I believe my only run-in with that k. stuff happened in the local church when I was looking for my friend. Just to explain, upon entering that church, I was surprised to find the church entrance floor literally covered with bodies who were supposedly "slain" in a spirit. I saw others standing, waiting to be "slain," and a couple people were "praying" for them, one standing behind the person and one in front of the person with their hand on their forehead. As I watched, the person being "prayed" for fell backwards. I thought this was interesting, because in the Bible, the L-rd causes only His enemies to fall backwards.
But I had seen that falling-backwards stuff before while watching that white-suited, funny-haired man on TV (whose name I can't recall right now) blow people who fell backwards. I had also seen, on Youtube video, those "evangelists" who barked, hissed, and cackled in their gatherings, cause people to fell backwards. Seeing it in person, however, was mildly humorous, as I saw these same individuals seemingly nonchalant after the experience. Well, just my perspective after a short time in that room.
But upon opening the door to the next room -- the main assembly room -- a nasty electricity swirled toward me, hitting me, making my hairs on my arms, neck, and head stand on end. It was a crude and ugly feeling, making me want to run from the building, but I stood my ground.
1. I thought, "He Who is in me is stronger than this ugly ridiculousness."
2. I wanted to find my friend. I feared for her. After exiting an abusive marriage, she had just disappeared.
She was there. I spotted her across the platform, rising from the floor, holding a blanket that had been over her. She smiled nervously when she saw me. A couple years later, she was dead -- my friend who was about 15 years younger than me, the picture of health, although both her husband and her parents had abused her. Something was wrong with her death, and everyone spoke of that. Doctors could not explain it. Just wrong. However, one must consider that surely not everyone who was in that large building is dead . . . .
As I have written, I was reared around Pentecostalism and experienced the people of '70s-type charismata, but the above was my first experience like that -- and the worst.
When a child, in California, I saw plenty from a particular brand of Pentecostalism, including a particularly cruel pastor who would scream at us from the pulpit until veins stood out on his neck like thick red rope, and his face turned purple, splotched with red. It was the early '50s. When I got older, I realized he was emulating Hitler. And I saw the fear he commanded in the congregation, the way he made grown men as well as teenage girls cry. I was little, and I remember looking in his church office with the paisley oriental carpet, calling back to mother, "Is this where he calls people on the carpet?" My parents, embarrassed and fearful, rushed me out the back door of the church. He left this church not long after this, and within 5 years, that little Pentecostal had several pastors who all tried to heal that church. My parents didn't want any of them. Still, through all this, the people held tightly to their experiences and made sincere excuses for the things they saw that they knew were wrong.
We moved to Mississippi and saw a gentler type of Pentecostalism, with only a couple like that above. Gentler, kinder people -- for the most part -- waited expectantly for experiences, excitement, assurance, the spectacular, so that they could carry on through another week. Father had been called, by Mother, to start a church there, but it didn't happen. We only did house-church, and usually, it was just Father, Mother, my sister and me, so we went from church to church. Those worst of churches were loud and belligerent, like my first church. A gathering of mean people whose spiritual gift seemed to be squinty-eyed criticism, like my first church.
We went from there to Kentucky, where Father pastored a church, then to Missouri, where we went back to the organization we'd belonged to when I was little. In Missouri, I remember one lady who, when "speaking in tongues," merely grinned, looking around at all of us, joyously saying merely, "Malarkey! Malarkey!Malarkey, malarkey!" Now, I am part Irish. . . .
Then, there were the experiences I have mentioned regarding the fear-riddled Charismatics of the '70s and more stuff. . . .
I am just unconvinced that any of this glorifies G-d. In fact, for me, it is quite disturbing.