HT to The Grey Coats for pointing to this amazing testimony posted by Mishel Montague at Deception Bytes. If you need further proof of just how dangerous Rick Joyner (and others within the NAR) truly are, this should do it. I would highly recommend sending this to anyone you know who is caught up in the demonic teachings of Joyner and his NAR associates.
Adrift in the River of God (Parts I, II, and III)
I don’t recall exactly how it started or when the decisive moment was. I do not know how I got to the point of being so deeply entrenched in apostasy and deception. I can not definitively point to one moment and declare that that is when the deception began and my destructive course was charted. I simply don’t know. What I do know is that I was convinced. I was convinced of my being on the right path. I was one of God’s chosen, His elite, His enlightened ones. “Get into the River” was our mantra and our manifesto.
In my home church they called us the River People, and I was hopelessly immersed. Those that loved me enough had tried to warn me. However, I did not want to listen to those I perceived as being beneath me spiritually. They simply did not understand the river’s flow, I reasoned. No, I wanted nothing to do with their life-vests; I was happy being adrift.
In the beginning, I was deeply involved in a Large Pentecostal Church in town. I sang on the worship team and also sang for a small- start Vineyard church in the same city. There were whisperings at that time of a movement in Toronto, a “blessing” of epic proportion; or so I thought. Toronto was only a few hours drive from my city and so it began. We would pile into cars like hungry pilgrims and make the frequent trek to Toronto. In the winter we would brace against the cold in our heavy coats not complaining about the long lines and torturous waiting. There was always someone that we knew who was going. There was always someone we knew coming back. The returning pilgrims would laugh, jerk, and shout. They seemed only too eager to impart their “fresh fire” to anyone who would stand still long enough to have hands laid on them.
Those that did not understand we scoffed at. They did not want the things of God as we did. We were special.
Things began to change in my church. A split began to form. They called us the “river people” we called them religious zealots who refused to let loose of the old wine skins. There were long ministry times at the altar at every service complete with violent jerking, animal sounds, shouting, laughing and vibrating. Then there were those long periods of “soaking” which we fondly referred to as “carpet time.”
The “Old Wineskins” of our church did not like the constant emphasis on the supernatural. However, we felt above reproach never realizing that sliding underneath it all with stealth precision was the sin that was now running unchecked through the church. Scandal ensued and the ministry team split.
I remember the first time I read anything from Rick Joyner.
I was in a church pew and my pastor’s wife handed me a dog-eared, photocopied chapter from Rick Joyner’s, “The Hoards of Hell are Marching.” She was enchanted by it.
“It is the most wonderful, most anointed, most inspired thing you will ever read,” she gushed. Far from the most anointed thing I had ever read, I regarded it as the rantings of a lunatic. However, it had soon circulated the church and had won the hearts and captured the attention of those I deeply respected. They thought this man was a true prophet.
The chaotic crumbling of a once mighty church disturbed me beyond words. The church was in its death throes and the sounds of her slow and arduous death rattle had replaced the raucous party atmosphere we had grown so depend on. I needed the fix that the “river” provided and I knew I would have to go where I felt it might be moving. I packed a small suitcase and hitched a ride with a friend who happened to be going to Charlotte, North Carolina. This was to begin a dizzying spiral decent into darkness and deception. Deception so sly and insidious it would take 15 long years to recover and find the truth.
I had only been in Charlotte a short while before tracking down and attending MorningStar. I will never forget it.
When I got to the entrance door I started to shake. I was trembling from head to foot and could not talk. I remember one of the greeters asking me if I was alright. I tried to talk but could not. “It’s the Glory,” one of the church members cooed, firmly pushing me through the doors. The church was in a warehouse off Pressley Road in Charlotte. There were chairs set up and also round tables lining the walls off to the side. People milled about in the back drinking coffee and browsing the bookstore. They were mostly young people in wrinkled, unkempt clothing. It had a hippie- modern grunge feel. It was evident that many of them had not washed for the occasion, or for any occasion in a very long while. Strangely enough, it did not seem odd that there were barely-sober homeless people lolling on the floor in the back drinking coffee. They seemed to blend and homogenize themselves into the atmosphere there. It almost seemed normal, like what you would expect to see there.
I was both appalled and intrigued by it all. The commotion and carnival atmosphere was like a train wreck that you could not for the life of you, pull your eyes from. I had the feeling I had entered through the looking glass and nothing would ever be the same again.
Noise and confusion were everywhere. It was before service and the place was literally in an uproar. People rushed to and fro, running and throwing things and laughing. Some sat at tables trying desperately to talk above the din while others had food spread out enjoying a meal before service. When the music started it was reminiscent of an outdoor rock concert. No one sang but the performers. Many had arms raised, their hands snaking through the air like Indian belly dancers, eyes closed in complete abandoned ecstasy. I was uncomfortable.
Surely it must be me, I kept thinking. I mean after all- what makes me think that all of these people are wrong. That would make my pastor and friends and everyone I love and respect wrong too! No, that is not possible- it must be me. Sensing my inner struggle a woman beside me told me I would get used to it. “You are not used to being in this level of anointing” she yelled above the pulsating music. I told her it felt foreign to me- wrong even- but she admonished me and told me to relax into it. I waited for the preaching; there was none. No Bible, no scripture, nothing but dreams and visions and what God was showing Rick Joyner.
When the service was over the woman leaned over to me and told me to go forward to get a number for the prophetic booths. The booths were a regular part of every service and I came to depend on this. If I was struggling, needed an answer, or just needed a lift I would go into one of the booths and have the prophetic team prophesy over me. In time I would be on the prophetic team and prophesy over others in the services and conferences. It was not long before the prophetic ministry replaced my reading of scripture and study. I did not need to read the scriptures; I was always told everything I needed to know through prophesy. No one talked about the Bible or even brought one to the service. Certainly I never saw anyone actually read or preach from one.
Although I feel certain that in all the time I spent there, I must have seen one of two people carry a Bible, there is one time in particular that I can clearly recall. A visitor had brought it; a small framed, nicely dressed man, who looked to me to be quite innocuous. He had it open on his lap and was reading it silently. Suddenly two of the ushers came rushing down the hall and standing one on each side, strong armed him out the door. He asked what he had done but his pleas were to no avail. It left me unsettled but I reasoned it away. After all, this man must have done something to deserve removal. In thinking about it now, it is curious to me that no one had a problem with the homeless drunks coming to drink coffee and loll on the floors, or even with the witches that seemed magnetically drawn to the services, but a man reading his Bible threatened them.
Rick Joyner seemed pleased that the witches were there and we were told to make them feel welcome. The witches need to hear about Jesus. While that was certainly true, the message of the gospel was not being preached. No true disciple of the occult would feel comfortable enough in a church where the true Gospel was being preached, to come back week after week with no conversion.
Joyner made it plain to us that he was not in the business of casting out demons. In fact, in one service he told us he did not want us going to him for prayer. “It is not my job to cast out your demons” he said to an incredulous audience “In fact; I like to keep a few demons in people to keep things interesting.”
Years later I asked a friend of mine who had made it out of Morningstar if he remembered Rick saying that to us. “Yes” he said, “I remember it well.” He paused and thoughtfully added, “What was wrong with us?”
After my first summer at MorningStar I enrolled in their ministry school. As Joyner was quick to point out, it was not a Bible school per se. The emphasis was on prophesy, dreams, visions, and the supernatural. We were being trained for the coming harvest and what Joyner referred to as the coming civil war in the church.
He was quick to tell us that we represented the blues. Like the ocean and the sky, blue stood for revelation and expanse, spiritual enlightenment, and openness of spirit. We were special, a new breed. We were Joel’s army who would go forth victoriously to build the kingdom of heaven on earth.
The grays were spoken of with disdain and derision. Gray represented the brain and those who lived in their minds without regard to the higher life of the spirit. The grays were the legalists, the old wineskins, those seeking to trap and keep God in a box. They were painted as the staunch, stuffed and sterile church that had long since faded into antiquity and outlived their usefulness.
It seems to me, looking back, that anyone that opposed Joyner and his teachings was considered a gray and not open to the “moving of the spirit.” The grays, Joyner was quick to tell us would be overcome and destroyed in the fight for the “true” church to evolve to the next level.
Of course, in his estimation, the grays would not go quietly into that good night so it might be necessary for us to assist God in finishing up the job.
Let me put that in plain English. We would help God kill them.
Looking back, it should have been all too clear to me but it wasn’t.
The atmosphere at MorningStar was more like a crack house than a church with stupefied trance-like zombies bouncing to the pulsating music, not caring what was being fed to them. It felt good- it made us high and anesthetized us to the pain of anything unpleasant. In this world, we were special, separated, called. There was no sin discussed here, only visions of the glorious “lands” we would take for Christ….
*Please continue reading this amazing testimony here