The Sign of Them That Believe

I’ve been writing online since 2007, and over the years I’ve covered many different topics. One of my favorite series was on the snake-handling churches of Appalachia.

One of the most fascinating aspects of these churches is how they have dealt with the theological problem of snakebite. And what’s even more interesting is how this issue, found in a very bizarre and esoteric branch of Christianity, has broader relevance. The problem posed by snakebite is a problem every Christian shares, even if they don’t handle snakes.

But before we get there, some background.

Around 1910, George Went Hensley walked down from White Oak Mountain in Tennessee convinced that one of the signs of baptism in the Holy Ghost was power over deadly serpents. Ever since the Azusa Street Revival in 1906, the primary sign of Spirit baptism had been speaking in tongues, along with other miraculous manifestations such as healing. But because of his literal reading of Mark 16, Hensley concluded that handling poisonous serpents should also be among the signs of "them that believe":

And these signs shall follow them that believe; In my name shall they cast out devils; they shall speak with new tongues; They shall take up serpents; and if they drink any deadly thing, it shall not hurt them; they shall lay hands on the sick, and they shall recover. (Mark 16:17–18)

Hensley descended White Oak Mountain, snake in hand, and launched his first snake-handling revival in Grasshopper Valley. So powerful were these services that snake handling spread across Appalachia and, for a time, was even endorsed by the Church of God.

In the early days the message was triumphalistic. Believers would handle serpents and not be bitten. But over time, people were bitten. The witness shifted: the Spirit would protect from death by snakebite rather than from snakebite itself. But that too had to be revised when people died. Hensley himself, who survived 446 bites, finally succumbed in 1955 at the age of 75 after a rattlesnake struck him during a revival in Florida.

According to researchers Ralph Hood and Paul Williamson (Them That Believe, Appendix 1), from 1921 to 2006 there were 90 documented deaths associated with snake-handling worship. That’s about one a year in these churches. And given that this is a small and tight-knit community, one death a year is significant.

All this presented a theological problem.

The central experience of snake handling is victory over death. As worshipers reach into the boxes, they report an acute awareness of death. Their preachers repeat, “There is death in these boxes.” Handling snakes is an eschatological act, a confrontation with death itself. The snakes are symbols of Death.

But people do die. So how is “victory” experienced when death occurs? And not only death. Many bites bring days of agonizing pain and permanent tissue damage. How to make sense of that suffering?

In response, the snake-handling churches slowly abandoned the triumphalistic theology. It became clear that “the anointing,” the prompting of the Spirit to take up serpents, did not guarantee immunity. People were bitten, people suffered, people died. Victory, then, could not be immunity.

The key insight came from a closer reading of Mark 16. Notice what the text actually says: “They shall take up serpents.” That’s it. There is no promise of immunity. The sign is simply in taking up the serpents. Even if you get bitten. Even if you die.

So victory shifted from immunity to fearless obedience. The sign to the unbeliever was not invulnerability, but eschatological fearlessness in the face of death.

This evolution is a striking illustration of how the fear of death is our deepest spiritual predicament. As Hebrews puts it:

Since the children have flesh and blood, he too shared in their humanity so that by his death he might break the power of him who holds the power of death—that is, the devil—and free those who all their lives were held in slavery by their fear of death. (Hebrews 2:14–15)

Salvation is liberation from the fear of death. Snakebite becomes a symbol of this fear, and taking up snakes a “sign” of salvation.

But does that mean we should take up serpents, or pursue other reckless risks, as a demonstration of faith?

As I argue in The Slavery of Death, this is where the snake-handling churches miss something. Fearlessness, by itself, is not a Christian virtue. Detached from love, fearlessness slides toward recklessness, even a morbid courting of death.

The real problem with fear is how it cripples love, how it enslaves us to self-preservation rather than freeing us for self-giving. Hebrews tells us that Christ delivers us from the slavery of death (Hebrews 2). John tells us that perfect love casts out fear (1 John 4). Put together, the victory over death is not just boldness in the face of danger but a liberation to love.

And yes, there are snakes everywhere. Each of us faces fears, large and small, that tempt us away from love. To “take up” these snakes means loving sacrificially in the face of death.

In the end, it is not fearlessness that marks the believer, but love. 

Love is the sign of them that believe.