A Childhood of Fear and a Search for Truth
I grew up trembling—not at the thought of witches lurking in the shadows, but at the contradictions woven into the faith I was raised to defend. From the pulpit, I heard witchcraft condemned as one of the gravest sins, an abomination before God, backed by verses that left no room for debate:
Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live. (Exodus 22:18)
There shall not be found among you anyone who… practices divination, or tells fortunes, or interprets omens, or a sorcerer, or a charmer, or a medium, or a necromancer… For whoever does these things is an abomination to the Lord. (Deuteronomy 18:10-12)
The works of the flesh are manifest… idolatry, witchcraft, hatred… they which do such things shall not inherit the kingdom of God. (Galatians 5:19-21)
These words were drilled into me as a child, painting a world where anything “magical” was a one-way ticket to damnation. Sorcery, divination, energy manipulation—all of it was demonic, they said, a rebellion against God’s order.
But then I started paying attention—not just to what I was told, but to what I was doing. In the same church that raged against witchcraft, I was taught to pray with fervent intention, to anoint with oil, to partake in rituals that felt eerily familiar to the very practices we were told to fear. By 12 or 13, I wasn’t afraid of witches anymore—I was afraid of Christianity itself. If these acts were evil outside the church, why were they sacred within it? If faith and intention could shape reality, why was one version holy and another cursed?
And if Jesus himself wielded these powers—touching the sick, commanding miracles, bending nature to his will—why wasn’t he called a “witch” by the standards I’d been taught?
What I’ve come to see is that the divide between Christianity and what it calls “witchcraft” isn’t about the practices themselves—it’s about who gets to wield them, and why. Spiritual gifts, whether in a pew or a pagan circle, share a common root: faith, intention, and a connection to the divine. This post isn’t just a takedown of hypocrisy—it’s a call to peel back the layers of fear and control, to see the truth beneath, and to imagine a world where we stop fighting over labels and start embracing what’s real.
The Heart of It All: Spiritual Gifts Defined
Let’s ground ourselves before we go further. Spiritual practices—Christian, pagan, or otherwise—aren’t about the trappings. They’re about tapping into something bigger: a belief that our words, our will, and our bond with the unseen can change the world. In Christianity, it’s prayer, a miracle, a sacrament. In other traditions, it’s spellwork, energy work, ritual. Strip away the names, and the core is the same: intention shapes reality, faith opens the door, and the divine—call it God, the universe, or something else—meets us halfway.
So why the divide? If a prayer and a spell both reach for power beyond ourselves, why is one blessed and the other damned? It’s not the act—it’s the hands holding the reins, and the story they tell to keep them there.
Christian Practices That Echo “Witchcraft”
The evidence is right in front of us—practices so woven into Christianity that we rarely question them, yet so close to what’s condemned as “witchcraft” that the double standard glares.
1. Prayer: The Power of Words and Will
Prayer isn’t just talking to God—it’s an act of creation. We don’t only do this privately and quietly, on our solo journeys. Christians gather in circles, lay hands on the hurting, and speak with conviction, believing their words can heal, protect, or provide. Pre-written prayers—like the Lord’s Prayer—roll off the tongue with rhythm and repetition, a chant to call down divine favor. The Bible doesn’t mince words about it:
Whatever you ask in prayer, believe that you have received it, and it will be yours. (Mark 11:24)
If you have faith as small as a mustard seed, you can say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there,’ and it will move. (Matthew 17:20)
Life and death are in the power of the tongue. (Proverbs 18:21)
This isn’t wishful thinking—it’s faith with teeth, a belief that words carry weight and reality bends to them. That’s spellwork in all but name: intention, invocation, trust in the outcome. If a Christian prays for rain and it falls, it’s a miracle. If a witch does the same and succeeds, it’s sorcery. The difference? A label—and who’s allowed to claim it.
2. The Eucharist: Alchemy in Plain Sight
The Eucharist is Christianity’s beating heart. A priest speaks words of consecration, and bread and wine become the body and blood of Christ. For many, it’s not metaphor—it’s transformation, a divine act sparked by ritual and intent. That’s alchemy: turning one thing into another through spiritual power. It’s energy manipulation, human hands channeling the sacred into the everyday.
If a pagan rite turned grain into something holy, we’d call it magic. Why does a church altar change the rules? The steps—words, intention, transformation—don’t change at all!
3. Anointing with Oil: Tools of Power
Anointing isn’t a relic—it’s a living act. Oil is blessed, charged with purpose, and used to heal, consecrate, or shield. Scripture backs it up:
Is anyone among you sick? Let them call the elders… and let them pray over him, anointing him with oil in the name of the Lord. (James 5:14)
Take the anointing oil and anoint the tabernacle and all that is in it, and consecrate it. (Exodus 40:9)
This is ritual magic: a physical tool infused with spiritual intent, wielded for change. Witches use oils too—for protection, healing, favor. The only divide is the name we give the source.
4. Baptism: Cleansing and Rebirth
Baptism is a purification ritual, plain and simple. Water, blessed by prayer, washes away sin and marks a spiritual rebirth. It’s not just a bath—it’s a sacred act, infused with meaning and power. Ancient traditions have done this forever: ritual baths, initiatory cleansings, water as a conduit for the divine. Christianity didn’t invent it—it adapted it, gave it a new name, and called it holy.
If the form is the same—water, intention, transformation—why is one a sacrament and the other an abomination?
Jesus: The Ultimate Practitioner
If these parallels sting, let’s face the one figure no Christian can dodge: Jesus. By the rules in Deuteronomy and Galatians, he’d be guilty of witchcraft a dozen times over.
Healing by Touch: When a woman touched his cloak and was healed (Mark 5:25-34), power flowed from him—raw energy, unfiltered by anything but faith.
Commanding Reality: He didn’t just pray for Lazarus to rise—he demanded it: “Lazarus, come forth!” (John 11:43). That’s manifestation, a will spoken into being against death itself.
Casting Out Spirits: With a word, he banished demons (Matthew 8:16)—spiritual authority, no different from an exorcism or a banishing rite.
Bending Nature: Walking on water (Matthew 14:25), multiplying loaves (John 6:11), calming storms (Mark 4:39)—these are acts of dominion, faith reshaping the world.
The defense is always “divine favor”—his power came from God, not the devil. Some might argue he didn’t “manipulate” energy—God simply worked through him. But that falls apart when we see what Jesus taught. He told his followers they could do these works too—and even greater ones (John 14:12). The Bible shows faith, spoken words, and spiritual authority as the keys to these miracles. So if those same mechanics hold today, why are some believers called heretics while others are hailed as holy? The church’s split between “miracle” and “magic” isn’t about truth—it’s about control.
If divine favor justifies it, the case against “witchcraft” collapses. The Bible says we’re made in God’s image (Genesis 1:27), that faith can move mountains (Matthew 17:20), that his followers would outdo him (John 14:12). Jesus wasn’t a fluke—he was a blueprint, showing what’s possible when faith and intention align.
The Real Sin: Control, Not Connection
The Bible never bans spiritual energy—it bans losing control of it. Those Old Testament verses? They’re not about magic—they’re about power, politics, and identity.
Exodus 22:18 and Deuteronomy 18:10-12 were written as the Israelites carved out their place among Canaanite and Babylonian neighbors. Priests, diviners, and necromancers weren’t condemned for their practices but for their allegiance to foreign gods—rival systems that threatened Yahweh’s covenant.
Child sacrifice, omens, mediums—these were the tools of Canaanite temples and Babylonian courts, pulling people from Israel’s God. The ban wasn’t on spiritual acts; it was on anything that diluted tribal loyalty.
Galatians’ “witchcraft” (pharmakeia, in Greek) ties to potions and sorcery, listed alongside greed and hatred—not as a unique evil, but as excess outside God’s order.
This was consolidation, not morality. The target was unapproved access—power slipping through the cracks. Jesus saw the real sin, and it wasn’t miracles. It was gatekeeping:
You shut the door of the kingdom of heaven in people’s faces. (Matthew 23:13)
You have taken away the key of knowledge… and hindered those who were entering. (Luke 11:52)
In John (John 2:16), He even flipped tables in the temple, raging at a faith turned into a racket.
The church didn’t invent this—it inherited it, then sharpened it. As Christianity spread, it faced a world of shamans, healers, and mystics, all touching the divine their own way. The fix? Centralize power, standardize rituals, and brand everything else heresy. What was once a birthright became a privilege, locked behind dogma.
And who bore the brunt? Often, it was women—midwives, herbalists, seers—those who healed and prophesied without permission. It’s no coincidence that “witchcraft” historically targeted them. The same church claiming divine authority over all things spiritual silenced those—especially women—who accessed God outside its walls. Even now, many Christian spaces sideline women from leadership while men perform the same acts under sanctioned titles. This isn’t righteousness—it’s control, plain and simple.
Closing Thoughts: A Way Forward — Reclaiming the Gifts
This isn’t about tearing down Christianity or exalting “witchcraft”—it’s about seeing past the divide. Prayer and spells, anointing and charms—they’re not enemies; they’re cousins, drawing from the same well of faith and connection. The real fight isn’t between them—it’s between those who wield spiritual gifts freely and those who cage them in dogma.
Imagine a world where we stop bickering over names and start asking what works. Where a Christian’s prayer for healing and a witch’s charm for strength are just two notes in the same song. Where we judge the outcome, not the label—because as Jesus said:
By their fruits you shall know them. (Matthew 7:20)
The church lost that thread, trading truth for power, but we don’t have to follow.
Spiritual gifts aren’t a sin—they’re ours by right. Jesus didn’t just prove it—he lived it, showing us what faith can do when it’s free. It’s time to take it back—not with anger, but with clarity. Not to destroy, but to rebuild.
It’s time we reclaim what’s ours.
The Twin Tree Project 