Surprise Attack
As a pastor I’ve found that death is never easy to deal with. It’s especially difficult for Christians when a family member who doesn’t know Christ says his or her final good-byes.
But as I walked into the little room, I had no idea just how difficult this funeral was going to be. I had been ministering to one of our church families through their loved one’s death. The deceased was Buddhist and the service was to be conducted by the bonsan (priest) at the hongwaji (church) near Kona, Hawaii.
The Buddhist church was modeled after the ancient temples of Kyoto, Japan, with sturdy, ornately carved wooden beams and a steep red tile roof with upturned corners.
As I bowed my head to enter, I adroitly avoided the low eaves that seemed aimed for my forehead. Mine was the only white face present.
This building was not designed for tall people, I thought as I squeezed my lanky frame into an ancient wooden pew in the back row of the sanctuary.
My eyes slowly adjusted to the dim light as my ears and nose processed the strange sounds and aromas of the temple.
In the front I saw a simple wooden altar with a brass urn upon it that held the ashes of the deceased. The cloying smell of burning incense mixed with the spicy sweetness of the pikake lei that was draped around the framed picture of the deceased.
The congregation was chanting something that sounded like “Ohn ran ji go.” This rumbling sound was punctuated with the hollow gonging of a five-foot-tall, elongated bell as it was struck with a swinging, thick bamboo pole.
I had attended Buddhist funeral services before, but this time I suppressed feelings of great alarm. Some unknown force drew my attention to the golden statue of Buddha behind the right side of the altar.
Usually, Buddha is portrayed as a jolly, smiling, fat man with pendulous earlobes. This one was solemn with eight arms like the Hindu god Shiva, the destroyer.
I heard the bonsan call to each family head and visitor to come forward to the front altar and offer incense.
Beware, there’s danger here, an inner voice warned as I wiggled out of the pew and walked to the altar to pay my respects.
I felt eyes upon me, questioning, What is this gaijin (foreigner) doing here?
I chose not to light incense, as it is an offering to a false god. Instead, I planned to offer a silent prayer in front of the altar.
As I approached the altar I felt that God was saying to me, “I want you to pray for the soul of the deceased, and pray that this building and everybody in it be covered with the blood of Jesus.”
The blood of Jesus I understand, but the dead are already gone, so why bother?
I put my questions aside and silently prayed in front of the altar.
Suddenly, I saw a terrifying form jump out from inside the statue of Buddha and head straight for my throat!
I was frozen in shock.
The demon—for it could be nothing else—was a greenish luminescent orb about the size of a basketball with a comet-like tail. It had a fierce dragon face with bared fangs and claws. It radiated hatred, rage, and intimidation. It seemed like it wanted to kill me.
“God help me,” I desperately prayed.
Just then I felt as though God sent His angels to surround me, as if they encased me in angelic Plexiglas.
The demon seemed to hit the angelic shield, bounce off, and disappear in an instant. I returned to my seat in bewilderment and disbelief.
I thought, That didn’t really happen. You’re working too hard. You’re imagining things.
After the service we moved to the social hall for a traditional Buddhist meal. During the meal, a complete stranger introduced himself. He was a middle-aged, average-looking Japanese man in a business suit.
As he handed me his business card, he said, “I am a brother-in-law of the deceased and a recent convert to Christianity. I am the only believer in my family and attend a Pentecostal Holiness church in Honolulu. We have a deliverance ministry. I want you to know that I saw that demon attack you, and I was praying for you the whole time.
“I have the gift of spiritual discernment and I often see demons on people,” he continued.
I could hardly believe what I was hearing. My mind was not playing tricks on me. Here was independent verification from an outside source. What I thought was some gross hallucination on my part was really a demonic attack. The demon was probably attracted to the statue of Buddha, as it was the focus of adoration, prayer, and chanting. When I prayed “The blood of Jesus cover this building and everybody in it,” apparently the spiritual effect was like spraying supernatural bug spray on an unholy cockroach. The demon fled and attacked me out of its rage over losing its protective host.
I’ve heard many stories of missionaries encountering such experiences in foreign lands. That day I learned it also happens in my own beloved country. But I also learned that even when I am unexpectedly ambushed by a demon, God sends His angels to protect me.