SPIRITUAL WARFARE

Peoria-Area Churches Step Up Battle Between The 'Devil And His
Minions' And Heaven's Armies

Cal Rychener paced the stage in the cavernous sanctuary of Northwoods
Community Church, a note of warning in his voice. "A strategic blow
is dealt enemy forces when you can take out their communication
systems," he told the crowd of nearly a thousand that gathered on a
recent Wednesday evening to hear the last installment of "Behind
Enemy Lines" a series of nine sermons illustrating "the truth about
spiritual warfare."

Spiritual warfare is the belief in an invisible battle between forces
of good and evil, a full-throttle attack by what one Northwoods
pastor called "the devil and his minions" against the armies of heaven.

The idea is as old as Christianity itself, but in roughly the last
quarter century it's become a doctrine influential across a range of
denominations, and especially in churches that understand the Bible
as the literal word of God. Six pastors in the Peoria area said
they'd learned about it only within the past 15 or 20 years.

There's no consensus among scholars and clergy about the reason
spiritual warfare has become so popular recently.

The Rev. Mike Hutchings, pastor of Trinity Mennonite Church in
Morton, credited its rise in part to the explosive growth of
Christian publishing and media in the last several decades.

In 1986, "This Present Darkness" a blockbuster novel by Frank E.
Peretti, helped pave the way for the countless books now available.
In May, "The Covering: God's Plan to Protect You in the Midst of
Spiritual Warfare," by Jay Strack and Hank Hanegraaff, joins the
ever-growing list of instructional titles.

There are also handful of video games and at least one graphic novel,
out this July. "Spirit Warriors," by actor and producer Stephen
Baldwin, features "radical young kids" who "enter the spiritual war
zone every day for classic battles of good against evil."

Returning missionaries also may have bolstered spiritual warfare's
appeal. C. Peter Wagner, a prominent missionary and 28-year professor
at Fuller Theological Seminary, has been a leading proponent of the
idea of "spiritual mapping," the idea that geographic areas are
demonic strongholds that can be broken through strategic prayer - a
view Hutchings shares.

For some Christians, the emphasis on spiritual warfare comes from
higher realms. "The spirit of God is moving his people to fight the
battles," the Rev. Beth McLaughlin of Peoria First United Methodist
Church wrote in an e-mail. The enemy is "the things of Satan": moral
decline, promiscuous sex, disease, chaos, doubt, the rising divorce rate.

The weapon is prayer, she said, never earthly violence. She pointed
to the biblical passage most often used in teaching spiritual
warfare, the apostle Paul's Epistle to the Ephesians: "For our
struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers,
against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and
against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms."

Paul goes on to describe the battle against Satan with the armor of a
Roman Centurion-the sword of the spirit, the shield of faith, the
breastplate of righteousness.

Rychener's sermon used the imagery of modern warfare. In emergencies,
he recommended "grenade-type prayers."

"Just lob one of those dudes," he said, swinging his arm over his
head in a mock throw. "When we pray, it's like bombs go off and
rattle the strongholds of the enemy."

Northwoods is housed in a massive, gleaming structure at the corner
of Wilhelm and Allen roads. In the mode of many megachurches, it has
a cafe, services with contemporary music and numerous chances to join
small groups. Its weekend attendance is growing-4,300 by one recent
count-and traffic clogs the surrounding streets each Sunday.

For Rychener, senior pastor at Northwoods, it's crucial for these new
Christians to learn about spiritual warfare. "When we came to Christ
we weren't invited to a picnic," he said after the service, sitting
in a church conference room. "There are a lot of great aspects of
being followers of Jesus, but we were invited into war whether we
like it or not."

The attacks are vicious and unending, in his view. He believes that
when his daughter was in junior high school, a bad spirit threw her
against the house, covering her body with scratches.

"I was up against something I couldn't see," Rychener said. "I
couldn't control it. So what do I do? I name it. And I say, 'Lord, in
your name and through the power of your blood I'm praying that
protection around my daughter right now - whatever that thing is
that's after her.' "

Often, spiritual warfare is a more mundane struggle with doubt and
discouragement, said Tim Reist, community life director at
Northwoods. He said he'd been "attacked" just a couple of weeks ago
coming out of a planning meeting at the church. "I walked out that
door and wham!" he said. "I kid you not, my whole thought was just an
accusation: 'Tim, you're no good. This isn't going to work. You know,
why are you even doing this?' And so you sit there and go, 'Is that
from God?' No. .. That's warfare."

In a small house in South Peoria, a group of Christians wages
spiritual warfare on another front. Unshackled Deliverance Ministry,
1419 S. Faraday, is a counseling center that offers a 12-step program
much like Alcoholics Anonymous except that it's steeped in the Bible,
and it views addiction as a struggle with demonic forces that though
invisible are very real.

"The attack comes with a desire to drink and drug," said Barbara
Miller, project director and a board member at Unshackled. "But
Christians have a peace about it that the Holy Spirit is there to help."

In this vein, Unshackled has a "refuge line" (671-1047), and a weekly
radio show on WVEL, 101.1 FM and 1140 AM. Miller said the
organization is currently trying to raise enough funds start a
transitional housing program for men.

No one who receives services is required to believe, said LeRoy
Smith, who founded Unshackled in 1992 as a ministry of Church of the
Living God, Temple 130, in Peoria. And no problem is too difficult or
shameful to be confessed to the group, whether it's depression,
prostitution, gangs, drugs or "homosexual relationships," he said.

Smith, a former addict and gang member, reserved his greatest vitriol
for crack. "That drug is satanic and demonic!" he said, leaping from
his chair and stalking across his office to show how an addict chases a fix.

The half dozen people gathered at the Unshackled house on a recent
Friday morning had their own stories to tell. Miller talked about her
former drug and alcohol addiction. Rick Otey, a board member at
Unshackled, shared the "unimaginable pain" he still feels years after
the death of his son, Brian. Bob Cockfield and Michael Williams,
president of Unshackled, related their battles with depression and alcohol.

There was also a newcomer, a tall thin woman with braids who didn't
want her name used. During her abusive first marriage, she told the
group, she attempted suicide. Now she was involved with another man.
"I feel like the devil has been messing with me in this relationship
to see if I'm going to do it again," she said as tears ran down her cheeks.

Cockfield let out an indignant breath. "Take it from an old man," he
said. "God didn't make junk. You are valuable. You are important."

Otey crossed the room to give her a hug.

"The Bible says he makes a way of escape," Otey said. "Look for that
door. What Satan wants you to do is just lay there and wallow in it."