The Devil and Doyle Davidson

He speaks about 45 to 50 minutes, and then the worship team takes over for a while. Davidson is back at the top of the hour and gives another sermon. He repeats this on Sunday evenings at 6 p.m. What's clear after watching a few sermons is this: Davidson's preaching is mesmerizing only because you wonder what bizarre thing he's going to say next.

In Davidson's early sermons, he didn't sound that much different from other "Spirit-filled" fundamentalists: He preached salvation through the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ and the necessity of receiving the Holy Spirit, which was evidenced by speaking in tongues or other spiritual gifts. But he dubbed himself an "apostle," a prophet specifically sent by God to Plano to rid the city of its ruling spirit: Jezebel. And he began to confuse himself with God, claiming in one sermon he was without sin and would never die. He has said that God, in 1974, told him to study the life of Christ "and he would give me a ministry like his Son's" and that his ministry would "cover the earth." Davidson will lose his train of thought in the middle of a sermon, then say with a smirk, "Well, whatever I was going to say, it's of God." Davidson recently told his viewers that God told him to get rid of all his tapes and writings from the '80s and '90s. "If you are keeping them," he said, "you need to throw them away or you're committing sin."

Demons are a central theme in Davidson's sermons. The belief in a spirit world populated by angels and demons isn't unusual; Catholicism has an exorcism ceremony for priests to follow when confronted by evil spirits, and Pentecostal churches have long practiced "deliverance" from demons. But Davidson teaches that Christians and nonbelievers alike can be possessed by spirits. On testimonial pages linked to Davidson's Web site, followers blame everything from multiple sclerosis to kidney stones on witchcraft and demons of rejection, fear, rebellion and lust. When he lays hands on sufferers, sometimes the demon leaves and pain subsides. But other spirits don't come out so willingly.

After experiencing an exorcism, one churchgoer wrote that when the demon left her it felt "as though an ice pick was plunged through my head." Longtime member Jack Small described a devil's departure like a tearing of the flesh. Terry Mai, who also preaches, wrote that when Davidson put his hands on his shoulders to deliver him from sorcery and witchcraft, they felt like branding irons. "I felt in my chest like flesh was literally tearing away from my ribs." Another said it was like "a covey of quail" flying out of his belly.

As Davidson preaches on this Sunday in late April, he says that he had the "gratification" of casting three devils out of his mother. He stops and looks at a listener. "I bet I can cast three devils out of you."

A few minutes later, Davidson turns to the music team. "We need to worship God because I'm going to bind some devils," Davidson says. "This is 'Ladies' Night Out'--out of bondage."

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Dear Lisa,

I am sure you remember how I cast the Jezebel spirit out of you in 1990 or 1991. You told me it was like a rod coming out of your head. This took place in my office after you became my wife...Some time after that an evil spirit got hold of you and you were lifted up in pride. That prideful spirit challenged me and told me the kingdom in me had to go. Well my dear the kingdom in me can not be moved. --Doyle Davidson, March 24, 2006

In late 2001, when Mick Macauley saw the "Shirley MacLaine-type" crystals displayed in the Schlossers' home in Fort Worth, he was surprised but glad. They were the first signs of spiritual seeking he'd seen his stepdaughter and her husband display since their marriage 10 years earlier. Macauley knew that Dena had grown up nominally Catholic but, except for their daughters, the young couple seemed interested only in material things.

John and Dena had met at Marist College in New York where, for the first time in her life, Dena had a group of friends, a "rat pack" of like misfits that included John. Her childhood had been unhappy. Her mother Connie first divorced when Dena was 5. Family dysfunction was accompanied by illness, and at age 8, Dena developed hydrocephalus, sometimes called "water on the brain," and suffered through eight surgeries to implant shunts in her brain, heart and abdomen before she was 13. Classmates made fun of her shaved head. The trauma welded Dena to her mother, a dynamic businesswoman who fiercely loved her daughter.

"If an injustice of any magnitude was visited on Dena, you had to deal with Connie," says Macauley, Connie's third husband. He believes his wife's protectiveness in some ways kept Dena from becoming independent.

After Dena and John got married, she finished her degree in psychology. The Macauleys thought John was working on a degree in computer science. When he announced his graduation, John's parents flew in for the big party. The Macauleys later found out it was a sham.

"We paid his tuition, but he never attended class and was dismissed for academic reasons," Macauley says. "For John, appearances are more important than substance." Socially awkward, extremely private, John donned an attitude of "I'm techy, I'm superior." (John Schlosser declined an interview through his attorney.)

In 2000, the couple and their two daughters moved to Fort Worth for John's job. Three months later, John found another position--making $130,000 a year, he told the Macauleys. That lasted 90 days. While he looked for a position, John did computer consulting out of the house.