belief
Column: The Boy Who Challenged the Devil
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Two plus two is four. If I didn’t believe in Satan, then Satan wasn’t real, and if I believed, then I still made the rules. I was like a god.
Paganism
Temple to Pan discovered beneath Byzantine Church in Israel
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A new find at a recently excavated Byzantine church in the Banias Nature Reserve in Israel reveals a temple to the god Pan.
Living
Column: Great Pan is Alive
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Pagan Perspectives
“Somebody killed Pan,” she said. My best friend Sarah and her family had staked out a plot of land at the Gaea Retreat outside of Kansas City as their favorite campsite. It was a secluded spot, just big enough for three tents, tucked to the side of the gravel road and wire fence that marked one edge of Gaea. They called it Shamballa, which invariably made me think of the Three Dog Night song – I can tell my sister by the flowers in her eyes, on the road to Shamballa. Underneath an evergreen tree inside the entrance to Shamballa, Sarah had placed an old concrete idol of the god Pan.
News
Pagan priest wins right to wear horns on state-issued ID
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MILLINOCKET, Me — A Priest of Pan has won the right to wear his religious headgear, a pair of horns, in his state-issued identification photo. After initially being told he could not wear his horns in the photo, Phelan MoonSong says he kept pressing for the same accommodation other religions receive. Yesterday, his new ID finally arrived. It all started in June, when MoonSong decided his birth name longer fit him and legally changed it. With the new name came a need for a new identification card.
Paganism
Column: After the Storm
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Some things remain constant despite life’s tumult. Though we may find ourselves in the midst of many changes, still some things remain: the sun doth rise, the moon doth wax and wane, and the rain doth obliterate everyone’s campsite at least once every Heartland Pagan Festival. I have been attending Heartland off and on since I was a little boy, and every year, there is a wash-out thunderstorm. In my memories, it’s usually on Sunday afternoon, just before the end of the festival. I remember once standing in the open field where the merchants set up, looking up at a roiling sky and realizing that, even if I ran as fast as I could back to camp, I’d never make it before the rain hit. Some kind soul pulled me into their shelter and fed me rabbit stew, and we waited, eight or nine of us crammed beneath a 10×10 pavilion, for the storm to pass.