Benny Hinn Blew Me
Night23
guy ever takes his road show to India, he'll have a huge following
beating out thousands of fake gurus.
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Benny Hinn Blew Me
"Pastor Benny, this man's spine was just healed! He could barely move
his arms, and the doctors told him he would have to wear a neck brace
forever - but just now, he felt a heat go into his back." "Bring him
here!" commanded the swarthy man with the anvil-shaped hair.
All eyes were on me, including the swarthy man's, who was now
approaching me, hands on his hips, head cocked. Suddenly his hands flew
up to the sides of my head and clapped my temples smartly.
WHAP! My eyes rolled back, my arms flailed. I ripped the neck brace off
with a single motion and flung it to the heavens as I fell backwards.
Pastor Benny was yelling, "Ooo Ooo - that's power, people." The
auditorium cheered wildly.
Benny winked at the camera and said, "Pick him up." Two of Benny's
"catchers" scooped my convulsing body to an upright position. "What are
you feeling, man?" Benny was giving me his look of feigned
incredulousness. One of the catchers shoved a mike in my face. All I
could do was sputter unintelligibly. Finally I managed to gasp, "a
h-heat." "Well, here it comes again, brother." Benny pranced over and
blew right in my face. This time the anointing was so powerful that
Benny himself stumbled backwards a couple of steps. Meanwhile I'm back
on the floor like so much anointed jello.
Or something like that. At least that's how I had it worked out in my
mind, but as I came to find out, getting blown by Benny Hinn is not as
easy as you might think. The first time I tuned into one of Benny's
crusades I was dumfounded. This mysterious, arrogant little man with
olive skin and a big anvil-like hairdo could, with a puff of his
breath, send people careening backwards, collapsing into quivering,
ecstatic heaps. Ushers would haul these people off the stage and bring
up new ones to be blown over in rapid succession by Pastor Benny. One
time, Benny himself got so overcome that _he_ started stumbling around,
and when the ushers tried to catch him, he freaked out and blew them
over and everybody fell down! I've seen Robert Tilton and others go
down a line of people, slapping their foreheads and causing them to
fall over, but this was madness. How could anyone take this guy
seriously?
But there they were, packing an arena fuller than a Motley Crue
concert. Needless to say I was beside myself with excitement when
Benny announced that he would be bringing his show to the Dallas
Convention Center. Prior to the Dallas crusade I was able to dig up a
little background info on Benny.
Although many people think Benny is from India because of his clipped
English and his hypnotic, Korla Pandit-like quality, he claims to have
been born in Israel to Greek and Armenian parents. He moved to Canada
at fourteen and became an avid follower of female faith healer Kathryn
Kuhlman. By the early eighties Benny had moved to Orlando, married the
daughter of a prominent pastor, and started his own church, the Orland
o Christian Center.
He preaches to a large congregation there, and once a month he takes
his act on the road and stages huge crusades all over the country.
Highlights from the church services and crusades, together with studio
segments, are edited to get her for thirty minute programs which air
several times a day on, among other stations, the Trinity Broadcasting
Network (Jan and Paul's channel). At 39 he's considered a "rising star"
of the religious television industry.
My research turned up one other choice bit of Hinn trivia: in 1986 at
an Oklahoma City crusade, an 85-year-old woman sustained fatal injuries
when a man "slain in the spirit" fell over on top of her. The woman's
family sued, claiming that the ushers delayed calling an ambulance so
as not to disrupt the miracle service. The matter was settled out of
court.
As the appointed days of the Dallas crusade drew near, a quest was born
deep inside my Spirit Man: I wanted to get on that stage and have Benny
blow _me_! The Dallas sweep consisted of three services - Thursday
night, Friday morning, and Friday night. I figured that the Friday
night show would be the most crowded and that my best chance of getting
on stage would be on Thursday. A neck brace had practically fallen into
my lap earlier in the week, and I took that as a sign that my fantasy
was going to become reality. My plan was to get to the Convention
Center a couple of hours early (wearing my neck brace), be noticed by
an usher who would then screen me and see that I was a good candidate
for a televised healing.
The folly of my little scheme became somewhat apparent when I arrived
at the Convention Center and saw hundreds of people already crowded by
the doors waiting to get in. Although it was cold and pouring rain,
nobody was being let in. I tried some side doors and got the attention
of a security guy, but he couldn't have cared less that I was cold,
wet, and in severe neck pain. I even gestured at the brace. Nothing. So
I joined the throng at the front doors. I didn't notice any other neck
braces or crutches. Good. Less competition. The crowd was a complete
mixed bag of race, age, and other demographic variables. I was prepared
for someone to strike up a conversation or at least give me a look of
sympathy or encouragement, but nobody even glanced my way.
The doors finally opened, and everyone swarmed in. The Dallas
Convention Center is comprised of three levels, and I headed for the
ground floor. There I was confronted with a door, a security guard, and
a sign that said that the floor level was reserved for people in
wheelchairs and one helper each. My neck brace did not qualify. Back
on the second level I was again thwarted. That level was reserved for
people who had special postcards, presumably people who sent Benny
money on a regular basis.
Well, there was no way I was going to be banished to the nosebleed
section, so I bided my time until I was able to slip past security. The
10,000-person capacity arena was filling up, but I spotted a single
unoccupied seat right up at the front of the middle level between a
40ish black woman and a pair of young, well-groomed Caucasian males. I
had an unobstructed view of the ground floor, which was now a teaming
mass of crippled, maimed, deformed, and disease-ridden humanity. I felt
a twinge in my neck.
A hillbilly family had brought in their young son on a rolling cot
hooked up to some kind of ventilator apparatus. Across the aisle in a
wheelchair was a guy who must have been in the final stages of AIDS.
The choir was rehearsing and cameras were being set up. It's hard to
say when the service actually started. All of a sudden I noticed Benny
was on stage, albeit somewhat obscured by the camera equipment. A
meandering series of prayers, songs, announcements, and guest speakers
was underway. We faithful see med to be there merely as extras for the
crowd shots. Unlike Robert Tilton's, Benny's TVshows consist of edited
segments, so he doesn't have to worry about putting on a cohesive,
dynamic show--just getting the shots he needs.
During one bit Benny acknowledged and thanked God for every local
pentecostal mover and shaker in Dallas--all but one. Yep, Big Bob was
conspicuously omitted from Benny's schmoozing, name-dropping, and
prayers.
Next, Benny had a group of visiting pastors from South America come up
on stage and knocked them over by slinging his jacket at them, a brief
break in what was turning into a pretty monotonous evening. More songs,
prayers, etc. Benny finally seemed to turn his attention away from the
cameras and to focus on the crowd. Yes, it was time to tithe. I gotta
hand it to Benny. This was the slickest begging for money I've ever
witnessed. He started off by apologizing for having to interrupt this
beautiful service for even five minutes to take up an offering. He said
he knew he didn't even have to tell us how much it cost to put on one
of these crusades (he did go on to tell us, though), and he knew he
could count on us to do the right thing. At least a $100, he mentioned
offhandedly. The lady next to me wrote out a check for $300.
The final leg of the service began with upbeat praise singing which
gradually degenerated into new-agey chant-singing of "hallelujah" over
and over. After about 15 minutes of this a large portion of the
audience had broken down and were softly sobbing.
Against this backdrop Benny announced that the miracles were starting
to happen. He recited a laundry list of miracles, and finally asked
for those who had just received a miracle to come to the stage. Notice
that Benny doesn't even have to perform the miracles one-on-one. People
are asked to come up after they're _already healed_. Benny just takes
the bows (and knocks people over for good measure).
I ripped off my brace and made a dash for the ground floor, but long
lines were already snaking off either side of the stage. I watched as a
guy in a full body apparatus took the stage and stripped off his
braces. A fat lady who had been crippled with arthritis jogged up and
down the stage. Benny milked these people for a long time while the
rest of us had to wait. It was getting close to 11'o'clock, and my
dreams of getting on stage were fading fast. I retreated to the back of
the ground floor and just watched for a minute. The AIDS-ravaged guy I
had noticed earlier was struggling to take a couple of steps. I'd had
about enough.
So in the end, no, I didn't get blown by Mr. Anvil-Head and I left with
a bad taste in my mouth. Benny Hinn is no Bob Tilton. Bob pumps you up,
kicks you in the butt. Benny, on the other hand, lulls you into a
submissive, emotional stupor. He's a wimp. He's Liberace to Bob
Tilton's Elvis. Comparisons to Bob aside, I am glad I went, but I
would recommend a Benny Hinn crusade only to the hardcore false
followers among you. Benny's much better digested in his thirty minute
programs of edited highlights.<
postscript March 2, 1993: Inside Edition came through with a beautifully
done Benny Hinn story. Highlights included an ambush interview at the
Philadelphia airport in which Benny , surrounded by bodyguards, bolted
through a security door, setting off alarms and pandemonium as his
goons punched out the reporters! Later, back home in Orlando, Benny
agreed to be interviewed on camera. Benny pointed out that it wasn't
his job to follow up his healings with a phone call to the miracle
recipient's physician.
Cut to an elderly woman throwing away her heart medicine. But in the
end Benny revealed himself to be a spineless slimeball by totally
kissing the butts of his attackers, saying he's sorry and will try to
do better in the future by medically verifying the miracles. Contrast
Benny's cop-out to Robert Tilton who did the honorable thing and
"fought back" and who will ultimately prevail. (c) SNAKEOIL