For those of you who don't know Johnny, he's doing fine. He's at Camp Anaconda, but they call it Mortar-itaville."
About 20 people laugh and listen to an update on their friend's second tour in Iraq. A few young men have military haircuts and some of the women have graying hair. Children yell and run past the classroom and down the hallways of the recreation center.
Despite the periodic ruckus, all eyes are on Christine Ahrens, who will discuss how to prepare a basic ritual in time for Litha, the pagan celebration of the summer solstice. Litha occurs on June 21 and is one of the eight Sabbats, or religious holidays.
Ahrens is a priestess in Fayetteville's pagan community. She leads a coven - a pagan congregation led by a priest, priestess, or both. Covens stay small and secretive so no one in the room can suggest a ballpark count for Fayetteville with any certainty.
She wears a striped shirt, blue jeans and a pentacle charm on a chain around her neck. A handful of others also wear the charm - a circle surrounding a five-point star that represents spirit, earth, air, fire and water.
Most of her members describe themselves as "eclectic" pagans who borrow traditions and beliefs from different paths to create a religion unique to their personality. Ahrens follows the Green Witch path and uses her knowledge of those traditions to lead the group in basic ritual practice and etiquette.
"There is no smoking in the circle," she begins. "There should be no anger in your heart. Strive for perfect love and perfect trust in that sacred space."
Out in the world
On another day of the week, a different group of 15 pagans meet at a coffee shop after arranging the meeting time online. Many arrive as couples and others come to listen and learn. New faces introduce themselves and describe the path they follow:
"Kitchen witch."
"Eclectic."
"Solitaire."
"Sumerian."
Fayetteville-area pagans meet discretely on a regular basis in different locations around town and are hesitant to speak freely in the company of curious strangers who eavesdrop. Many describe widespread misconceptions about paganism and its branches, and the fear of ridicule or persecution as the reason for their secrecy.
Although the First Amendment protects pagans, reactions to the public meetings have been indifferent at best. The managers of the establishments where these groups meet requested that their identities and locations not be revealed; they said they did not want to be associated with the groups or be perceived as pagan supporters.
Worse, individuals have been met with skepticism and hostility. "We're not psycho baby killers," said Tracie Miller. "I had a woman snatch her baby up in a grocery store and say that, but these are the extremes we've all had to deal with."
Priestess Lisa Lippert agreed. "We're decent human beings and there are pagans fighting for their country right now," she said.
"My brother is one of them," Miller said. "He's fighting for everybody's religious rights, including our own."
James Lippert is Lisa's husband and the organizer of the group that meets at the coffee shop. "We can't practice our faith openly but we believe what this country was founded for," he said. "We believe in freedom of religion, and we would like the same freedom of religion extended to us."
These pagans take offense to any definition that refers to them as "heathens" or "irreligious." They are nature and health conscious, and practice an earth-based, polytheistic religion. The word "pagan" has also been used to describe a person who is not a Christian, Jew, or Muslim.
They are also tired of being called "goths" or "devil worshippers" and say too many people believe a pagan is the equivalent of a rebellious teenager. They take their religion seriously but battle Hollywood witch stereotypes that perpetuate a lust for evil spells, revenge and hate. Movies The Craft and The Blair Witch Project were cited as the worst offenders.
When to use 'witch' word
The group members suggest that people are not interested in witchcraft within the typical American coven, and prefer to subscribe to myths and lore because they are more fantastic and extreme.
"I will not allow my daughter to say to anyone that we are witches," said Stephanie Wilcot, a military wife. "It's not because we're ashamed but I don't want her saying 'mommy's a witch,' or 'I'm a little witch.' We keep it out of her school and the hospital because we don't want people to think that if she had cuts or bruises, it was from a ritual or that we tried to sacrifice her."
Wilcot said that witchcraft is no more than directed prayers using tools like a ceremonial dagger. Although spells are meant to influence the course of events, Wilcot asked, "What prayer isn't?"
Wilcot said Christian zealots have threatened her with damnation but that it doesn't bother her because she doesn't believe in a hell.
"We're not looking for a fight and we are not going to seek out a negative situation," Wilcot said. "Many of us were raised in a Christian church and they can throw all these things at you about going to hell, or they will listen to you and leave you alone. We prefer to not deal with the negativity."
Don't cast, don't spell
Military pagans are an overwhelming minority, and most soldiers in this group say they reveal their religious preference only to close friends and other pagans. Some fear criticism and ridicule from their sergeants, peers and officers. They say a need for military conformity and living in the Bible Belt make practicing their religion difficult.
"My sergeant practices," said 20-year-old Alan Dill. "But I'm lucky that my unit is pretty laid back."
"One of my sergeants is Wiccan," said Leti Ortiz, who recently returned from Iraq. Ortiz said she got all the support she needed to practice her religion overseas. "It was great, we got a big fire going and we killed two birds with one stone: we had our ritual and we were burning classified material at the same time."
Despite being on an approved religion list, "paganism" and "Wicca" do not appear as choices on many military forms. At basic training, demographics forms asked Dill to declare a religious preference. He circled "Other." Fellow soldier Gregory Novak chose, "No Religious Preference."
According to Ahrens and her group, there are no pagan or Wiccan chaplains in any branch of the military and that is why her group is so important to its military members. They feel left out when other religions have large group prayers before deployments. But most find small ways to secretly express themselves - some have tattoos of pagan symbols and others wear a pentacle charm or have one engraved on their dog tags.
Onward, soldier
Members say belonging to a religious minority group creates a need to be more aware of other faiths. Some come prepared with biblical quotes so they can refute contradictory arguments from evangelists. They say they are open to other peoples' religions but nothing compares to being immersed in a new culture to help understand different belief systems.
"A lot of our members in Iraq come back and say, 'I really didn't understand the Muslims until I went over there," said Ahrens.
A campaign of religious - particularly Muslim - education began after the 9/11 events, but priestess Lippert doesn't foresee a comparable push for pagan ritual awareness anytime soon.
"It would take more pagans to become news reporters and to be in office," she said. "If Ted Turner decided to say he was a pagan, that would be great. Someone has to be giving positive viewpoints and seeing more positive images, and we have to be talented, educated, and well spoken when we are out there."
"People don't know it is a religion and say negative things, but I don't hide it. I wear my pentacle all the time," said Ahrens. "We are making progress. Until last year, I couldn't practice divination because it was against the law."
Tarot Cards et al. v. North Carolina
In 1999, sheriffs in several western North Carolina counties began a campaign to revoke or deny business licenses and ticket fortunetellers. They acted on an archaic state law that read, "It shall be unlawful for any person to practice the arts of phrenology, palmistry, clairvoyance, fortunetelling, or any crafts of a similar kind ... Any person violating any provision of this section shall be guilty of a Class 2 misdemeanor."
Police cited protesters who publicly defied the law, and growing media attention garnered national support and renewed interest in first amendment rights. Judges dismissed charges as "unconstitutional" and advised that further police crackdown would be "an exercise in futility."
Governor Mike Easley finally struck down the law in October 2004.