I could feel tension building as I sat between my parents. A silent struggle, an invisible motion, a suggestion, a dare.

Pastor Frank glared at us, his crowd, all thirty-two of us sitting stiffly in our seats. The Holy Ghost was present. Someone was in bondage to a sin, and the Pastor wanted them to speak up now, confess it before the church, and be released from its horrible grip.

My mother shifted, leaned over and whispered to my dad, "It's me, Lance. I think it's me."

Dad hushed her quickly. "It's not you...now be quiet."

Pastor Frank paced the floor in front of us, walked back and forth in front of the pulpit, behind the altar. There at that altar I went forward last year and confessed with my mouth to be saved, leaned down at that altar and prayed the sinner's prayer. I renounced the world there, told God I'd give up all my sins to live for him. The altar was a sanctuary, my sanctuary, a holy place where there was hope, despite what was going wrong. Pastor Frank had given a fiery sermon about commitment, the cost of being a disciple and following after Christ, and my heart had burned within me.

"You need to come forward," the pastor said. "The Spirit of the Lord has told me not to let anyone leave this service until this sin is confessed. That's how much He loves you, that's how much He cares for you! He wants you to be freed from bondage to this evil spirit that has taken you captive to the will of the devil! Now is your chance, my friend. Scripture tells us that the proud of heart will be cast down, but the humble of spirit He will exalt! Hallelujiah!"

Jenkins stood up. His face was white as flour, blue veins in his cheeks. His cane trembled in his hand; he was bent forward slightly, looking to the floor. "It's me," he said in a low voice. "It must be me."

My mom gasped. I looked at Jenkins, finally glad that it was over, that it wasn't really me after all. Jenkins continued. "I've been hateful and spiteful in my heart....towards the kids. None of them call on a regular basis. I confess I've had some evil thoughts about the whole matter."

Pastor Frank nodded his head solemnly. "No," he said. "The Lord appreciates your repentance, but it isn't you. The Holy Ghost is telling me the sin is sexual in nature. Someone here today is in a fiery struggle with the poison of fleshly lust!"

Jenkins spoke up to interupt him. "Well, there's something else, too, pastor. Since Nancy passed-on I've had some awful urges...you know. I bought one of those magazines..."

Doug Bender chortled rudely, and a gasp went up as heads turned to look at him. The pastor eyed him balefully, then turned back to old Jenkins. Bender seemed to sink down a little into the pew he was sitting in, face flushed, but smiling weakly.

"No," said the pastor. "It isn't you. But may the Lord bless you for your confession."

Jenkins sat down.

My mother shifted uncomfortably, her shoulder brushing against mine. I felt a knot in the center of my chest, some sin untying itself, loose in my soul. I caught a flash of my mother's eyes as she gave my Dad a quick look, and he sighed on my other side, shaking his head.

I hoped she wouldn't say anything. What could she say? It was something sexual, the pastor said. It couldn't have anything to do with mom.

I stared at the altar, thinking about that fact, and to tell the truth I began to shake a little bit. What if it was me? There was no way I was going up to that altar in front of all these people unless I knew for sure. If it was me, I wanted confirmation. Well, the pastor said it was a sexual sin, so that seemed to do the trick. I stared at the altar, a terrible fear filling up inside me.

When I went forward to rededicate my life last summer, I gave up all my sins...almost. There was one that kept me chained, yes Lord I was chained. It wasn't exactly a sin you could confess in front of a bunch of people you knew though, much less your mom and dad. Please, God, I prayed. Don't let it be me! My lust is a monster! I'll never do it again! Oh, God, I promise! Never again! Just don't let it be me, Lord! I don't want to go forward....would you forgive me anyway? Just this once, God?

The pastor continued to pace. The tension grew audible, people moving in their seats, sighing, daring to look around, restless. Jenkins spoke up again, "You sure it ain't me?" He was the sixth person to confess; already five others had spoken, and been told they were not the one.

Dave Walker stood up. "No, it's not you, Jenkins. Praise the Lord! I have confirmation from the Spirit in my inner man that whoever it is needs to come forward now! The Lord has His hand upon you, and we are not to leave this building until you have been set free! Praise the Lord." He sat down once more.

Dave Walker was one of the more spiritual members of our congregation. I heard he sometimes went entire days praying nonstop. Anyway, he could speak up a storm of glory in tongues, and sometimes he interpreted, too. He had the baptism of the Holy Ghost, and the baptism of fire, both. Most of us had the baptism of the Holy Ghost, but it took a lot of fasting and seeking after God to get immersed in His fire. Mr. Walker seemed to have a power flowing about him, so that you could feel it when he walked up to you. He was strong in the Lord, for sure. No doubt about it. He even could tell dozens of what he called "true-ghost-stories....Holy-Ghost stories, that is!"

Once the Lord used him to cast the devil himself out of a man, and when he got home, there was the devil on his bed, fuming mad at him, but grinning maliciously. Dave Walker says he spent the entire night submitting to God and resisting the evil one, being tempted by spirals in its eyes to turn away from God, but the Holy Ghost gave him strength. If it wasn't truly Satan in person, Mr. Walker says, then it was one of his most powerful principalities.

Becky Moore stood up, and my eyes went wide. She was a few years older than me, just starting college, and sometimes the subject of my fantasies when I was committing The Sin. She had long, auburn hair, and a wickedly pretty face so that she rarely ever wore make-up, and a body that was revealing no matter what she wore. Right when she stood up, all this flashed through my mind, and I started feeling funny, so I closed my eyes and pleaded with God to help me. As she started her confession, I leaned forward, my eyes shut, my head in my hands.

"I've been friendly with a non-Christian guy," she said. Her voice was soft. I could barely hear her. Her words sounded so tender to me I thought they might break in my ears. I thought to myself, "My God, I love her!" Suddenly I remembered how she had flirted with me at a pot-luck a few months earlier. She was in cut-offs and a tee-shirt, and I could hardly keep my eyes off her...

No! Don't think of that, I told myself. My shoulders trembled. I couldn't help but think of it. I didn't hear what she was saying now; my mind was caught up in that pot-luck, when we were playing some stupid board-game, and she was sitting next to me. There was a point when we were supposed to huddle to plan strategy, and she came so close, her eyes connecting with mine, her lips beneath my lips, I thought we were going to kiss, but we didn't. We just stayed that way. Her lips were moist, and they looked soft, and her eyes seemed to glitter up at me, her whole countenance shining. Later that night during a singing service, our eyes caught, and she winked at me. My heart turned into an ice-block of fear, and I felt weird and all twisted up inside, like I was about to go up to the plate in a serious game of baseball. Except, there was more to it than that. I wanted to be around her, to be beside her, yet I was also afraid of her, and wanted to get away from her -- all of this was brewing inside me all at once.

My mother leaned forward and whispered in my ear, "Is everything all right?"

I opened my eyes and sat up quickly. "I feel kind-of sick."

"You're probably hungry," Dad muttered.

My mom shot him a glare.

"It's not you, Becky," Pastor Frank was telling the girl..

Mom made up her mind, and started to stand up, but then the pastor said, "I feel very sure that the person in question is a man."

Dave Walker said, "Yes, Pastor. I confirm that in the spirit."

My dad snorted, and my mom relaxed.

"You're only making it harder on yourself," Pastor Frank said. "Don't resist the Spirit of mercy and grace! Your shame was in your sin, not in its confession! Come forward now, my friend, and let the Spirit set you free!"

I glanced over at Becky. She was sitting down again, looking blankly ahead of her. I thought I could see some blood in her cheeks. I looked back to the Pastor again. He had stopped pacing, and was looking at all of us with brimstone eyes. I imagine that's how Moses looked at the Israelites when he came down from Mt. Sinai to find them bowing down to a golden calf. I've heard that Finney, the revivalist, was able to get men to repent just by looking at them, so fierce were his eyes. I could relate to how those men felt, looking up at Pastor Rankin's eyes, and the way they seemed to burn with holiness and purity.

I felt dirty under his stare, like a false confessor. Pastor Frank always preached hellfire on false confessors, those who were in the church but not of it. They had a way about them that seemed like they were godly, but their lives were steeped in sinfulness, and their hearts were hard and wicked. They were sinners who put to shame the cross of Christ. They professed to be wise, as the scripture says, but were fools, their hearts given over to their lusts, having a form of godliness, but denying its power. I felt like one of these as I thought of my fantasies, and Becky. Maybe I was a false confessor. Maybe it was time for me to get right with God..

"Don't deceive the Holy Spirit!" Pastor Frank shouted. "The Holy Commandment says not to bear false witness! Do you know what that means, friend? Yes! I am talking to you, you whom the Spirit of the Living God has set aside this day to appoint you to repentance! Do you know what it means to bear false witness?"

Rigid silence greeted the echoing question.

"It means," said the Pastor, "that if you walk out of here today without repenting from your sin, and pretend that your life is godly, and everything is fine, and you are filled with the Holy Ghost, that you are a liar! Unless you confess your sin now, my friend, you are a liar! You have lied to us, your brothers and sister, and to the Holy Ghost! And I just pray that the Lord will not be so harsh with you as He was with Ananias and Saphirra, who were both struck dead down to the floor for lying to the Holy Ghost because of their greed! May the Lord God Almighty have mercy on your soul should you fail to confess this sexual sin today! Just as Joshua stood before the Israelites and called them forward, so the all-knowing Spirit of God is calling you today, mister. Today you have an appointment with God. Today is the day of salvation, so don't be afraid. Make your confession, but do it quick! Be sure not to lie to God!"

My heart withered within me. Had I ever lied in such a way? An image flashed in my mind, when I was praying for baptism by the Holy Spirit. Yes, then I had lied. Oh, it had bore down on me for weeks, but I gradually forgot about it. Now God was bringing it back to mind.

Several months ago, there had been a meeting for youth with Dave Walker. He told us all about the baptisms of the Spirit, and spiritual gifts, and how speaking in tongues is a sign you got the power of God upon you. That's when I lied. He asked if I felt the Lord inside me, if I was born again, if Jesus ever came into my heart. I told him yes. Then, he asked me if I wanted the Gift, and I said I did. Yes, I told him. He asked if I knew Jesus as well as any other friend, and I told him yes. So he said, if you ask a friend for a thing, won't he give it? Yes, I said. Then, Jesus, who is your friend, will also give the Holy Ghost to those who ask him, he said. All you've got to do is receive it.

So we started praying together. But I felt guilty, because I knew that I really didn't know Jesus just like he was a friend. I didn't know him that well at all sometimes, and it seemed like the more I sought His face the further off He went. I thought about Him all the time, told other people about Him, and prayed every day, but He just seemed to become more and more mysterious. He was not like any friend I had ever had.

"Why don't you pray now?" Mr. Walker suggested.

I hesitated. I had never prayed in front of anyone else. "Uh..."

"What is it?" asked Dave Walker. "Don't you want the power of the Spirit?"

"Yeah."

He waited for me. I tried to formulate a prayer, but I was still feeling guilty for saying I knew Christ like a friend when I really didn't, and that verse came to mind then about bearing false witness, so I was confused. Plus, I wasn't sure who to address. The Father, the Son, or the Spirit Himself? Jesus gave the Spirit, but the Father seemed kind of in control of things, and anyway, didn't Christ die so we could know the Father? Wouldn't it also be just sort of appropriate to ask the Spirit himself to come? I had heard of some people doing that, calling out, "Come, Holy Spirit!" And God's power would blast them off their feet. (Mr. Walker says he went flying across the room when he first cried out, and was knocked out for several hours, caught up in the heavenlies. The Spirit had hit him like a gale-wind!) Pastor Frank often started his prayers: "O Heavenly Father," so that's usually how I started mine in private, but I wasn't sure if Dave Walker would think I was less spiritual if I prayed that way now -- talking to the Father when I should be talking to Jesus or the Spirit, or maybe all three at once.

Mr. Walker waited while I thought about all this, and my mind started to shift into a groove of old thoughts, the same old questions about God that had made Him too mysterious for my comfort. How was God three people but still one God? If I prayed to just one person, would I be praying to all three also, since they are all one? How could they still be three people then? And if Christ was already living inside me, and He is the fulness of the Father, wasn't the Spirit inside me already, too?

"Are you ready to pray?" Mr. Walker whispered.

"Uh...I guess..."

"Okay."

He waited. "O Heavenly Father," I prayed. "Please, Lord, just give me the gift of Your Holy Ghost, Lord Jesus, just baptize me in the Holy Ghost, Lord, I pray, so I can speak in tongues, Father, and have Your power in my life, Spirit. In Jesus' name. Amen."

"Amen," said Dave Walker. I opened my eyes, and he grinned at me. "Praise the Lord," he said. "Thank you, Jesus. Okay. Now just have faith, brother." He pressed the palm of his hand against the center of my back. I felt an energy leave it, seemingly flowing through my body, rippling into my bloodstreams. Heat rushed up and down my flesh, my cheeks burning, eyes watering. "Praise Jesus," said Dave Walker. "Now just start moving your mouth. Have faith, friend, and believe that whatever comes forth from the fruit of your lips is from the Holy Ghost, since Jesus is your friend, and He gives good gifts to his friends. Just have faith, son! Speak!"

I gasped for breath, his hand pressing me down to the floor.

I felt my tongue glide against my cheeks. I prayed frantically. Please, God! Move my tongue, make me speak in tongues! Please, give me your power! O God I want your power. Please!

"Have faith!" Dave Walker urged, "and speak! The Lord's not gonna do it for you! You've got to have faith!"

My tongue slid against my teeth. My throat was dry. There was impure fire in my breast, flames of fear. I had to pee. I opened my mouth.

"Speak!"

"Shundalamakee," I muttered. "Olleeballikaminakistani..."

"Praise the Lord!" Dave Walker shouted.

I sat up. "That was it?" I asked.

"Yes, son! Do not doubt, but believe!"

"Okay." I said. But I did not believe.

"Do you believe?" Dave Walker asked.

"Yes," I said.

So that was it. I lied to men and to the Holy Ghost. Like Annanais and Sapphira who fell down dead when Peter confronted them, I bore false witness.

Now, Pastor Frank stroked his chin. "Will you continue to grieve the Holy Spirit, friend, by your unrepentant heart? Will you continue in this iniquity until it consumes you, and destroys your family, and brings you down to the dust in shame? How much better it is for you to repent now, and endure a moment of humility, than to go into eternal fire with your head hung in bitter humiliation! Don't you know that whatever is done in secret will be proclaimed from the housetops? Now is the day of salvation! Now is the day to choose! Repent! Repent now, or the wrath of God may come upon you!"

A moment of thoughtlessness, of selflessness, swept over me. In an instant I rose to my feet, and the entire room seemed to swell, and sink down beneath me. The pastor's eyes were on mine. I could see Becky looking at me off to the side. My mom covered her mouth with her hand, and my father slumped down in his seat.

"It's me!" I cried. "I've lied to the Holy Ghost and had lustful thoughts. I can't stop jacking off! Please help me pastor!"

My mother gasped, her eyes wide. My dad covered his face with his hands.

"I've sinned, pastor!" I shouted. Tears involuntarily swept down my cheeks. "Sexual sin! I can't stop! Even today when Becky ....I couldn't....I...."

Becky's face burned like the fires of hell.

What happened next was a slight misunderstanding. My dad told me later that the pastor had been saying, "Calm down, now, son! Calm down!" but at the time I really thought that he was inviting me to the altar. It's embarrassing to think about now, but I truly thought I was the one, and the pastor was calling out, "Come down, now, son! Come down!" The sanctuary bench seemed to pull me.

I ran out into the aisle, and tripped, stumbling, my knees sliding into the carpeting, elbows bruised. I looked up and saw the altar, saw it towering ahead of me, and set my heart to find it, to kneel down and let my tears flow. My heart was breaking in two. Every eye was on me, but I didn't care. I could feel my face grow contorted with rage at my sins, desperate for the sanctuary of rededication. The shadow of His wings. I leapt up and lunged towards the altar.

Pastor Frank's face went sour with shock. Time decided to slow down and let this moment play itself out. I saw a few men clamber to their feet, including Mr. Walker. I saw someone reaching for me from the side, and Pastor Frank stumbled backwards, tripping over his own feet. He cried out, "Shit!" and the word seemed to echo over and over again as he tumbled into his pulpit and sent it and him crashing to the floor. I saw the pulpit crack and splinter, the glass dove which had adorned its front shattered into a thousand pieces. Someone reached for my arm, and I leapt forward, sliding into the bench like into home-plate, covering my head with my arms, trying to find shelter in the storm that started raging.

Everyone was chattering. Tongues, provocations to God, people crying and fighting, arguing and praying loudly. I covered my head and face in my arms, and hid in the darkness. A baby was screaming, its high-pitched wail slicing through my eardrums. I wished I could scream like that. The baby's cry was the perfect expression of the way I felt. Someone touched my arm. "Charles?" It was Dave Walker's voice. "Charles? You all right?"

His huge hands, his palms and fingers tingling with energy, pressed down on the back of my neck. A sizzle of fear shot down my spine. "Son, you're not the one," he said. "No need for all this. You ain't even the one!"

I forced down a scream that had been building in me. I imagined myself writhing on the floor, eyes glazed, my throat going raw from a continual shrill cry while everyone else looked on. But sanity was returning too soon. "No need for all this, son!"

I sat up, and looked around. Things were starting to quiet down. Some people were leaving, not without giving me a strained, amused look, or a condemning one. Pastor Frank was sitting next to his fallen pulpit, a huge swollen bruise above his left eye. A group of six or seven men were gathered around him, asking how he felt. It reminded me of the times when people were anointed, like some of the missionaries who would come and visit before going off again to Uganda or Guatemala or wherever, and these same men gathered around them to pray. That's how they were gathered around the pastor, like they were anointing him, and praying to send him off on a misson.

Dave Walker frowned at me. "What were you gonna do, strangle the pastor?"

The bruise above Pastor Frank's eyes was purple and swelling.

I laughed. It sounded strange in my throat.

"I just wanted to go to the altar," I said.

"Well, I can see that," Dave Walker said.

I laughed again, a giggle that like a stream turned into a river, a flowing movement of laughter that rushed from the gut, and swelled out of me. I fell onto my back, my body in convulsions, my heart joyfully pounding with heavy chortles. Dave Walker looked at me for a moment, and the expression on his face ignited a new round of glee. Some of the men came over to me, and they circled me, staring down at me. Pastor Frank mustered up the strength to come near.

"It's a demon," he said.

Their faces were transfigured. In a moment they were translated from confusion and concern to grave hatred mixed with fear. They were the faces men would have when confronted by Beezlebub in the flesh. I tried to push down the laughter, but it was a fire that already raged, one that would have to die out on its own.

Dave Walker looked at the pastor, then at me.

They waited for me to stop, and when I did, I saw that my mom and dad had joined the circle. "Your son appears to be possessed of an evil spirit," Dave Walker told them solemnly.

My mother's face fell. "My God!" She said. "No! My boy! My little boy..."

"He ain't possessed," said Dad.

I forced myself to stop laughing.

"Squint your eyes, boy," Pastor Frank said with all the authority he could muster in his tone.

I squinted my eyes at him. "Please," I said. "I'm okay, now."

"Why'd you attack the pastor?" someone asked.

"I didn't..."

"We all saw you lunge for him," said another.

"You dove straight away for him! You think we didn't see, boy?"

Dave Walker eyed me suspicously. "You did dive for him, Charles."

"Well," I said. "I didn't mean to."

"There's a point of pressure between his eyes," said the pastor. "That's where the spirit will come out. I can see it in him even now, shrinking back in the boy."

"Oh my God!" my mom cried.

One of the women of the church led her away to pray for my soul.

"You can see it?" I whispered, terrified, awed.

Pastor Frank put his index finger on the triangular bridge between my eyes and above my nose. "I'm looking right at it," he said. He turned and looked at my Dad. "Your boy is possessed of the devil. A father's prayer's are more powerful than any. Help us deliver him!"

I could see that Dad was getting mad. "My son is fine!"

An elder said, "Didn't you see what happened, mister? Why'd he attack the pastor? Why was he laughing all hysterical, just now?"

"Why'd he go for the pastor's throat?" repeated another.

"Why, he said himself he's filled with lust!" old Jenkin's shouted.

"Well, you should talk!" Dad shot back.

"Okay!" Pastor Frank said. "If you don't want to help deliver your own son, then go on now, and let us cast it out. I understand if there is fear in your heart. But it is a fact that as an umbrella of protection for your son, you yourself are responsible for this terrible condition he's in."

My dad looked at me. His lower jaw was trembling, his right fist clenching and unclenching. "My son ain't possessed," he said. "The only thing he might be possessed of is all the nonsense and garbage you've been feeding him regular, pastor."

The men all looked at my dad. He stood his ground, his eyes looking at each one of them, one at a time, and settling on Pastor Frank. The pastor stood up and met him face to face, and I started to fear that my dad was going to pop him one in the mouth.

"You don't know what you're saying," said the pastor.

"I know exactly what I'm saying," said Dad.

"You want your son to remain demonized?"

"Someone may have a demon here, pastor, but it ain't my son, and it sure as hell isn't me." The pastor shrunk back a little, eyes widening.

Dave Walker tried to come between them. "Now that's enough of that," he said.

Dad shoved him back, and everyone stood with their jaws gaping.

"What were you two trying to pull today?" asked Dad. No one responded. "You know as well as I that you were just trying to get Doug Bender up there on his knees. Every one of you men standing here at this moment knows that Doug Bender has got a lot of vices, including a habit of getting mixed-up with married women. The question is, pastor, why you decided to go for his throat today? Hasn't he been giving you enough in the plate? Or does it have something to do with your own wife, pastor?"

"That's enough!" Pastor Frank shouted. The veins in his neck were bulging, his face strained in fierce anger.

"You're making a strong accusation, there," said one of the men.

"Well, I'm sure the pastor has his suspicions. But maybe he ought to handle it at home, instead of taking it all out on his congregation." No one said a word. The pastor's livid expression said enough. I stood up, and no one touched me. All the men stood around looking at their feet.

My dad stood me up. "Let's go," he said, and we turned to walk away.

"Wait a minute," Dave Walker said. His eyes were burning coils. "None of that means a thing! Just wait a minute there! That doesn't explain why your son..."

Dad swivelled around like a whirlwind, and they all fell back just like those men in the garden of Gethsemane who came to arrest the Lord. Without Dad lifting a finger, they stumbled over each other, and before I knew what was what, there was Dave Walker laid-out on the floor, his nose a mess of blood and torn ligament. Pastor Frank's elbow had jabbed him in the face pretty hard.

No one moved. No one said a thing. Silence settled like the slight wind that comes just after a storm. Dad took his thick hand and wrapped his fingers around my own. He turned around, looked at me, smiled, and we walked out into the bright afternoon.