“Do not listen to the words of the prophets who prophesy to you, filling you with vain hopes. They speak visions of their own minds, not from the mouth of the Lord.” – Jeremiah 23:16
Sincere and Sacred Scams
A man with my linguistic deficiencies finds it impossible to describe the true-believer experience to anyone who has never fully acknowledged a time when their limbic system was granted full access to their control center. We all live much of our lives in this irrational mode, but the experience of actually looking into the cockpit and realizing you’re not there…well, it’s…
Disembodied? Ethereal? Numinous. Spiritual. Divine. Supernatural. Sacred. Holy.
Someone’s in control, but it’s not you. Someone’s in control of your neighbor, but it’s not them. Someone’s in control of everything, but it’s not anyone. It’s…?
Suddenly, stupid little labels like “God” seem too limited, not too grand; and the Jewish tradition of never saying or spelling His name seems more reasonable: however you think you understand Him, you guessed low. Your pronouns were too specific and your superlatives too flaccid.
“Whatever you think God is, God is not.” – Meister Eckhart
These are not the overactive imaginations of lunatics. These are the altered states of consciousness we’ve evolved to experience, explore, and treasure. You’ll never understand unless you do some mushrooms, speak in tongues, or lose your self in a communal ritual. These are some of the most valuable – and vulnerable – states we experience.
State of Iowa.
1992. Early in the year; late in the winter. A Sunday night service.
It was in this altered state of reality that my family entered the First Church of The Open Bible in Des Moines. I was 10 years old and I hadn’t yet given up on desperately wanting my parents’ attention and approval. For kids in our brand of conservative Christian household, that is synonymous with wanting God’s approval.
My parents hadn’t told me much about why we were travelling to hear this speaker, but their anticipation communicated clearly that this wasn’t just another preacher. Something special might happen tonight.
I had never seen Bob Laflin’s act of Christian cold reading, but his presentation started normally enough. A boring but slightly ominous sermon, delivered in the pause-riddled, nonchalant drone of an oracle. And then the prophecies started.
One-on-one psychics work to convince their clients of their power. But culturally-respected prophets almost have a duty to do the opposite; to downplay their powers, even as their followers extol them. Unmeasured praise invites measured modesty, which begets more praise.
“I’m not a Christian fortune teller,” Bob began. The audience chuckled at the Christianity test: no such thing. Asking a fortune teller about the future is dangerous and evil. Asking the holy spirits about the future is just good, clean prophecy. Bob continued, “Some people call me a prophet. What I know is that God sometimes allows me to see things, and I get the privilege of praying with people.” And with that, he began to scan the audience for someone God wanted to reveal to Bob.
The tension in the room mounted as the spiritual roulette was spun, and 500 true believers waited to find out if the voice of the Lord would land on their number that night. Instantly, I became hyper-aware of the awkwardness of existing; the space I was taking up; how manual all my functions had become. Blinking. Breathing. Looking. It’s all so weird! “What’s a normal face supposed to look like? Am I smiling? Why would I smile? How do I un-smile?”
I needed some more time to figure out how to sit like a person, so I pleaded with the God who was guiding Bob’s hunt, “Please don’t pick me. Please don’t pick me. Please don’t pick me.”
And then I panicked as I wondered which of my rebellions and sexual explorations the Holy Spirit was whispering in Bob’s ear at that very moment. So I pleaded all the harder, “PLEASE! Don’t pick me. I promise I’ll never be bad again.”
My cheeks flushed crimson and I experienced my first-ever cold sweat as a flash flood. I was supposed to believe this feeling was the age-old Holy Spirit, which I can almost agree with, since I assume the exact same awe-ful spirit fell upon anyone in the presence of a saber tooth in the Pleistocene epoch.
As if drawn by my glowing infrared signature, Bob’s gaze stopped on my section. “Please don’t pick me. Please don’t pick me.”
“This young man, in the center,” he directed the attention of the audience. Crap. I’m in the center!
“…toward the back…”. Crap. I’m toward the back!
“…sitting next to…is that your mother?” My mom pointed her finger down at the top of my head. I hadn’t even considered that he might pick me first!
“Yes! Him. Thank you. And what’s your name, young man?”
So this was how my life would end. Time to face the music. “Jamin!” I tried to shout. The air came out, but my vocal chords weren’t prepared to participate.
“I’m sorry, what’s your name?”
“Jamin!” my mom shouted back, amidst my paralysis.
“Jay-min?” he asked.
“Yes,” she continued for me.
“That’s an interesting name.”
“It’s a Bible name.”
“…huh…must be in Chronicles…?”
“Yes, and a few other places.”
My name always prompts the same discussion amongst Christians, who usually feel like if it’s a ‘Bible name’, they should have heard of it. Jamin shows up 6 times. More than just a ‘begat’ name, but not so much you’d notice. Jamin was the son of Simeon, who was the son of Jacob, also known as “Israel” (as in, “Israelites; as in, all Jewish people). Jamin’s descendants were awesomely-named the “Jaminites”, and elsewhere, Jamins were presumably fathers to many of the Benjamins, since “ben-” in Hebrew names usually means “son of-” (as in, Ben-Hur, son of Hur). Liars who sell baby name books and personalized mugs claim that my name means, “following after the Lord“, but those people also say that a name like “Damaris” means “dominant woman” because that sells more mugs than the real translation: heifer.
“It’s a good name,” Bob ended the etymology. So far, the encounter wasn’t going too badly, since I wasn’t really involved yet. But then he changed his focus, and his tone and posture followed suit,
“God has big plans for your life, young man…I see you being used…in big ways. … … Seven years from now…you’re going to have a big decision…an important decision to make. A decision that will determine the course of…the rest of your life…and the lives of everyone around you. I see that God wants to use you to save…and protect so many around you…in unimaginable ways…and you need to be prepared. I see that you’re going to need to spend time…diligently…in God’s Word. This is a big deal in your life…and the lives of many, many others around you. And God would say to you, ‘Prepare thyself.'”
Then, as my mother wept, Bob prayed over me, that I would be reminded over and over of my urgent need to prepare for what God had in store for my life.
And then, he just moved on to the next person, as if he hadn’t just fundamentally altered my ten-year-old life. As we left the service, my parents respected the aura around my ethereal discombobulation, as they reinforced the significance of the prophecy, like Morpheus with Neo. Their son had a word from the Lord and a mandate to spend time in the Word. No one else in the family received a prophecy. I was the chosen one.
They never mentioned it again. I never forgot it. Or perhaps it’s more accurate to say I never escaped it. For the next 7 years, I prepared and worried. With each sin, I wondered if I had just messed up my chances for the rest of my life. Each day that my Bible sat, unopened, I fretted that I didn’t have enough time left to cram for the major test that was coming, with countless people counting on me, and they didn’t even know it.
I didn’t know how big the test was, but the proctor had just told me it would take 7 years of diligent studying. If I succeeded, I would positively change the course of everyone’s life around me. If I failed, I would have missed my one big shot to be used by God, and my human potential would be grounded at age seventeen.
Sure enough, in 1999, I made a major decision that affected the rest of my life. Sure enough, I did not make the decision that God would have wanted. And sure enough, I have lived with the negative consequences ever since.
On The Other Hand
On the other hand, there was almost no way I could have studied the Bible more during those seven years.
Also on the other hand, the decision ‘God’ would have wanted was a terrible decision.
Also on the other hand, the positive consequences have far outweighed the negative.
Also on the other hand, I also faced much more significant life decisions at ages 12, 15, 18, 22, 23, 28, 30, 37 and 39, with no heads-up from the Big Man nor His oracles.
Also on the other hand, every decision I’ve made has altered the course of my life – and those around me – in unimaginable ways.
Also on the other hand, the time I spent worshipping the Bible has been the cause of my worst decisions in life, not the best.
So, on the heaviest hand, Bob Laflin’s influence did much more harm than good.
…unless I’m not thinking of the same decision that Bob meant. I don’t know. Neither does Bob. Neither does God. Because what my prophecy really meant was that I was in a cult of sincere charlatans.
Up next: