Trusting in the Echo: When Spiritual Warfare Erupts in Paradise

Trusting in the Echo: 

When Spiritual Warfare Erupts in Paradise

Returning from our second Puerto Rico trip, the certainty settled in: God was indeed calling us to move. Yet, the specifics of our mission remained shrouded in mystery. We continued to pray, yearning for clarity, but the divine response was a persistent whisper: "Trust me." And so, we did.

In the interim, we immersed ourselves in research, exploring not only Puerto Rico but the broader Caribbean. We sought to understand the religious landscape of the islands, discovering a profound need for gospel ministry. Our excitement grew as we brainstormed potential avenues for service. Ultimately, we decided I should embark on an extended stay in Puerto Rico, a month-long immersion to discern the needs and strategize our approach.

Discussions with church leaders from my wife's uncle's denomination led to an invitation to stay with them. The trip was scheduled for late June to late July 2014. During this time, I would participate in various ministry opportunities, explore the island's communities and culture, and fervently pray for God's direction. We were eager to move forward.

It's crucial to note that while our former church in Michigan offered no support, one staff member remained a steadfast ally. This connection would prove significant in the events to come.

June arrived, and I landed in Puerto Rico, ablaze with zeal and ready to serve. My hosts greeted me at the airport, and we set off. Little did I know, the next 30 days would be, well, a far cry from what I anticipated.

I settled into my temporary home and began sharing my vision for ministry, posing fundamental questions about religion in Puerto Rico. Initially, things seemed promising, our future bright. However, what followed was a bewildering turn of events, blurring the timeline of my trip. The pace of events was so rapid that it's now difficult to delineate their precise sequence. Nevertheless, here's what transpired.

My inquiries about Puerto Rican religious practices triggered an abrupt shift in the atmosphere. I questioned certain practices, such as baptism and communion, seeking to understand their scriptural basis. I presented biblical references, pointing out perceived contradictions, driven by genuine curiosity, not malice. The sole explanation offered was, "That's how we've always done it." As we continued to discuss religion, ministry, and missions, the mood grew increasingly tense. Eventually, the conversation abruptly ceased.

The following day (day 2), I was scheduled to participate in outreach ministry, an opportunity I eagerly anticipated. However, the morning arrived, and my companion was nowhere to be found. His wife assured me he'd return shortly. The afternoon passed, and he remained absent. I was confined to the house, spending the day in prayer and Bible study. He finally returned around 4:00 PM, and the atmosphere was heavy. Confusion gnawed at me. Had something happened? What was going on? 

Finally, the silence was broken.

"You need to go home."

The words hung in the air, a jarring contradiction to everything I believed God was calling me to. Confusion washed over me. I pressed for an explanation, and the response was even more bewildering: "It is not good that you are here by yourself. Unless your wife comes, you need to go home."

There was no logic, no explanation, just a stark, impossible demand. My wife couldn't come. We had three young children at home, and the financial burden of a last-minute plane ticket, not to mention childcare, was insurmountable. This was an absurd request, yet I promised to talk to my wife.

The phone call was a shared moment of disbelief. My wife was as stunned as I was. We both knew it was impossible. After hanging up, I called my trusted friend, the one who had supported us from the beginning. He was equally shocked. We were all reeling. I retreated downstairs, seeking solace in prayer.

Eventually, I returned upstairs, hoping to salvage the situation. But my attempts at resolution were met with resistance. I descended once more, calling a contact on the island, hoping for a temporary refuge. I was determined to stay unless God explicitly told me otherwise. Sadly, this person, for understandable reasons, couldn't accommodate me. I returned upstairs, my resolve unwavering.

As I entered the living room, everyone was seated. I expressed my concern, suggesting we needed to find common ground and proposed a prayer. The man's response was sharp and immediate: "No, we are not praying."

I asked why, and he gestured vaguely at himself, stating, "I have not showered yet. We can't pray."

I countered, saying that if he didn't want to pray, that was his choice, but we were going to pray. In that moment, he looked at his wife, a strange grin spreading across his face. Then, he turned to me, his eyes pitch black, completely devoid of light. It was a terrifying, unmistakable sign. I knew, with absolute certainty, that I was no longer speaking to the man I had met at the airport, but to a demonic presence.

I prayed aloud, and the oppressive tension in the room remained. I retreated downstairs, calling my friend, and recounting the chilling encounter. He was incredulous, even asking if I was afraid.

"No," I replied. "I'm not scared. This is actually kinda neat. It tells me I'm on the right track." He was taken aback by my calmness.

I returned upstairs, only to be told that the man wished to speak to me the following morning. I went to bed, a strange mix of anticipation and unease settling over me.

It's important to note that, at this point, I had been effectively confined to the property. Aside from a short walk on day two, while waiting for the man to return, I was unable to leave the gated and locked premises. Essentially, I was being held against my will, though in a seemingly "peaceful" manner.

The battle had begun.