My first exorcism was a humbling, eye-opening experience—a mix of fervent but misguided zeal, spiritual mimicry, and raw inexperience. I was new to the faith, ravenously consuming the Word and praying in the Spirit, eager to serve but armed only with borrowed phrases and a fragile understanding of spiritual authority. It was as if I had stepped into a scene from the Book of Acts, unwittingly taking on the role of a modern-day son of Sceva.
It all started when a new member of our fledgling church in Arequipa, Peru, confessed to having made a pact with the devil. She vividly recounted a ritual called "pasando el huevo"—passing the egg—a Peruvian ceremony performed by a witch doctor that promised prosperity in exchange for binding her to demonic forces. She was desperate for freedom, and we were just as desperate to help.
Our small team of believers—my Guatemalan brother in Christ, a few fellow ministers, and other friends—gathered in a simple room, untrained but determined. As we began to pray, the demonic manifestations were immediate and intense. This small, unassuming woman transformed before our eyes, displaying a superhuman strength that took everything my brother in Christ and I had to restrain. Her face contorted, and her voice deepened into a guttural snarl. At one point, she vomited a dark, mucus-like substance—blackish and unsettling, like something pulled from the depths of a nightmare.
Caught up in the intensity, I tried to do what I had seen my favorite Nigerian deliverance ministers do. I repeated their phrases, commanding the demons in Jesus’ name, but it was clear I was in over my head. My words were loud but hollow, lacking the spiritual authority needed in that moment. I was merely parroting what I had seen, hoping the formula would somehow work.
During brief pauses when the manifestations subsided, the woman, now calm, looked at me and said, “The demons are laughing at you. They say you don’t know what you’re doing.” Her words hit me harder than any manifestation. She was right. I didn’t know what I was doing. I was mimicking others, thinking that would suffice. But spiritual authority doesn’t come from imitation—it comes from a genuine, intimate relationship with Jesus.
This botched exorcism, which dragged on for days with no breakthrough, was a stark contrast to what I later witnessed in the ministry of my spiritual father, Azaria, an Ethiopian missionary who brought me to Christ and discipled me. Azaria’s ministry in Lima was marked by an authority and presence that could only come from his deep personal relationship with the Lord. I watched as demons would manifest the moment he entered a room, not because there was a show to put on, but because the presence of God in him was so potent. His relationship with the Lord and his developed anointing in deliverance were evident. Azaria would cast out demons with quiet confidence, no theatrics, no shouting—just the simple, powerful authority of someone who knew his God and was known by his enemies.
Witnessing this incredible contrast taught me a profound lesson: the name of Jesus is not an amulet, a magic word, or a cudgel to wield against spirits. It is the declaration of one who walks intimately with the Lord. Azaria didn’t just know his authority; he was recognized in the spiritual realm because his relationship with God spoke for itself. In my early attempts, I was simply a son of Sceva at best, trying to mimic others with loud declarations that had no real power.
As I grew in my faith, attended Bible school, and cultivated a deeper intimacy with God, I began to see the truth of this principle in my own ministry. I started experiencing the privilege of God’s presence, where simply walking into a room could cause manifestations in oppressed people nearby. It was never about the words; it was about the relationship. This journey from a struggling son of Sceva to a servant of the Most High taught me that true spiritual authority is not about what you say—it’s about WHO you know. The power flows from a life anchored in the Spirit, marked by humility, obedience, and a deep, abiding relationship with Jesus Christ.