Smokey Mountain Breakdown

...and letting the words bleed out.

I'm doing another one of those story a day things. Not here--over on Zoetrope. The Flashathon.

Anyway. Yesterday I wrote a story that hit me so hard, upset me so badly--essentially dredged up stuff I needed to look at, but hadn't for one reason or another. It's a fabulous story. I outdid myself. It's reviewing really well. But the emotional toll was pretty steep. I pretty much had to take to my bed. I felt teary and out of sorts all day.

I know there are writers who say all of their stories are like that. I can't do that. I hurt myself when I write one of those and need to retreat into plot and craft and recover. I need a few days of kitty and puppy stories.

Snake Church News

Don't know if you saw the article in this past weekend's paper--probably not if you don't have a snakehandling church nearby. Anyway, Kentucky is cracking down on the Signs following churches via the wildlife/snake trade route.

Pastor among suspects in illegal snake bust

Religious snakehandlers busted in Kentucky

Snake handling pastor arrested

All the articles have the same info. I'm familiar with Pastor Coot's name. I don't think Jimmy has much to do with the Middleboro church. I haven't had a chance to chat with him about what he thinks about it. Most of the signs followers catch their snakes from the wild, though every once in a while they will get an exotic to handle. I'm not sure if we will see something like this here in Tennessee with Jimmy's church. Hopefully not. I am concerned for him.

There's not a question of animal cruelty in these cases. These guys know snakes--really know them. I've never seen them maltreated and they are actually fond of them. They don't name them or anything, but they always remember certain ones.

The day was really beautiful, that Sunday. I went back to the Edwina Church of God in Jesus' Name and this time I went alone. Friend Scott has been working really hard with a construction company and is not always available to accompany me on my jaunts.

I will probably just share some pictures and general impressions with you this time. My observations during this trip have more to do with issues I feel would be better addressed later. I think this trip said more to me about Pastor Jimmy's struggle to document and archive the history of his church. And by doing so, to project a future for his people and the followers of The Signs.

There were almost as many observers there this Sunday as there were worshipers. They were all very important intellectuals and artists... well, except for me. One of them was an acclaimed documentary filmmaker, Morten Parker, who I, myself, had studied when I was an undergrad. Dr. Ralph Hood, Jimmy's collaborator and editor, was there and I got a chance to tell him how much I admired his work on Handling Serpents. He must have had to fight very hard to preserve Jimmy's "voice" for that work. There was also a very wonderful and talented photographer named Don Dudenbostel who I really enjoyed and hope to see more of.

Pastor Jimmy attracts such lofty company, not just because of the fact that he practices a form of Christianity that is looked upon with curiosity from the outside world, but also because he is such a open and giving person. There are, after all, other Holiness churches that live by The Signs. I think that Pastor Jimmy's dedication and scholarship attracts like-minded people.

He explained the hand-burned wooden gates that hang on either side of the pulpit. He made them himself so that the children would know when there were snakes in boxes behind the dividing wall that separates the congregation from the stage. If the gates are closed, the children know they must sing on the other side of the wall. When no snakes are present, the children are welcome to come back and sing on the stage.

I was also interested that my perceptions of Pastor Jimmy's relationship with his wife, Pam, were also shared by the other observers. At one point in the service, Pam got up to sing in that amazing Lorretta Lynn voice of hers and Jimmy grinned like a teenager. He ducked his head shyly and said, "That's my Baby Doll!"

My heart gave a little lurch just watching the love these two shared. If you are anything like me, it does your heart good to see two people so in love.

Today, Pastor Jimmy had two Osage Copperheads with him. This subspecies of copperhead does not actually live in this area but lives in eastern Missouri to eastern Kansas and south to northeastern Oklahoma. Pastor Jimmy says these snakes came from Oregon. Most people assume that they only handle the serpents indigenous to the local area. They call successfully handling a serpent "claiming victory". In other words, Jesus has allowed them to claim victory over the serpent. Pastor Jimmy has claimed victory over many species of poisonous serpents, including Black Mambas, Cobras, Taipans, Death Adders and Australian Brown Snakes.

The list is probably much more extensive and I will probably have to sit down with Jimmy and figure out exactly which species he has handled. It may be easier to point out the ones he has not handled.

Another thing that strikes me is how delicate and prayerful Pastor Jimmy's hands become when he handles serpents. There is something very uncanny about it and I wonder if this is an element of the "anointing". I've read about some people who become so anointed that the snake actually dies.

But Pastor Jimmy handles them with reverence and delicacy.

When the snakes are not being used in services, they are kept much as any herpetological enthusiast keeps snakes. They are fed mice and kept with a heat source and in climate controlled conditions ideal for their species. They are largely wild-caught snakes. Pastor Jimmy sets out sheets of tin as traps to catch them. Sometimes, he is called to a place where he knows there will be a snake by an inner voice he attributes to God. After a time, he releases them into the wild. He does not do this with the more exotic species, but his wild-caught indigenous snakes return to the wild after a time.


As always, I came away with something from Pastor Jimmy's service. This time, I left thoughtful. I met some really wonderful people of the sort that I ran with in my former life. It was a lovely treat for me. It was a bit surreal to meet them in the cozy confines of Pastor Jimmy's church, rather than at an art opening at the High Museum or a theater reception at the Alliance....or any of the other venues in large cities or small countries I've called home in my life. There, we might have politely smiled as we sipped our bad champagne and wondered when we could leave and get these painful shoes off our tortured feet.

But I no longer wear painful shoes. It's true that I occasionally miss the comradery of other highly educated people. But as I've often said, there are different kinds of "smart".

When I came home, I put on my barn clothes and went out on my back porch and called my milking does to me. As I sat next to the milking stanchion, rythmically coaxing the two gallons of milk I get each day from the girls, I hummed softly. I could see practically to North Carolina from my perch, 300 feet above Big Creek. The air was clean and there were no traffic sounds.

I don't wear painful shoes anymore. And somehow, that I ever did, seems odder to me than snakes in a church.

And that was the lesson I took home that Sunday from Pastor Jimmy's church.

It was the sort of idyllic spring day that made you thankful for living in the mountains. The sky was that amazing robin's egg blue and there was just a soft kiss of a warm breeze. The air was clear and it was a perfect day to be outdoors. I was going to attend my very first river baptism this day.

I had attended my first service at the Edwina Church of God in Jesus' Name the previous evening. I'm not quite sure what I was expecting.

Friend Scott and I had arrived a bit before the service that Saturday evening. They hold services at 7 p.m. on Saturday which is their actual sabbath. Then they also hold another service on Sunday afternoon at 1 p.m.

We met a couple of professors who were also there to observe the service for the first time. One taught folk history and the other taught Medieval literature. Jimmy showed us the archives. The small closet was a treasure trove of the history of his people and the Jesus' Name Snakehandlers. There was an amazingly carved snake box that Jimmy said was over 100 years old. As I stood in the small room, my eye was drawn to some hand bound journals. The patch-worked leather of the covers were saddle stitched by hand and lovingly worn. I carefully picked one up and found each page covered in hand written scriptures. There was something sacred about them. Something holy. You could sense it when you touched them. I didn't know who they belonged to or when they were created, but they were works of art.

Service was about to start so we sat with the professors in the back pew.

The service began with a prayer and moved swiftly into the singing. After the group hymns, the people were invited to come up and sing individually...to offer a joyful noise to the Lord. All of the singing is done a Capella. Friend Scott got up and sang filling the little church with his vibrant baritone. People couldn't help but picking up a tambourine or clapping. Jimmy's wife, Pam, sang several hymns despite what must have been terrible pain from a recent ear operation.

I couldn't help but be completely caught up in the singing. I found myself dropping all of my Anglican church stiffness and clapping in time with the music. Every once in a while, someone would raise a palm in the air. I wasn't sure what it meant, but I wanted to do it too.

One of the pre-teen girls got up and did a rendition of Maybelle Carter's "In the Highways". Everyone applauded wildly and in truth, she sounded remarkably like the track from the "Oh, Brother, Where Art Though" soundtrack.

Requests were taken from the congregation to remember people in prayer, offer thanks, or to say how thankful they were for God's blessings.

Then it was time for Jimmy's sermon. He started out by asking us to turn to a certain scripture passage in the Bible. Jimmy's sermon can only be compared to watching one of the great blues masters perform live. He starts out slowly with the passage, then rifts into related passages. The words all ran together, sort of like listening to an auctioneer, but slower and more musical. His breathing during the sermon is seamless. You can only tell where it begins and ends by the occasional "heh" at the end of a phrase. It is music. I was clearly listening to music. It was hypnotic and completely engrossing.

I found myself rocking back and forth. I just couldn't stop myself. My foot tapped on the floor. Friend Scott looked at me a few times quizzically. He was used to this. I was not, yet I found myself being swept away in the cadence of Jimmy's masterful use of language, tone and cadence.

Jimmy would get to the end of a long stream of words, and finally lose breath control. He would shout, "Woooo! Hallelujah!" Then he's take a deep breath and start all over again.

As he progressed into the sermon, his face changed. He seemed more intense. Jimmy, and all of the Jesus' Name followers typically have a very blissful expression on their faces, I've noticed. This was different, this expression. I think I was witnessing "the anointing".

He made his way toward the snake box. I, with the two professors, had eagerly looked over into the pulpit area before the service to look at the jewel-toned copperhead in the box on the floor.

"I feel like a tourist!" One of them said.

I felt awkward as well. I come from a spiritual background redolent in incense and hushed voices where one never claps in church. It is steeped into my bones.

Jimmy bent down to get the snake out of the box. The little girl who sang earlier dashed to the back of the church. They do not allow children near the snakes. Children are never allowed to handle them. With very few exceptions, you must be 18 to practice the taking up of serpents. They do not take this lightly.

Jimmy pulled the lovely and deadly copperhead from the box. He held it in one hand and then transferred it to the other. I watched, fascinated, as the snake twined in his hands without showing any sign of aggression. His wife, Pam, was softly speaking in tongues a few rows ahead of us. I couldn't make out what she was saying, but it was soft and rhythmic. We all sang.

Jimmy returned the copperhead to his box and sat down behind the pulpit. He was clearly exhausted. Living by the Signs seems physically taxing, whether by the force of his sermon or the amount of spiritual energy that seemed to infuse him during that time. I'm not sure. But it looked like a "good" tired.

We sang some more and offered more requests for prayers. I said how thankful I was to have found them. That I would most certainly be back.

And I did. The very next day for the river baptism. Sunday's service did not include snakes, but there was much singing and some guitar playing. Jimmy's sermon was yet another amazing spiritual blues rift. I wish you could hear this. It is truly amazing. I found myself better able to follow the cadence of his words the second time.

After the service, we all drove out to the French Broad River. There is a quiet spot near a railroad trestle where Big Creek flows into the French Broad. Scott and I let the professors follow us since we knew where we were going.

There were a few fisherman there when we arrived. They seemed to know what was getting ready to happen and left respectfully.

We got out and waited for everyone else. A train sounded down the track and we all moved from underneath the trestle to watch it clatter by, upsetting the quiet for a few moments.

Three little girls from the church arrived in their Sunday best and immediately jumped into the water, dresses and all. They were baptized this day, but I suspect they were more interested in an excuse for an early swim. The main one to be baptized was a serious young man.

While we waited on Jimmy to arrive, some of the church goers traded stories about their baptisms. They perform them in the river all year round in all weathers. An older gentleman, one of the Pack family, said that he was baptized in January. Scott said that when his mother was baptized, they had to break the ice in the creek. There's a bit of pride in all of this. But as cold as this water is in the summer, I can only imagine taking such a plunge in mid-winter.

Jimmy arrived and we all sang a bit of "Shall We Gather at the River", before he waded out into the deep part of the creek. The three little girls were dunked first. There was much giggling and Jimmy smiled as he lowered each of them backwards into the water. It was very gentle and sweet. They love and dote on their children in this faith.

The young man was more serious. This was a serious commitment for him. He repented his sins and now was ready to be born again into the Jesus' Name Snakehandlers. He may or may not ever handle snakes or drink "the deadly thing." Not everyone does. It depends on whether or not they are gifted with the anointing. But this is the all important first step.

Next, he baptized a woman a few years older than me. She shook and jerked a bit while Jimmy was doing the benediction. He gave her the option of going over backwards or forwards. She chose forwards and was dunked under that way. She came up glowing and saying "Hallelujah!" Everyone raised their palms in the air. I did too.

At one point during the service, Jimmy had looked straight at me.

"Ready to go get baptized?"

I said under my breath to Scott, "Did he just ask if I was going to get baptized?"

"Sure sounded like it." Scott deadpanned.

I didn't get baptized that day in the river. I just watched.

But it was lovely and touching and I think it might be something I'd like to experience. So, perhaps, before the summer is out, I'll ask Jimmy if he would baptize me in the river.

But I want to go backwards into the water.

Full immersion. That's what I'm into.

I could have just gone in there and taken photos and snarkily portrayed them as the press has done so many times before. I could have just stopped at the snakes and the drinking of "the deadly thing" and left it like that. That's the easy way to go. Stop at the snakes and the poison and snicker. But you know me. That's just not me. And truthfully, the snakehandlers have thoroughly charmed me.

Before I go further on this journey, I wanted you to understand some of what I see in them. Some of what has made them a life-long fascination for me. I want you to know some of what they believe. I want you to understand their sweetness.

If I make mistakes in conveying the nature of their beliefs to you, it is only my imperfect knowledge of them and no deficit of theirs.

I know more about snakes than is strictly appropriate for a someone of my upbringing. We were raised with a healthy respect for poisonous reptiles. As a child, growing up on the coastal wetlands of South Carolina, they were an ever present danger. I remember having a craving for sassafras tea and taking myself, barefoot, off into the woods to gather roots. I looked down in horror to find a nest of just born copperheads just inches from my toes. It was not unusual for me to return home from school to find a huge water moccasin sunning itself on the front porch steps. I witnessed, more than once, the terrible damage their bites wrought on unsuspecting dog noses.

Later, in my teen years, I would help a local herpetologist remove snakes from the tomato fields. The migrant workers would grind to a halt any time a snake was spotted. We were actually trying to save the red rat snakes and the indigo snakes. But just as often, there would be a poisonous snake there.

I first heard of the Pentecostal Church Snakehandlers when I was in college. I was a theater major with very modest acting skills. Okay, really bad acting skills. But I hadn't come to that realization yet, so I was always looking for parts to audition for. One day there was an audition notice for Romulus Linney's "Holy Ghosts". Underneath, in bold, black magic marker it said, "Must NOT be afraid of snakes!!"

So I got my first role in a play and it was the beginning of my fascination with the Pentecostal Church Snakehandlers.

As sensitively as Romulus Linney portrayed them in his play, in hindsight, I don't think he quite "got it".

Jimmy Morrow is the Pastor of the Edwina Church of God in Jesus Christ's Name. I had known about Jimmy since I came here. Because of the blog, I sometimes get inquiries about snakehandling. If I felt they were respectful, I always referred them on to Jimmy. But I only met Jimmy face to face several weeks ago. I had been wanting to attend his service for a while but didn't think it appropriate to show up without an invitation.

Jimmy is not what you would expect. He is a tall man with greying hair and a gentle face who can talk a blue streak. His eyes are bright and animated and when he speaks you are aware of his keen intelligence. It is easy to see why so many university professors and intellectuals have befriended him. He is clearly "one of us". By that, I mean, that his thirst for knowledge and questing mind are evident when he speaks of his topic, the Jesus' Name Snakehandlers and their history. His archives, covering over 100 years of Appalachian history, are as meticulously documented and kept as any university don's. He has every right to be proud of his scholarly achievements.

"I've only got a fifth grade education." He said shyly after the first service I attended, "But I reckon I'm the only one up here that has a book out."

There is no doubt in my mind that had Jimmy been born in another place or time, he would hold three PhD's and be chairing the sociology department at an Ivy League university. His second book is on its way to the publishers.

His wife, Pam, is as quiet as Jimmy is loquacious but she is integral to the partnership. Her beliefs run as deeply as Jimmy's. She exudes a Madonna-like aura of joy, tranquility, love and peace. Just being near her is calming. She is gifted with tongues. She also has a fluting and sweet singing voice that does justice to every song she sings. It is a "joyful noise" indeed.

As a couple, they share a sort of love that one rarely sees. It flows off of them like sunbeams off of running water. It is the sort of love that makes you believe in love again even if you have lost your faith in love.

I'm sure that their shared beliefs and faith have something to do with that. They call it "living by the signs".

The Beliefs


One of the first things I noticed when I entered their church was a large hand drawn sign that had the name of God in Hebrew. Underneath it said, "The Name of God in English is Jesus Christ." That is a principle belief of theirs, that Jesus' name is also the name of God, superseding the Trinity. They believe that all things can be endured or accomplished in Jesus' name.

The Signs

The signs refer to the five attributes given in Mark 16: 17~18

1. Casting out Devils.
2. Speaking in Tongues.
3. Taking up Serpents.
4. Drinking of any Deadly Thing.
5. Laying on of Hands to heal the Sick.

They also take on fire. There is an acetylene torch that sits on Jimmy's pulpit for this purpose. It is not mentioned in Mark 16: 17~18, but it is something that they practice on occasion.

A common misconception is that they do these things as "tests" of faith. They are not testing their faith at all. They believe this is a way of life. They understand that they may die by living this way and sadly, they sometimes do. But they believe that if they "die by the signs", that it is merely God's wish for them to go at that time. It is a mark of honor to die this way and those that do are spoken of reverently.

They are also very gentle about their faith. There is no hard sell or proselytizing here. I found this very appealing about them. They never harp about the fact that they are the "one true" faith...though I'm sure they believe that. They expect people to come to them of their own accord.

So, there are the basics. I'll be looking into their faith more deeply. I'm not sure how far I'll go as of yet. I have no plans to handle serpents myself. My skeptics mind was toying with the theory that perhaps there was a genetic basis that allowed them to live through the dozens of snakebites, drinking of lye and lethal strychnine or being unburnt by fire.

But that was before I discovered I was related to them by blood. I'm not too keen on that idea anymore.

I know you are dying to see a snake at this point. Below is the copperhead I saw handled on Friday by Jimmy. He was in his box on the altar platform. I will get pictures of the actual handling at another time.

Today was hugely productive and I'm so excited I can barely stand it!

Friend Scott comes by today and takes me out to dinner at the local Chinese. On the way he relates this amazing Friend Scott story so hillbilly gonzo in its proportions that it can only be compared to "Snakes and Taxes". So I've got an amazing, hilarious Friend Scott story to relate after this current Friend Scott story is done. All I can say is it involves a drunk and licentious 400 lb "cousin" in a mini skirt with no underwear, rosebushes, calf-tagging, iodine, a consensual gang-banging and the phrase "He's gay...let him do it!"

And I say, "Why do you hang out with these people?"

So, we go into the Chinese and who should be there but the legendary Pastor Jimmy Morrow, who Scott knows and is, of course, related to. I've been wanting to meet Jimmy ever since I moved here mainly because of my fascination with the Pentecostal Church Snakehandlers. So, I finally got my invite, not only to attend one of Jimmy's snakehandling services, but also to come by his house to view his extensive archives of snakehandling history, photos and lore! Jimmy knows more about the history and genealogy of this area than anyone. He's is a backwoods genius and has been featured on The Discovery Channel, The Travel Channel and Nat'l Geographic. I'm so honored to meet him and can hardly wait just to sit and soak up anything he wants to tell me.

So V-Man...I may not have been able to attend the amazing and drunken Feast of Snakes in Claxton with you, Eric, Joe, Zonker, Elisson, Rick, Georgia and Denny, but looks like I'm gonna have my own private Feast of Snakes. And we ain't gonna have no sissy press passes or safe bleachers or boxed in snake pits. I thumb my nose at you sir!

Snakes in a Church....coming soon to a blog near you.