“You literally scare the demons away,” one congregant gushed as he explained the technique to Rick.
Jane used Scripture to justify the church’s practices, including blasting. One of her favorites was Mark 16:17–18, where Jesus lists the many spiritual powers given to his followers. Among them was “deliverance,” driving away evil spirits. Whaley singled this one out as a commandment.
She cited Acts 10:38, too. “We are told that Jesus was anointed with the Holy Spirit and power to heal all who were oppressed by the devil,” Jane said during one fiery sermon. “As believers, we are to take that same healing and deliverance to those who are oppressed. God has revealed to us that demonic oppression is present in those who have been born again, as well as those who have not.
“Many have been set free from the devil’s torment and oppression as the result of believing prayer and submission to God. Those who were once drug addicts and alcoholics are now delivered by the power of God and are living normal lives, serving God and doing His will,” she shouted.
The dramatic prayer could “break the power of Satan” so “the demons can come out,” she said. It didn’t matter that nothing akin to blasting appears in Scripture. This was her personal revelation, straight from God.
Once started, a “blasting” session could go on and on. People would get so worked up they’d wail, scream, convulse, or vomit into buckets. Members left services hours later, hoarse and spent, but cleansed.
Odd as this appeared to outsiders, Jane Whaley’s congregation fawned over her. “Isn’t she wonderful?” they said. “God speaks to her.”
Rick found it a bit much at first. Too much noise and commotion. But slowly, over time, he came to understand the end justified the drama: church members were happy. They shared a spiritual bond forged by helping each other get rid of their oppressors. Heroic pastors held the keys.
Rick was so impressed by the Whaley technique he introduced blasting at Christian Life back in Georgia. But what worked in Spindale didn’t fly in Darien. Congregants complained about the bizarre ritual. Salvation is powerful and dignified, they said, and a life dedicated to Christ does not require ongoing exorcism. When church leaders offered Rick the pastor job, they made one condition: no blasting.
Rick turned them down flat. If he couldn’t share “the whole gospel,” if he couldn’t practice blasting and preach about devils and deliverance, then to hell with all of them.
He made up his mind to leave Darien. Rick knew the Whaleys ran a Bible school at their compound in Spindale. He’d take classes there and open his own church when the time was right.
Rick told Suzanne he had turned down the pastor job.
“Rick, what did you do?” she cried, horrified.
They had no savings, no money. They lived from paycheck to paycheck. They barely had enough to get by.
Rick tried to articulate his vision. He truly believed that God would come through for them. But Suzanne knew better.
Shortly after they’d married in 1981, Rick wrote a check for a $5,000 living room set. They only had $10 in their account. Suzanne blew up. Rick said if he prayed long and hard enough, the Lord would provide the money.
Suzanne went to the store and begged the manager to cancel the transaction.
Years passed. Rick was always listening to “prosperity preachers” who promised every dollar donated would be multiplied by God and providentially returned someday.
The stress had taken its toll on Suzanne. She had just turned thirty-two but felt more like sixty. She was still pretty—tall and thin with long, shiny brown hair, green eyes, and high cheekbones. But now this: turning down an opportunity to pastor a growing church. What was he thinking? His Navy pension was only $1,200 a month. Suzanne couldn’t work, not with six kids to care for.
If Suzanne had to leave Darien, she’d rather go home to Florida, to be nearer to her sisters and mother, Wanda—“Mama-Gail” to her grandchildren. She was outgoing and fun, the life of the party.
Suzanne, Wanda’s eldest child, was the fruit of an unplanned high school pregnancy, a scandal back in 1961. Wanda married and had three more daughters in quick succession. She worked several jobs to make ends meet and enjoyed stopping for drinks on the way home.
Wanda was not a model mother, but she cared about her girls. She was a master at thrift-store shopping, so her daughters dressed like they were better-off than they really were.
When her husband abused her, Wanda got a divorce. She remarried, had another daughter, and divorced again. She worked hard, and partied hard, too. She vowed to never marry again. She didn’t need a man, she said.
Wanda finally landed a legal secretary job and settled down. Suzanne, the responsible honor-roll student, kept the house and made sure her sisters’ chores and homework were done. When graduation day came, there was no money for college.
“Get out of Florida and see the world!” Wanda told her daughter. So Suzanne enlisted in the Air Force.
Mother and daughter remained close. While serving a hitch in Hawaii, Suzanne met Rick Cooper, a decent, handsome Navy engineer, a strong Christian. They fell in love, more or less.
Suzanne knew from the moment she said “I do” that marrying Rick was a mistake. Now, twelve years and six babies later, it looked like she was about to make another.
Suzanne had told her mother everything and found her sympathetic. “Let Rick go on to his Bible school. You get those children in the van and come back to Ocala,” Wanda told her daughter.
But Rick already had a plan. They would move in with his mother, Cora.
“It’s only temporary,” Rick promised. Soon as he got his degree from Word of Faith Fellowship Bible School, he’d find a church of his own, in the town of Suzanne’s choice. He would be a pastor. God would provide for their needs.
Suzanne was skeptical. She’d grown up in the Bible Belt and had heard salvation messages from childhood, but she no longer believed in a loving God. The only God she’d seen was an angry, miserable taskmaster, always testing people’s faith. Her children were the only beam of light in her life, her only joy. She invested all her time in them—homeschooling, playing games, planning excursions. They had become her whole life.
Out in the driveway a car horn beeped. Suzanne picked up her handbag, stuffed the paper and pencil inside, and walked out the front door. The children were loaded in the van. The back door of the Ryder truck was shut tight; the engines were running.
“Just follow me and we won’t get lost,” Rick said to Suzanne. He climbed into the driver’s seat of the truck.
Suzanne buckled herself into the van. The children chattered with excitement, but she blocked out the noise. Down the driveway and out toward the highway, her mind raced. How would they ever fit all their furniture in Cora’s little house? How long before Rick found a job, how long before they could have their own place again? How much would the Bible school cost? How could Rick support them all, and go to school, too?