrations regarding my lack of success in bringing people to the Lord. "It's too bad Roy doesn't want to come to church anymore," I complained. "He just wouldn't let the Spirit take over his tongue."

"Did you know that he just went there to learn Brother Herald's secrets?" she replied.

"Really?"

"Yes. He told me he liked knowing things that other people didn't."

"That's no reason to attend a church. We're blessed with an anointed teacher from God. Roy's supposed to be learning the teachings so he can help others who want to advance spiritually."

"I know, but that's what he told me. He also didn't like being ganged up on by Sister Roberta and the rest of you guys."

The closer we approached Diane's house, the greater my anger grew. Roy had always acted like a steadfast believer while in my presence and at church. I believed those occasions when I caught him swearing and saying how he loved Lucifer had been exceptions. The metaphorical scales fell from my eyes as I understood at last he had always been putting on an act so he would receive praise from us.

Because of my blind devotion to Brother Herald, I failed to recognize then that I also attended in order to learn his pseudo-secrets.

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How I Was Razed is the testimony of how God revealed his true character to me after charismatic house church elders misled me for more than fifteen years. You're welcome to contact me directly for more information about this upcoming paperback.

Housesitting WASN'T THAT HARD.

Have you ever looked after somebody's house and dog before? How well did you do? When a friend offered the job to me, I thought it would be difficult and that I would be a failure at it. Fortunately for that family whose house and dog I took care of, I did a good job. Even better, the money they paid me was an answer to prayer.

From my upcoming How I Was Razed: A Journey from Cultism to Christianity memoir, here's the story of my one-and-only experience in housesitting.

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God answered my desperate pleas sooner than I expected. Mrs. Boyle, whose family I boarded with during grade eight, phoned me one evening. "We're going to visit New Foundland for a month in June and we need to hire somebody to look after the house. Would you like to do that for us? We'll pay you two-hundred dollars."

I wrestled with indecision. Looking after a house seemed a huge responsibility. On the other hand, I desperately needed money.

When I agreed, she added, "Why don't you come over to our place? I'll fill you in on what you'll be doing."

As Mrs. Boyle's teenage children, Stephen and Mary Jane, joined us in the living room of their elegant older home near the Alberta Legislature, she listed my duties. "I also need you to do Mary Jane's flower and newspaper delivery routes at the hospital," she finished after ten minutes. "You'll have to walk and feed Lady every day too. Can you do all that?"

I pondered her question, then replied, "Yeah, I guess I could learn to do all those things."

Then she noticed the sole of my right shoe. "You certainly do need the money. Look at the size of that hole."

Contrary to my over-exaggerated fears, I quickly learned Mary Jane's flower and newspaper routes. By the end of the week, I made my rounds confidently each afternoon. Likewise, caring for the house and dog grew easier each day.

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How I Was Razed is the testimony of how God revealed his true character to me after charismatic house church elders misled me for more than fifteen years. You're welcome to contact me directly for more information about this upcoming paperback.

WAS IT SPONTANEOUS COMBUSTION OR DEMONS?

Have you ever witnessed something weird which had no obvious explanation? In my upcoming How I Was Razed: A Journey from Cultism to Christianity memoir, I recounted the following strange tale.

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Most Sunday services were uneventful, but I'll never forget the bizarre events of the third of June. Sister Roberta opened all the doors and windows beforehand that evening to let the warm breeze waft through the house. Cynthia, Brother Bhagan's daughter who lived in Edmonton, arrived with a friend named Sunil. Though he was a Hindu, she wanted to show him how we worshipped.

As Brother Herald delivered the sermon, a thud shook the house. It sounded as if an overweight person jumped off a chair above us.

John raced upstairs to investigate. "Attention everybody," he called from the top of the stairs in his police officer tone of voice. "There's a fire in the kitchen. You'll all have to leave in an orderly fashion out of the side exit."

We stood in the yard as John and Sister Roberta extinguished the flames. Then we filed back into the sanctuary to resume the service. Though all of us felt somewhat rattled, we stayed to hear the end of Brother Herald's sermon.

John called the fire inspector the next morning. Having scrutinized every aspect of the scene of the blaze, the municipal official found no cause of the explosion. It originated amid a small collection of paper bags next to Sister Roberta's stove. The man ruled out spontaneous combustion because the appliance was off.

Furthermore, the inside doors stood wide open and a steady breeze flowed through the house. Spontaneous combustion, according to him, never happens in well-ventilated areas.

In addition, the range had no brown residue on its enamel leading from the pilot lights to the point of the fire. That ruled out ignition from them.

The inspector returned and questioned Sister Roberta later that week. "We didn't find any matches, cigarette butts, or traces of accellerants in the ashes," he concluded. "Are you sure there aren't any disgruntled church members who may have set the fire?"

She pondered his question, then admitted, "I can't think of any."

As the inspector turned to leave, he paused by the back door. "Let me know if you come up with any names or if you remember any
The inspector closed his investigation some months later without reaching a conclusion.
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How I Was Razed is the testimony of how God revealed his true character to me after charismatic house church elders misled me for more than fifteen years. You're welcome to contact me directly for more information about this upcoming paperback.

WOLVES DISGUISED AS SHEPHERDS.

How cruel can people be? In my life, I've had certain individuals say many hurtful things to my face or behind my back. One of the cruellest lies came from a man who I once trusted with all my heart to tell me the truth. In my upcoming How I Was Razed: A Journey from Cultism to Christianity memoir, I recalled the evening in May of 1974 when i asked the minister of the cultic house church I attended why I was born with poor sight. Below is his heartless and unbiblical explanation. ----------------------------------------------------------------- This most recent failure of my faith nagged at me day after day. When Brother Herald invited our questions at the end of the next mid week Bible study, I burst out, "Why did I have to be born with bad eyesight?" He drew a deep breath and explained, "God gave you a choice of where you would be born, but going through the birth canal erased your memory. This is why we don't remember our pre-birth existence. God showed you the two choices you had and this one seemed better to you. We all were given an opportunity to be born in a different family." "You mean I could have been born somewhere else?" "Yes, and perhaps in another time. You chose to be here in this age. You could have been born with sight, but in a different country and time. You could have been one of those starving Third World babies we read about which die in the bondage of their religion. You could have been one of those Muhammadans in the Middle East. Your sight wouldn't help you to be saved, you know." ----------------------------------------------------------------- How I Was Razed is the testimony of how God revealed his true character to me after charismatic house church elders misled me for more than fifteen years. You're welcome to contact me directly for more information about this upcoming paperback.

STIGMATA: DIVINE SIGN OR FAKERY.

One of the most curious mysteries in Christendom is the stigmata. Throughout the centuries, a variety of oddball people claimed to have had the marks of Christ's crucifixion appear on their hands, forehead, and sometimes their feet. A few have even claimed to have the spear wound of Christ in their side.

Forty years ago, I was in a cultic house church where the minister, who I call Brother Herald, claimed to have the stigmata. Back then, I was an awestruck new believer with no discernment skills. Because of that, I accepted whatever this charismatic leader and his elder taught me. Now I know from proper exegesis of Scripture that this man was a liar and a fraud.

From my upcoming How I Was Razed: A Journey from Cultism to Christianity memoir, here is an excerpt that tells of my introduction to what I now believe was a false sign.

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Meanwhile, an incident on Good Friday strengthened my faith in Brother Herald. As proof of his being a teacher of God through divine election, according to Sister Roberta, he suffered from the stigmata.

As Sister Eileen, her mother, and I sat waiting at the card table, I asked them, "Where's Brother Herald? I thought I just heard his voice."

"He's in his room," Sister Roberta explained. "Don't disturb him. He has the stigmata."

"What's that?"

"It's a special burden of God which only a few exalted people get. Brother Herald bears the wounds of Christ in his body every Good Friday. He bleeds a lot sometimes and he doesn't want to be seen."

"Why?"

"It might be too disturbing for people."

Then she opened her Bible and read to me the passage from Galatians 6:17. "From henceforth let no man trouble me: for I bear in my body the marks of the Lord Jesus."

She looked up at me and cautioned, "He's in a lot of pain so he doesn't want you disturbing him with questions."

Sister Roberta's rebuke smarted but I held my peace. After all, I still knew little of the faith whereas both she and Brother Herald seemed well-educated in its particulars.

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How I Was Razed is the testimony of how God revealed his true character to me after charismatic house church elders misled me for more than fifteen years. You're welcome to contact me directly for more information about this upcoming paperback.

SICK OF VISITING THE SICK.

Have you ever done something that you felt ill-prepared to do, yet you knew it was your duty? As part of a church outreach, a few members and I sang Christian songs to patients at a hospital. It seemed like a good idea at first but, as you can read from this excerpt from my upcoming How I Was Razed: A Journey from Cultism to Christianity memoir, the novelty wore off quickly.

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Apprehension nagged me as we trooped into the hospital the next Saturday afternoon. Institutions seem to exude an atmosphere of perpetual hopelessness. I experienced more than enough of that at Jericho.

Sister Eileen led the way as we walked down the hall to the nurse's station. Having received her permission, we stepped into the first room.

"Excuse us," Sister Eileen ANNOUNCED, "We're Christians and we'd like to sing a few songs for you. Is that all right?"

One patient said "Yes," but the rest of the patients ignored us.

We sang several hymns and then walked to the next room, doing the same there.

As the weeks passed, I became disenchanted with our hospital visits. All I did was stand with the others and sing. Though nobody complained about our presence, I had the impression that the patients tolerated, rather than appreciated, our efforts.

As we sat around the card table before one Bible study in March, Sister Eileen announced, "We're going to have to discontinue our hospital visits."

"How come?" I wondered.

"We've got too many things to do on Saturdays and nobody seems interested anymore."

I considered her answer for several seconds, then replied, "I suppose that's all right. I don't really want to go anymore either."

"It's settled then, Sister Roberta concluded, "There won't be any more visits."

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How I Was Razed is the testimony of how God revealed his true character to me after charismatic house church elders misled me for more than fifteen years. You're welcome to contact me directly for more information about this upcoming paperback.

BLESSED ASSURANCE IN A TIME OF SORROW.

Have you ever met somebody who continually treated you as a problem person, liable to mess up everything? I had the misfortune of meeting just such a character. This woman, who I refer to as Sister Roberta, was a thorn in my side for more than fifteen years.

From my upcoming How I Was Razed: A Journey from Cultism to Christianity memoir, here's an excerpt about how I comforted a grieving grandmother in spite of Sister Roberta's profound misgivings.

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One Wednesday evening, Sister Eileen and her mother seemed preoccupied. As we sat in the sanctuary, awaiting Brother Herald, I asked, "Is something going on?"

Both women looked away from me as if they felt embarrassed. Then Sister Roberta broke the silence. "Little Closius died a few days ago. Linda was bathing him and when she left the bathroom to get a bar of soap, he slipped beneath the water."

"I'm sorry to hear that." I mumbled.

"We're having the funeral here on Saturday afternoon. You can come if you wish but don't ask any foolish questions, all right? I don't want Linda to start crying because of your impertinent questions. The last thing grieving people need is for somebody to ask about how it happened."

Around a dozen people attended the funeral for Jay's year-old son.

"If only I had brought the soap in first," Linda kept repeating to herself. "Why did God have to allow this?"

Words failed me as I shuffled my feet and gazed at the floor. Every answer that came to mind sounded trite.

After Sister Roberta served communion and gave a brief eulogy, she allowed the congregants, two or three at a time, to view Closius' body in Brother Herald's room. This inner sanctum interested me more than paying my last respects as Sister Roberta had always forbidden me to see it. A double-sized bed had been placed in the far corner. Next to it stood a varnished wooden chair and writing desk with a lamp on it. I noticed with some surprise that the small room had no windows in its pale blue walls.

Doing my duty, I glanced at the small, brown casket on the centre of the bed before I walked out of the room.

Linda's mother wept as she followed me out from Brother Herald's room. "Poor baby. I'll never see him again," she sobbed.

"You'll be able to see him again in the resurrection when Christ returns," I blurted.

Instead of upsetting her, as I feared, she exclaimed, "Oh yes, I'd forgotten about that. Thanks for reminding me."

I smiled, realizing that I comforted her with the eternal aspect of our lives.

While the congregation disbursed and Sister Roberta Gave several people driving directions to the cemetery, I asked her, "Can I come too?"

"No," she ordered, "You will stay here with us. Only the family members can attend the burial. You'll just get in the way anyhow."

In spite of this snub, I remained loyal to Thee Church and the supposed truth I learned there.

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How I Was Razed is the testimony of how God revealed his true character to me after charismatic house church elders misled me for more than fifteen years. You're welcome to contact me directly for more information about this upcoming paperback.

THE SELF-IMPROVEMENT CRAZE.

In previous posts, I've mentioned my credulity and how certain individuals took advantage of me. Though they sometimes believed they were doing me a favour, the end results were often disheartening.

One of these well-meaning acquaintances was Patrick, a fellow Amway distributor. After one motivational meeting at a local product distribution warehouse, he handed me a green pamphlet as he remarked, "I don't really have time for this course but it might be of help for building your business." As he explained briefly about what this Pursuit of Excellence course taught, I skimmed over the pamphlet. All in all, the seminar appeared to be a worthwhile investment.

My sponsor, the woman who enrolled me in the Amway "opportunity," also became interested when I showed her the brochure. With little hesitation, we both signed up for the week-long course in February of 1984.

Much of what the instructor taught was familiar to us, having already read self-help books. Additionally, the course covered the four types of individuals (controllers, promoters, analyzers, and supporters), as well as the reasons why they do what they do. Much of the material dealt with visualization, the unscientific notion that people can obtain what they vividly pictured in their minds.

As the days passed, I took copious notes in order to retain what I had learned. Contrary to my expectations, all that information had no effect on product sales. It didn't help me sponsor more people into Amway's multi-level marketing scheme either.

Adding to my disappointment was the realization that the course, and another two that I took afterward, didn't deal with the root of my chronic depression. I had wasted several hundred dollars on what turned out to be smoke and mirrors.

I now realize that it was my pride that kept me struggling to succeed in Amway. Even when the Canadian government sued founder, Rich DeVos, for tax evasion in 1983, I clung doggedly to my belief that I might become rich through that business.

Likewise, I remained a member of a cultic house church for more than fifteen years because I believed they were advanced in God's truth. Now I know that they were mislead and that many of the leader's assertions were blasphemous.

I wrote How I Was Razed: A Journey from Cultism to Christianity in the hope that my story would help and comfort others in similar circumstances. My goal is to have my memoir in print and e-book form this year.

I already have two paperbacks published. You're welcome to click on my books link or contact me directly for more information.

HOW TO LOSE FRIENDS AND INFURIATE PEOPLE.

Why do some individuals fall for Ponzi schemes and multi-level-marketing hype? From my own experience of money-making rackets, I realize that my pride blinded me to the truth. These schemes are set up to generate substantial wealth for the folks at the top of the pyramid while the bottom level partners lose money.

My introduction to this supposed opportunity to earn an unlimited income came in 1982 when a member of my church introduced me to Amway. From my upcoming How I Was Razed: A Journey from Cultism to Christianity memoir, here is the account of my first experience as a multi-level marketer.

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"Now that you're in Amway, Bruce, you're going to have to hold meetings," Sister Eileen informed me as she drove me home from church the following Sunday. "Invite everybody you know but don't tell them it's about Amway. Say that you've got a business plan or a way to supplement income, depending on who you're talking to. Some people get nervous if you call it a business."

"Why can't I just tell them it's Amway?"

"People have heard some nasty things about the company, but they're all untrue. It isn't a pyramid scheme because products are involved. In a pyramid scheme, people send money to the person higher up in the chain and so on and so forth. The Amway opportunity lets people sell products and build their business as big as they want to."

That made sense but I still felt qualms about withholding information from people who had legitimate concerns.

Sister Eileen taught me how to present the plan that afternoon. Filled with excitement, I sat by the phone after supper with my address book. I opened it and dialled each of my friends from A to Z. Instead of being eager to visit me and find out about the opportunity, each one became suspicious when I evaded their direct questions. Some friends remained cordial afterward but I lost most of them, including my CB buddies, that night.

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How I Was Razed is the testimony of how God showed me his true nature after charismatic house church elders misled me for more than fifteen years. You're welcome to contact me directly for more information about this upcoming paperback.

"HANDING TICKETS OUT FOR GOD."

Whenever I hear "Tiny Dancer" by Elton John, I'm reminded of the days when I handed out tracts on the streets of Edmonton. This fad was commonly practiced among evangelical Christians during the early seventies. This wasn't solely a Christian practice as other religious groups also handed out their handbills.

In my upcoming memoir called How I Was Razed: A Journey from Cultism to Christianity, I wrote about my introduction to this style of outreach ministry. Here's how it went.

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Though Thee Church had no overt evangelical mission program, some members encouraged me to share my faith through handing out tracts. my first experience of this practice happened late one January afternoon when Linda and I rode the bus downtown.

"Here's some tracts," she instructed. "Just walk down the street and hand people one," she instructed. "I'll be close by if you need any help with questions."

"I've never done this before," I said as I nervously fingered the slips of paper. "Is that all I have to do?"

"Yes. If the Spirit lays something on your heart, say whatever he tells you. Don't be afraid. Remember that Christ promised never to forsake us."

Most people I approached ignored my proffered slip of paper. When I held up one with the words "NOT TOO SHORT" on it, a sour-voiced old man said, "Not too short of money, I'll bet."

Knowing the false reputation among unbelievers of Christians constantly begging for donations, his remark stung. By the time I thought of a civil reply, the man had walked away.

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How I Was Razed is my testimony of how charismatic house church elders misled me for more than fifteen years. After leaving that congregation and turning my back on God for almost a decade, due to the lies that the cult taught about him, the Lord revealed his true nature to me. I now realize how blasphemous that house church's doctrines were.

You're also welcome to contact me directly for more information about my memoirs.

I WAS SOAKED IN MORE WAYS THAN ONE.

Time, money, loyalty, - I gave them all willingly to Thee Church (as I thought of it). And what did I get in return? The elders criticized and mislead me for more than fifteen years.

As I previously posted, I was a naive convert with no clue that not all who claim the name of Christ had my eternal welfare in mind. In this excerpt from my upcoming How I Was Razed: A Journey from Cultism to Christianity memoir, here is the first example of the erroneous expectations which the elders placed upon me - beginning at my baptism on this date in 1971.

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"Here's a bathrobe, Bruce," Sister Roberta said after the hymn. "Go upstairs to Sister Eileen's bathroom and change into your bathing suit."

When I walked into the church a few minutes later, I saw Brother Herald waiting by the tank for me. He and Jay removed the comforters and lid. Then Sister Roberta lifted a short wooden step ladder that stood to the left of the tank, lowered it into the water, and held it steady. Brother Herald and I removed our bathrobes and Sister Eileen placed them on the freezer. I took note of the way Brother Herald climbed into the tank so I wouldn't embarrass myself. Then I followed him in.

"We are gathered here tonight to witness the baptism into the name of Christ of this new member," Brother Herald intoned to the four congregants standing by the tank. "Let us pray. Lord Jesus, be with this young man as he accepts baptism into your family. In Jesus' name we pray this. Amen."

"Bruce," he gave me a penetrating stare, "are you ready to receive the baptism of Jesus Christ for the remission of sins?"

"Yes, I am ready to receive the baptism of Jesus Christ for the remission of sins."

"Then, in Jesus' name, I baptize you into the name of Christ. Receive the Holy Ghost."

I pinched my nostrils closed as Brother Herald pushed me backwards and held me under the water for a few seconds.

"Start speaking in tongues," Sister Roberta exhorted as my head broke the surface. Everybody except Brother Herald jabbered as I stood, awaiting the promised Holy Spirit to manifest.

"Come on, Bruce," Sister Eileen urged. "You've got to speak in tongues. Just say anything and let the Spirit take control."

"How do I do that? What if I say something wrong and don't know it?"

"Just let the Holy Spirit guide your tongue."

I spoke a few nonsense syllables as if to jump start the process but I sensed no supernatural change.

"Hallelujah! He's starting to speak in tongues," Sister Roberta blurted. This sent the congregants into an accelerated frenzy of babbling. In spite of all their efforts, I remained mute.

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How I Was Razed is my testimony of how charismatic house church elders misled me for more than fifteen years. After leaving that congregation and turning my back on God for almost a decade, due to the lies that the cult taught about him, he revealed his true nature to me. I now realize how blasphemous that house church's doctrines were.

Check out my previous memoirs here. You're also welcome to contact me directly for more information.

LIKE A LAM TO THE SLAUGHTER.

It happens all the time. Some charismatic preacher sets up a church and claims to have direct revelations from God Almighty. Instead of targeting unbelievers, these wolves dressed in shepherd costumes prey upon naive converts.

Forty years ago, I was one of those wandering sheep. No mature Christian discipled me so I had no idea of what was true or false. This excerpt from my How I Was Razed: A Journey from Cultism to Christianity memoir shows how I was seduced by a false teacher.

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Three people looked me over as they sat at a rickety, brown card table in front of the pulpit.

"This is Sister Roberta and Sister Eileen," Jay said as he gestured toward a silver-haired woman wearing a flower print dress and her brunette daughter in a beige blouse and slacks. "And this is our minister, Brother Herald," he gestured toward a short, bullet-shaped man at the head of the table who sat with his back to the pulpit. He wore gold wire-rimmed glasses, a brown dress shirt, and grey suspenders with matching dress pants. His greyish-brown hair and moustache made him appear younger than his sixty-six years.

"We're about to start the meeting," Sister Roberta announced. "You better pull up a chair and sit down."

At first, Brother Herald's teaching style perturbed me. He spoke in a low monotonous rumble for many minutes, then his voice abruptly rose in volume and pitch as he pounded the table for effect. After startling us all, his voice dropped back to its normal level. This, and his laboured breathing, made listening a challenge in the beginning but I soon adjusted to his mannerisms.

By the end of the meeting, this man's preaching captivated me. I can't remember the subject of that particular lesson but I recall thinking that he explained arcane mysteries which ordinary ministers never preached. Only Garner Ted and Herbert W. Armstrong taught such revelatory doctrines on their radio and television programs called The World Tomorrow. Like Christ's audience when he finished preaching the "Sermon on the Mount" in Matthew 7:28 and 29, a sense of awe gripped me.

Though I gave my life to Christ at a Vacation Bible School in 1969, nobody discipled me until that evening. This was Thee Church, and my spiritual home, as I came to think of it.

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How I Was Razed is my testimony of how charismatic house church elders misled me for more than fifteen years. After leaving that congregation and turning my back on God for almost a decade, due to the lies that the cult taught about him, he revealed his true nature to me. I now realize how blasphemous that house church's doctrines were.

Check out my previous memoirs here. You're also welcome to contact me directly for more information.

WHAT HARM COULD A PEACE SYMBOL DO?

Remember when people drew peace symbols in the sixties? Believe it or not, certain superstitious Christians believed that drawing one was an evil act. Moreover, they taught this superstitious nonsense to impressionable disciples as if it was some sort of commandment from God Almighty.

This was one of many ridiculous doctrines that I learned at a cultic house church. Being new to the faith, I didn't know what was biblical and what was bologna. Wanting with all of my heart to please God, I obeyed these sometimes painful injunctions.

Here's an excerpt from my upcoming How I Was Razed: A Journey from Cultism to Christianity memoir that shows not only how credulous I was but how misguided those church members were.

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Because nobody discipled me until I joined Thee Church, the Christian faith seemed to consist of many arbitrary customs and prohibitions. One of these was the drawing of certain symbols.

A few years previously, a cereal company offered free booklets depicting famous scenes from N.H.L. hockey games in each box. When the pages were flipped, the players seemed to move. Though I hated sports, I became enamoured with the concept of still pictures being arranged to produce a short animation.

During my first month at Jay and Linda's home, I realized that I too could make my own animated booklets. Whenever I had an evening with no homework to do, I sat at the kitchen table and drew each frame of my short animations. One of them displayed a peace symbol rolling like a wheel.

"Look at this, Jay. Isn't it cool?" I said after showing him how to animate the pictures.

He frowned at the booklet and then at me.

"You shouldn't draw this. Peace symbols are evil."

"Evil? How come?"

"It's an ancient pagan fertility sign. Christians should have nothing to do with it because it's of the Devil."

Not knowing any better, I sighed as I dropped my creation into the garbage and refrained from drawing peace symbols.

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How I Was Razed is my testimony of how charismatic house church elders misled me for more than fifteen years. After leaving that congregation and turning my back on God for almost a decade, due to the lies that the cult taught about him, he revealed his true nature to me. I now realize how blasphemous that house church's doctrines were.

KINDNESS FROM THE CRUEL.

In previous blog posts, I've written and provided book excerpts about the cultic church I once attended. Though its members wounded my spirit many times with criticisms and assumptions about my supposed moral failings, they did help me from time to time as well. From How I Was Razed: A Journey from Cultism to Christianity, here is one example where the church leaders came to my rescue.

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The elders of Thee Church likewise demonstrated their care for me by celebrating my eighteenth birthday. After supper one Wednesday afternoon, Sister E handed me a bulky package. Inside it was a greyish-green down-filled winter parka with a blond fur trim on its hood.

"You looked so cold in that old, brown jacket your dad gave you so we bought this for you," Sister E said as I admired the coat.

"Thanks," I said as gratitude overwhelmed me. "This is really nice." When I tried it on, it fit well.

"Brother H also wrote a poem for you in this card," Sister R said as she handed it to me.

In my room later that evening, I opened up the envelope, pulled out the card, and studied it under my magnifying glass. Inside a boarder of flowers, Sister R typed several verses of Brother H's doggerel. Though he wrote about facing the trials of life, I burst out laughing at one line which read, "At least we know there's a man in there."

This act of kindness touched me deeply. In spite of Sister R's perennial criticism and Brother H's claim that I chose to have poor sight, the church leaders showed they cared about me.

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How I Was Razed is the testimony of how a cultic house church misled me, how I turned my back on God after I felt he perennially failed to heal my eyes, and how he graciously brought me to my senses. Feel free to click here to e-mail me for more information about my books.

PHANTOM VISION AND FALSE EXPECTATIONS.

Self-delusion is a frightening force. It makes normally-rational human beings do the most irrational and monstrous things. From the followers of Jim Jones to the Taliban, the world has witnessed behaviour that no sane person would ever think of doing. Deception results in less-harmful irrationality but its grip is no less powerful.

I'm ashamed to admit it but I was deceived by the name-it-and-claim-it crowd. Not knowing any better, I joined a charismatic cult and became convinced that if I only had enough faith, I would be healed of my poor vision. Even when my left eye hemorrhaged in 1988, I still clung to a faint hope that the Lord would reward my faithfulness by performing a miracle.

From How I Was Razed: A Journey from Cultism to Christianity, here is how the illusion of vision in my left eye was shattered by an ophthalmologist's diagnosis.

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"Your hemorrhage is much worse," the doctor said in October. "I'll give you an alcohol block. That will kill the nerves and you won't feel any more pain after that."

"Won't that ruin what little vision I have in it?" I exclaimed

"You don't have any vision in that eye. It's blind."

"It can't be! I can still see light and dark with it."

"I'm telling you, Bruce, it's totally blind. Look," he said as he shone a flashlight in it. "Can you see anything?"

"No," I admitted with great reluctance. "Isn't there any sort of operation to fix it?"

"I'm sorry to say this but it's too far gone. You'll never see out of that eye again. Your pupil doesn't even dilate. Come in next week and I'll inject alcohol in that eyeball."

When I arrived home, I conducted an experiment to find out if the doctor was right. I stared at the chandelier when it was lit, covered my right eye with my hand, and switched off the lights. My left eye still saw a glow for a few seconds. My heart plummeted as I realized the horrible truth. My brain compensated for the blindness by imagining that the eye still saw light. Any hope of it seeing again died that day.

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How I Was Razed is the testimony of how a cultic house church misled me, how I turned my back on God after I felt he perennially failed to heal my eyes, and how he graciously brought me to my senses.

CRUEL ACCUSATIONS OF DISABLED PEOPLE.

Believe it or not, some misguided individuals actually blame disabled folks for having handicaps. Some Christian cults even teach their followers that a disability proves that the sufferer is being punished for unconfessed sin, a lack of faith, or ancestral sins. Even today, charismatic preachers, such as Benny Hinn, believe that any sort of deficiency or ailment is a result of the sufferer's insufficient faith to be healed.

In my upcoming How I Was Razed: A Journey from Cultism to Christianity memoir, I wrote about how the minister of that pseudo-church said, behind my back yet, that my lack of healing was due to lust.

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"May I borrow the tape of the meeting again?" I asked Sister R after the following Sunday Service.

She hesitated, looked away, and said, "You don't want to hear this."

"How come?" I asked as my frown deepened.

She paused again for a few seconds and bowed her head as she mumbled, "Brother H spoke about you during the meeting."

"Why can't I hear what he said? Don't I have the right to know?"

"Look -- will you promise not to take what he said the wrong way?"

"Yes. I really want to hear what he said about me." Sister R dragged her feet as she fetched the reel from the basement and handed it to me.

As soon as I arrived home, I threaded the tape on the machine. I enjoyed the recording until I heard Sister R ask, "Why isn't Bruce being healed? We've prayed faithfully for him but he still has poor sight."

Brother H drew a long breath and said, "The reason God hasn't given him full sight is because he lusts after it."

I gasped as if he had kicked me in the crotch.

"But can you blame him?" Brother H continued, his voice becoming choked with emotion. "To see his young playmates running around and not being able to join them when he was a child, it's no wonder he wants sight so badly."

Then he opened the scriptures to James 4:1 and read. "From whence come wars and fightings among you? Come they not hence, even of your lusts that war in your members? Ye lust, and have not: ye kill, and desire to have, and cannot obtain: ye fight and war, yet ye have not, because ye ask not. Ye ask, and receive not, because ye ask amiss, that ye may consume it upon your lusts."

Then he said something that wounded me even deeper. "There is also generational sin in his ancestry. I will not mention the scarlet lady, but we know that God punishes those who hate him to the third and fourth generation. It has been revealed to me that this is a generational sin but I have put a stop to it. His children will not be affected by this curse."

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How I Was Razed is the testimony of the way I was mislead by a cult church, how I turned my back on God after I felt he perennially failed to heal my eyes, and how he graciously brought me to my senses.

My previous books are now available for purchase online by clicking here. You can also click here to e-mail me directly as well.