Trembling With Fear 07/26/20

Thy Serpent by Will H. Blackwell, Jr.

I went on a dare from fellow biology-graduate-students to experience, first-hand, the snake-handling ‘magic’ taking place in the old wood-frame church—standing alone—so far out in the woods no-one was sure of its formal address. It was here the ‘holy-ghost folk’ held their, allegedly religion-based, serpent-handling rituals.

I think I was ‘chosen’ by my ‘colleagues’ because, in addition to studying snakes, I was considered [given a relatively ‘indoctrinated’ upbringing] to also know something about ‘The Good-Book.’

I entered, hesitantly, through the rusty-hinged pine-door to a limited corridor of pews, creaking oak-floors, and rows of seemingly hollow eyes—that followed my every movement down the aisle. ‘Outsiders’ were surely a rarity here. 

The electronic Wurlitzer was playing (sans organist) a prelude of hymns—clanking like some honkytonk-piano in an old-west-movie-saloon—complete with scale-runs and trills.

Old-West? No! This was deepest ‘Appalachia’—a mountain-valley where Tennessee, Virginia and North Carolina adjoin—an area where some of the ‘old ways’ still held sway (including the phenomenon of ‘shape-note singing’ in backwoods churches, a practice brought over from England in the Eighteenth Century to assist with singing-pitch in congregations unskilled at reading regularly-scored music).

In any case, I was here for the ‘serpents,’ not the ‘shape-notes.’ So, I took a seat up-front, where I assumed the ‘herpetological theater’ [my name for it] of the main-service would take place.

Soon, deacons emerged from the chancery, bearing the cages of snakes. After a suspenseful minute or two, ‘The Right Reverend’ made his solemn, commanding entrance.

The presence of the encaged ‘serpents’—these ‘low, vile, born-of-the-devil’ creatures (obviously, intended objects of scorn!)—was supplemented by hissing sounds, emanating from speakers probably connected (like the Wurlitzer) to a generator out-back. The accompanying noises were very likely, I deduced, housecat-hisses (prerecorded—perhaps while someone pulled their unfortunate tails).

The snakes were local timber-rattlers and copperheads—a few of their harmless brethren added in for good measure, and poked measuredly with rods to get them ‘riled’ and the congregation ‘snake-entranced.’ One smallish garden-snake was released, for effect—a few ladies gasping, the gentlemen acting brave—then retrieved, before significant disquietude set-in.

I noticed amid sporadic gesturing of male-congregants that a few had atrophied hands, or missing fingers. I’m wondering, coal-mining accidents?—or maybe, snakebites from former ‘handling?’

The copperheads were noted for willingness to strike. The rattlesnakes, potentially more deadly, were less aggressive—remaining in cage-corners, coiled, rattles lifted in warning.

As known by some, the acutely poisonous among these snakes were ‘milked’ prior to the church-service. It was rumored that church-income (congregants being poor) was largely from sale of snake-venom, to undisclosed laboratories producing expensive antivenom—a potentially ‘valuable service’ (no pun intended). The small amount of venom still ‘in the snakes,’ by the time the ‘religious-rituals’ began, was unlikely to cause much harm—and anyway, The Reverend and his handlers had, doubtless, built up immunity to small ‘injections.’

Reverend and his deacons were grimly, uniformly dressed—plain, black attire—looking much like undertakers—no accident, this ‘effect,’ I reasoned.

Reverend, his wife now beside him, started the service by holding out his hands to the willingly-captive audience. His hands bore scars—probably from handling-mishaps. A snakebite can be ‘wicked,’ even without venom (as I know from study of non-venomous river-snakes).

The arms of the ‘charmed’ congregants were extended to heaven in support and supplication—the crowd moving forward. Whatever money given, was now tossed inside a circle-of-candles surrounding the altar; it was believed, the more ‘tithed’ (rarely amounting to a lot), the greater the protection of the pastoral family and his handlers from ‘the serpents.’  

However, there was assumed to be a ‘higher protection’ in play here as well. Quoting loosely from ‘The-Book-of-Mark,’ Reverend proclaimed, in his short but intense, preliminary sermon, “If one is truly filled with the Holy Spirit, one can drink poison, or pick up serpents, without danger, or even fear of harm!” 

At this point, Reverend drank a vial of reddish-purple fluid (looking toxic, but probably just cayenne-pepper, with food-coloring, mixed in water). For a moment, his face reddened and he began to sweat—quickly, though, recovering!  The crowd “ooo…ed” in amazement.

He then reached in a cage and retrieved a docile, old rattler [a ‘pet,’ I assumed], and lifted it before the rapt audience—placing it back in the cage, so as not to disturb any ill-tempered copperhead.

He next brought forth his infant son, lowering him gingerly into a cage, professing “the purity of young children”—that “snakes would leave innocents unharmed.” The child was almost blue with cold; I’m thinking, they must have ‘chilled him down’ prior to the service. Snakes will typically not strike a cold object, if gently brought in proximity. The crowd “ahh…ed” approval.

“All here present are protected by their belief, be it strong enough!” Reverend confidently asserted—this, “promised by word from God himself!”

Paraphrasing more scripture [from The-Book-of-Numbers—I think!], he continued: “The hand of The Lord touches the serpent. By his hand, the harm of serpents is removed from us; they are rendered powerless!”

Two of the ‘believers’ (pre-selected, no doubt) were then allowed to handle another elderly rattler—probably defanged, and quite harmless.

The service proceeded triumphantly, The Reverend gaining (perhaps too much) confidence for the ensuing ‘Fire-and-Damnation’ part of the sermon: “Ye must continue to follow the narrow and righteous path, and never bear false-witness to any, or to God [I’m thinking, Hmmmm!]. Let your life be held-straight, as the mighty staff of God—and never broken—like this!”—He slammed one of the ‘snake-poking rods’ to the floor, breaking it in two! (The crowd “ooo…ed” again). I’m wondering, is this like Aaron (in Exodus) doing a ‘throw-down’ in front of the Pharaoh? 

Reverend continued: “If your ‘being’—your precious soul, bequeathed by God—be thus broken, a horned-viper (taking liberty with a passage from ‘Isaiah’) will take root in your life; its fruit will be a fiery, flying serpent that will ultimately consume you!”

Here, The Reverend seemingly over-reached himself! One segment of the broken-rod appeared to develop a triangular head—pointed ‘horns’ forming above two, slit-like ‘snake-eyes.’ The body of this rod-segment suddenly became swollen, forming spirals-of-scales—the posterior end remaining as a short, but now labile, tail. The ‘creature’ was taking on the visage of an Arabian horned-viper [at least, based on what I know about snakes] and began undulant, arguably ‘devilish,’ movements. The crowd knew this was not part of the ‘script,’ a few screaming in dismay—some mumbling, unintelligibly—perhaps a version of ‘speaking-in-tongues.’

The viper-snake, all-at-once, elongated—lifting off the floor in a tall ‘S-shape’—making shockingly loud hisses, then strange, growling/shrieking sounds (Certain snakes can, in fact, emit low ‘growls,’ but nothing like what I was hearing). The area just below its head quickly expanded into a hood-like, almost ‘wing-like,’ structure—the snake now morphing into something resembling an enormous king-cobra! The crowd became authentically frantic, in the presence of this ‘demon serpent,’ possibly loosed upon them by the wrath of God!

The giant, surreal ‘snake’ began rotating, like an un-manned, high-pressured garden-hose—swinging wildly around—spitting/spraying ‘venom’ toward the crowd—but more dangerously, into the candle-flames, explosively setting fire to the altar, and soon to the entire interior of the church!

The situation went quickly beyond control!

Reverend and his entourage ran out the back—knocking cages over—frightened pet-snakes crawling after them. The parishioners (and myself) fled, chaotically, out the front-door (knocking it off its hinges); some sustained minor injuries (I got a ‘head-lump’ from the careless swing of an elbow).

The ‘tinderbox’ church—now in total, ‘blasphemous,’ venom-accelerant-aided conflagration—burned rapidly to the ground, while the congregants stood outside, at a safe distance, watching in disbelief. Prayers and cries for mercy could be heard—one gentleman exhorting that, ‘he knew he deserved the vengeance of God’s vicious serpent!’—not actually, though, confessing the source of his guilt.

The crowd finally dispersed in despair and disarray, over the awful, inexplicable, things they had witnessed. Whether their faith was forever shaken by the experience—or whether it made them more fervent in their belief—I really don’t know. I never saw any of them again.

The church—though some towns-people said it was well-insured—was never rebuilt. The practice of ‘the snake-ritual’—not long after the all-consuming blaze—was completely, and most sternly, outlawed!—at least in this region of Appalachia.

I will never understand everything that happened that day—which parts were orchestrated, like some insane ‘magic-show!’—and which may have been, unexpectedly, quite possibly, supernatural!

In any case, manifestly shaken and awed, I found myself—from that point on—simply grateful to still be, essentially, as I was before the bizarre and terrifying ‘service!’

I never again undertook any such whimsical, risky ‘pilgrimage’—the singularly peculiar ‘biology scripture lesson’ [whatever it may have been!], of that horrific event, permanently seared into memory!