SatanCon and The Rest of the Boston Story

Almost a month later, here's the ending....

If you missed the first part, start here:

Boston, the rest of the story…

After a miraculously restful first night in Boston, I still had no idea why I was there other than maybe to pray over the city and for the people attending SatanCon. (I still can’t believe that’s a thing…but I had a hard time believing FurryCon was a thing either.)

I also did not know why the Lord directed Pastor Rhonda to send me to the First Baptist Church in Boston. I do know that, while I was in Boston, He showed up in so many ways that it was hard to keep track.

I arrived, on that first night, at the seemingly run down church. It was an old, stone building. A small castle of a church with stained glass windows, some were broken, and there was scaffolding around the disintegrating steeple.

By this time, it was after hours and the gates to any entrances were closed and locked, as was any door that was not secured behind a gate. Some construction trash littered the ground behind the dimly lit gates and there was a desolate and foreboding feeling to the church.

Was this really where I was supposed to go? Why? The posters tacked onto the iron gates told a different story. On Sundays, there would be life in this decaying shell of a building. I decided to go back the next morning, Wednesday, to see if I could talk to someone during business hours.

Nope! The building was locked and when I called, I was only greeted by a voicemail message.

“Huh?” I thought. “That’s weird. Why was I called here?”

I began exploring the city and the coffee shops. I found one nearby, named Revival, and thought it to be fitting for my first stop. My second stop would be The Thinking Place. With no WiFi, it was just that…a place to think and drink coffee. It was a great place to write without any Internet distractions, though.

As I write this, the week seems like a blur of exploring, praying, and getting lost driving…I mean a lot. At times my GPS was even dyslexic, or something. On three occasions, the arrow on the screen would point one direction and its voice would tell me the opposite. Oh, and it changed its mind about where to send me more than a woman trying to figure out what to wear on a first date.

I became frustrated with all the “wasted” hours from taking wrong turns and driving all over the city. I might have felt more annoyed, except that I wasn’t on any real schedule so it didn’t matter much. By Friday, though, I noticed my gas gauge had not moved off of the middle point since I got to Boston Tuesday. “How is that?” I wondered.

For 3 days, I drove for hours around the city and no gas had been used! I then realized that while I had been driving, I had also been playing praise and worship music…all…over…the…city! I learned from others, who also had been called into Boston, that they felt the Lord had told them to sing praise and worship over the city as a pre-emptive strike to cover the incoming convention.

I had not been “wasting” time. I had helped prepare.

I had initially been under the impression that I was to pray for the people coming to Boston for SatanCon. That they would see and meet Jesus somehow. That it would a “Saul on the Road to Damascus” type situation for them. I later learned that God had instructed everyone I met to pray the same way. People who were praying the event wouldn’t happen felt the Lord told them to change how they were praying and to pray for the souls of those showing up.

I was still alone in Boston until I learned of the “Revive Boston” event. On Thursday night, I was on a Kingdom Writer’s Book Challenge Zoom call, where someone in my Breakout Room mentioned she had friends in Boston for the same reason I was there. They had a group, though, so she researched more and connected me with Revive Boston.

Revive Boston would begin meeting on Friday night and end on Sunday night. I arrived a little late Friday night and found the worship was already in full swing. The crowd was a beautiful mix of black, brown, and white people and there was such a warm feeling of unity. From my perspective, there did not seem to be even a hint of racial tension. Everyone loved everyone.

The first person I met was a beautiful soul named Davae. We passed each other in the bathroom and I think I commented on how beautiful she was. She soon came back in and said she felt like the Holy Spirit wanted her to pray for me and asked if she could pray for my family. Without going into details, her prophetic prayers for my family were spot on and I could truly feel the Holy Spirit’s presence in all of it. Yes, the Holy Spirit even shows up in womens’ bathrooms…(for all those men wondering what we really do in there.)

I made several wonderful connections, but the circumstances revolving meeting Samuel were the most interesting. Saturday night, I had been heavily attacked spiritually. A severe and unreasonable depression had swept over me and I just did not want to exist. I felt tired…tired of fighting and never getting anywhere. Tired of trying so hard and getting knocked down over and over again. Tired of trying to rebuild again and again. And I missed Gonzo.

At the lowest depth of it, my boss and my best friend both checked in on me at the same time. Both sent words of encouragement and my best friend made sure I had a warm, cozy place to sleep. It was like heaven and hell were fighting a battle over me and God sent two of His earthly angels to pick me up when I’d been hit the hardest. So, I knew something interesting was about to happen.

The next day, Sunday afternoon, Revive Boston was supposed to be having an outreach where we would go into the city and talk to people. We had done this Saturday, and to be fair, it was pretty miserable. It was cold and rainy and gross, so I wasn’t exactly looking forward to more of the same, but I went anyway. I had a feeling that morning that I was supposed to talk to Satanists and, surprising myself, I found I did not want to miss the chance.

When I showed up, I found the outside doors to the Mezzanine, where Revive Boston had been being held, were locked. I knew of another way in through the hotel lobby and went that way. The Mezzanine was dark an lifeless except for one, lone guy sitting on a couch watching something on his iPhone.

We began talking and I wouldn’t shut up about all the cool God stuff that has been happening since I started this camping adventure. Apparently, the rest of the group decided they did not want to talk to people in the cold rain and I really can’t blame them.

During our chat, somehow, Samuel got a couple of words in edgewise and mentioned he really felt like he was supposed to talk to Satanists. I told him I did, too, and offered to accompany him. So, we decided to brave the weather and walk about 15-20 minutes in the drizzles. I suggested we get coffee along the way, but strangely enough, with ALL the coffee shops around, we did not see any until we got to the Marriott, where SatanCon was exploding in full force.

Upon arrival, we marveled at the “Christian” group on the opposite corner making sure the Satanists knew they were evil. I quickly noticed Jaho Artisan Coffee directly across the street from the Marriott. That was to be our first stop! At least for me, anyway. On a side note, this was the best and most unique coffee I have ever had. I definitely recommend visiting Jaho Artisan Coffee if you’re ever in Boston.

As soon as we walked in, I noticed a Satanist in a hot pink wheelchair (like the one my sister used to drive), wearing a black, leather jacket with, “F*** the World” embroidered on the back. He was saddled up to a table chatting with a couple of women. I had noticed him rolling past my car at an intersection just a couple of days before and thought maybe this was a sign I was supposed to say, “Hi.” I wanted to ask how he ended up in the wheelchair, but never got the chance.

I positioned myself at the bar, directly behind him, so that I could say, “Hello” as he rolled past, once he finished the conversation he was having with the two ladies. It seemed obvious to me that I was supposed to talk to Mr. FTW if I had noticed him a couple of days prior and here he was.

As he went to exit the coffee shop, he started to roll past me and I said, “Hi” and tried to connect by mentioning my sister rocked the same wheelchair as his. Mr. FTW was not impressed and said, “Due to everything going on,” he did not want to talk. He didn’t expound as he rolled away, but my assumption was he was referring to the antagonistic religious group gathered across the street.

“That’s weird.” I thought. It has become rare that “coincidences” like the ones with Mr. FTW don’t turn out to be something really cool; puzzle pieces that God places together. I was sure this was another puzzle piece. Maybe not.

Or maybe so!

Samuel and I soon realized that, due to where Mr. FTW had been sitting, I had positioned us in the perfect place to chat with people. Everyone who ordered coffee would have to walk past where we were sitting at the bar located at the end of the Order/Pickup counter.

We did not have to approach anyone, something of which I am not comfortable with at all. They approached us and conversations flowed easily.

I was so pleased to find that Samuel was truly interested in what they believed and wanted to know how they got to those beliefs. He was non-confrontational and we had a really great time getting to understand these guys.

We had several opportunities to chat with people, get to know them, plant little Jesus seeds, then let God do whatever watering He wants to do. We had several people thank us for approaching them in a kind, respectful, and inquisitive manner.

Sadly, the common thread we found that ran between every, single, Satanist we spoke with was that they had been abused by the Church or Religion in some form or fashion. They all said they did not believe in Satan, but that he represented their rebellion against the Church. He was “just a mascot.”

The deception was incredible! Satan had convinced Satanists that he isn’t real. Just a mascot. Could you imagine if Jesus had to convince people He WASN’T real to get people to follow Him?

We also got to meet a fascinating gentleman, who went by the name “Destiny.” He was not a Satanist and did not even realize the convention was in town. He is a writer of dark things, like werewolves, and was wearing a daring, gold jacket. I HAD to compliment the jacket, as it was quite fantastic. Destiny sat down and chatted with us for a bit. He was obviously smart and seemed to be very discerning.

While we were talking, I got the impression I really needed to call Destiny by his real name. I asked if he would give me the honor of letting me know what it was. He seemed a bit shy about it so I mentioned that there is power in a name.

He obliged and I learned his name is Richard. I asked if he knew what it meant and he did not. In the meantime, another Richard from our group had joined us. I asked that Richard if he knew what his name meant. He did not…so I looked it up.

“Powerful!” The name Richard means Powerful, which I find funny that I had said there is power in a name and, lo and behold, power was literally in that name.

I could sense a little pride well up in Richard/Destiny when he heard this, but then uncertainty crept in and he seemed unable to accept that he was called to be powerful.

Richard/Destiny was still talking to us when it was time for us to head back to the hotel to meet up with Revive Boston for their evening service. We invited him, but he was unable to join us.

He was a fascinating guy and we have kept in touch over the past month. I do hope he steps into the calling God has for him…it will be powerful if he does.

Back at Revive, there was a lot of worship and revival type stuff going on. I still did not know where I was going to sleep that night, but was not concerned. God had a plan.

At some point during the service, a gentleman said he felt like God was telling him to pray for me, so he asked if I needed prayer. “Of course!” or “Yes, please!” or something along those lines is what I said.

He asked how he could pray for me and I mentioned I needed a place to stay, along with some other requests I can no longer remember. He prayed for me, then said he had family in the area and could probably set me up with something for the night.

He tried getting in touch with his sister to see if she could house me, but he was unable to reach her. Since he was unable to find someone that could take me in at the last minute, he said I could go home with him.

I politely objected, letting him know I could not stay with a guy.

“Wait, what? No! I’m married…with kids….they’re all at home….we have an extra room. You wouldn’t be sleeping with me.”

We had a good laugh and when I met his wife, she was wonderful. They set up an extra room for me and, once again, God provided through some wonderful, kind, generous people.

The next day, I headed back to New Hampshire, where my new tent was waiting for me…and so was the beginning of this wild path of adventure God has me traveling down.