Wiccans' beliefs go back to days before Christianity

ASHEVILLE - A little girl with a broom in hand answers a knock at the screen door. "Mama's waiting for you in the back." she says.

Behind this small bungalow in the Shiloh community, Kate Fioccola leads a first-time visitor into darkening woods, along a twisting trail. In a clearing, Byron Ballard is setting her altar with candles, a goblet of wine and water, a plate of bread, festive autumnal leaves, a coiled rubber snake.

"Welcome," says the witch.

"Sweep out from the circle," she reminds her daughter who's clearing away the fallen leaves to reveal a shallow pit set with rock surrounding a large pointed stone at the center.

Ballard is a high priestess in the Dianic tradition of Wicca, also known as the Craft of the Wise or Witchcraft, and this is the sanctuary of Notre Dame de L'Herbe Mouillee - a coven of witches that gathers for their Sabbat services on Saturday nights. In the woods of suburban Asheville, for the last seven years this group of women, men and children enact rituals with roots that go back thousands of years to a pre-Christian Europe.

Although they tend toward secrecy in their rituals and anonymity with assumed names, witches, Wiccans, druids and pagans have become increasingly visible around Asheville. Many pagans are "coming out of the broom closet," publicly proclaiming their beliefs in the "Old Religion" in an area more used to the "Old Time Religion" of Baptists, Presbyterians, Methodists and other Protestant Christian denominations.

Last month, several hundred pagans gathered at Reynolds High School football stadium for the "We Still Work Magic" rally - a response to a much larger "We Still Pray" rally staged by evangelistic Christians concerned about a Supreme Court ban on school-led prayer before football games.

Witches will gather Tuesday at Asheville's Memorial Stadium in observance of Samhain, the Celtic holiday honoring the dead, which forms the basis for the trick-or-treating and costumes of the American Halloween.

But pagans pursue their particular beliefs in private year-round ceremonies, following the Celtic Wheel of the Year. Traditions and rituals vary from coven to coven, much like the doctrinal differences between Christian denominations. Pagans celebrate the divine in the guise of the Great Goddess, and her consort, the Horned God of fertility, which witches say has been confused with the Satan of the Christian Bible.

Ballard's circle falls in the Dianic tradition, focusing on the divine only in its feminine form. For the followers of this path, the Sabbat celebrations connect them with the Earth and the rhythm of the seasons. Each Saturday, they gather in these woods, forming a circle to share blessings, to sing and dance and chant. Many of their rituals echo familiar Christian ceremonies of Communion, anointing with oil or incense, and passing the peace.

The circle is cast

As dark descends on the woods, Ballard begins the ceremony of Calling the Quarters. Candles are lit one by one at the four points of the compass with an invocation to the goddess in the four elements.

"By the earth that is her body. ... By the air which is her breath ... by the fire of her birth spirit ... By the living water of her womb." the group chants together, facing in turn East, South, West and North.

"The circle is cast in love and trust," Ballard announces.

They may send a hug around the circle. Ballard may smudge the pagans in the circle with a burning stick of sage, or anoint their heads with a rub of oil and a whispered "Blessed Be" - the pagan equivalent of "amen."

Some nights, they kick off their shoes and hold hands, dancing in a circle as they sing: "We all come from the goddess and to her we shall return like a drop of rain flowing to the ocean."

Each Sabbat is celebrated symbolically with the passing of the "cakes and ale." A plate of bread is passed around the circle, with the greeting "May you never hunger," and then a goblet of wine with the words "May you never thirst."

Ballard drinks last and throws the sacred wine on the rock at the center of the circle.

With children in the circle, the rituals of Notre Dame are not as solemn or somber as other covens, according to its members. Kids share in the hugs, and the cakes, if not the ale. A goblet of water is passed around for them and abstemious adults.

There is no sermon from Ballard. The group members share their concerns for sick family members, as well as their blessings for the week.

"Do we need healing tonight," Ballard asks the coven.

The witches raise their hands and chant a dirge - an eerie three-note keening that climbs in pitch and intensity until it fills the dark woods and strains their throats. They break off.

"Breathe," says Ballard, and they begin again, the dirge climbing until it can make the hairs stand on end on the back of a visitor's neck.

"Let it go," Ballard says, and exhausted, they bend and touch the earth, parting the pent-up energy. Some nights when they chant, Ballard said they have heard the answering cries of some neighbors saying, "Y'all are going to hell."

Given such reactions, people don't embrace witchcraft as a fad or an experiment, according to practicing witches.

"The decision to identify yourself as a witch, a Wiccan or a pagan is not made lightly. Our religion is too often misunderstood and sadly reviled. We are confronted daily with religious intolerance," said Diotima Mantineia of Hendersonville, the associate editor of the Witches' Voice, who spoke at last month's "We Still Work Magic" rally.

The big matrix

Many of the coven members said they were witches long before they realized there was such a religion or other pagans. Many made altars or cast personal spells throughout childhood.

"I knew I was a witch when I realized it was OK to consciously direct my energy into forming my own life. There was a moment of recognition," said Donna Barton, one of the founders of the Notre Dame coven seven years ago.

While evoking names from ancient Greek, Egyptian and Celtic mythologies in their rituals, witches relate their magical spells to energy fields in quantum physics.

"I think this is the most scientific religion," said Sharon Wallis-Johnson. "It's all just a big matrix we're going through in our lives. We're just being more conscious about it when we direct and focus our spells."

And for some coven members, following a pagan path doesn't preclude allegiance to another faith. "I do consider myself a Christian," said Kayla Bucke. "My parents are Christian, and I was raised Christian. In my concept of Christ, he teaches the law of three-fold return" - a pagan belief that magic, whether for good or ill, is tripled in effect on whoever casts the spell.

But the Rev. Jimmy Dykes of North Asheville Baptist Church disagrees that Christians can be practicing pagans. "When you acknowledge the lordship of Jesus Christ, you automatically invalidate every other supposed lord. Jesus said 'I am the only way.' To say 'I am a Christian and yet I worship other gods' is not possible."

Dykes attended the "We Still Work Magic" rally as an observer, educating himself about pagan beliefs. "What I learned was that those who follow paganism are followers of deities who don't exist. The Bible calls that deception."

Dykes said Christians shouldn't be afraid of pagans, but concerned for them. "It's real important to me that people in the pagan community understand that my passion is to see them come to Christ."

But pagans remain steadfast in their own beliefs. "I'm not wanting to be saved and go somewhere else," said Wallis-Johnson. "I have faith that everything balances in the long run, and no matter where I go, I fit into this Earth."

Contact Neal at 232-5970 or DNeal@CITIZEN-TIMES.com