This is a disclaimer. Believers, I am not here to harsh your vibe, ruin your faith, or any of that.

I studied theology and did fairly well at it, but in the end it's like being an expert in the rules of a table-top RPG: useful among others playing by the same rules, and that's about it.

What I am doing is documenting my own journey, and my feelings at the time. (Just for a spoiler, as my bio shot says, I've been a fervent believer, and a fervent disbeliever; now I just wonder.)

What you're about to read is a small piece of the large, unruly, and seemingly impossible-to-finish autobiography I've been working on.

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And there came upon the church of Softie yet another fad. This particular kick was yet another of those cases of KJV poetic English taken to literal extremes.

The word "banner/s" appears in a total six verses of the bible, and three of those are in the very poetic Song Of Solomon (that book where all the pr0n stuff goes on), two are in the equally imagery-studded Psalms, and one is in Isaiah as part of a prophetic rant.

So, you wouldn't think rags on poles were all that important... of course, where there's a niche, there's a whacko to exploit it, and this is no exception.

Along came an Enterprising Young Fellow, who I remembered from a few other religious enterprises involving lots of colour, sound and movement (especially, it seemed, the movement of money: it was rumored some people had lost their houses). The almighty was apparently revealing lots of New And Interesting Things to him, and Moving Mightily, all through the medium of flags...

Yep, prayer alone (or plain old hard work) were not enough: the Magic Rag Onna Stick (available only via Enterprising Young Fellow Enterprises Ministry, Inc), when waved by a true believer, would unleash god's awesomeness in a way that god seemed hitherto unable to accomplish until the advent of Magic Rag Onna Stick.

Provided an approved Rag Onna Stick Coach was present, and authentic (anywhere from $150 down to about $50 for hanky size) Rags Onna Stick were being waved, Things were supposed to Happen in the spiritual realm.

Now, I don't know if I mentioned it before, but Softie's mob were using the same premises previously occupied by Pastor Jolly's Sunday services in Playing With Knobs And Carrots. This was a long, wide, LOW-CEILINGED upstairs area.

The first Sunday service with flags got underway. It as, as most occasions with Enterprising Young Man seemed to be, all about PUMP the audience, let's get some EXCITEMENT here, and all that sort of thing. To give him his due, the Enterprising Young Man wasn't bad at getting a crowd hyped up.

The woo-woo explanations about how the Red flag set loose the energy of Jeebus's blood, the rainbow one made god keep his promises, the one with a poorly-drawn sunburst set loose the glory of god, and a whole bunch of other New Revelation stuff was pulled from the ether and delivered to the waiting ears... Like Pokemons, it was not going to be cheap catching 'em all, and there were well over a dozen different Magic Rag designs.

The music got more and more frenzied. The dopey woman who could be relied upon to drag out the shofar (an ancient form of a vuvuzela) and blow it (always with the maximum possible dissonance to whatever music the band was on at the moment), got going, ripping off a succession of twenty-second loud, farty, noises.

The EYF was geeing the crowd on... dancy dancy, wavey wavey. I could see an upcoming need for Healing Ministry... "Please, god, get Joey's eyeball back off the stick and into the socket, and if you could replace the spilt aqueous humor while you're at it..."

It was mad. It was dangerous.

In that area, more than sixty people, from adults to kids, were waving poles varying from just under a meter in length, to about two-and-a-half metres, with all the frenzy of pentecostals gone wild.

I'd moved toward the very back of the auditorium early in the piece, knowing that frenzied activity and long sticks was part of the recipe for disaster. (And thanks to my prudence, I had only had to intercept two intruding flagpoles and dodge one other.)

Old Uncle Fester, the sound guy, was safe behind his desk, but didn't seem to have picked up the contagion from the dancing-mania sufferers.

"Hey, Black!" he said from the corner of his mouth, "Is this biblical? Do we really have to wave those flags?"

I pointed to the words of the Simplistic Bible Song currently being projected on the wall. Included in the repetitive ditty was Isaiah 55:12: "For ye shall go out with joy, and be led forth with peace: the mountains and the hills shall break forth before you into singing, and all the trees of the field shall clap their hands."

"When the trees out front of this joint actually grow hands and start clapping them, Fester: that would be a really good time to begin."

It was a wank, that service.

Well, to be more correct, it was a loose coalition of wanks: each person involved in what they no doubt saw as their own Special Rubs from the holy spirit. Like a warehouse rave, but with fewer leaky sphincters, and people flaking out for ostensibly different reasons.

And Softie was so impressed, he gave Rags Onna Stick run of the Sunday service for the five following weeks.

I grew markedly less enchanted...