Mind you, I wasn’t possessed, as far as I knew.
<p>There was a new shop near where I was living at the time: magazines, records, T-shirts, various other kni.cknacks. I stopped in. There were three young men there, who evidently worked there, and we got to chatting. In the course of which, I bought a copy of Rolling Stone. I was a bit of a metalhead, since there wasn’t much else out there that looked interesting (late 80’s, early 90’s). I was a great deal more into the Illuminati/Discordia/Thelemic vibe than I am now, and they took this to be their cue to rt evangelizing. Big mistake.</p>
<p>They had their Youth Group Witnessing kit. I had at least fifteen years on them, and arguments from some of the best skeptics of the past 150 years, including one superstar of philosophy and logic, two of the wittiest men since Voltaire, Voltaire himself, and some modest religious experience myself. Also, I tend not to take fools gladly.</p>
<p>Ten minutes of theological debate ensued. I owned that I did believe in God. I’d also been forgiven, though perhaps not by Jesus (he looked like a doctor or a teacher, had no beard and embraced me). I’d read a good deal of Bible, and The Book of Bible Stories, circa 1915, a family heirloom, which portrayed Revelation as a story with a happy ending. However, to them I was as good as a worshipper of Satan Incarnate, and very likely possessed by this obviously non-Jesussy-looking usurper, so they decided to perform a “deliverance” then and there. I guess I was acting pretty frustrated as well. It happens to us autists.</p>
<p>I can’t remember what they actually said or did. I do remember sitting down on a high stool. It just sounded like they were saying “Out, demon out!” over and over. Sometimes they’d yell “Jesus!” at me, as if it was some kind of challenge or threat. If arguing got me het up, getting passively yelled at was boring. I started reading about Yngwie Malmsteen. They didn’t seem to mind. Finally, I did feel something. I just felt…dirty. I hated myself for having gotten frustrated. They were less than boring at that point, they were getting tired of not getting a rise out of me, and it just seemed kind of depressing. Finally, they got tired, and I went home, feeling really tired and dirty myself.</p>
I looked at the Adoration of the Mystic Lamb and listened to some Peter Gabriel.
Christianity was still beautiful.