Cody Coots is following in his father’s footsteps, serving as a pastor in a church.
Like his father, Coots is a snake
handler. And like his father, he was bitten by a rattlesnake while
leading a service in front of his Pentecostal congregation.
Fortunately for Coots, he survived the rattlesnake attack. His father, Jamie Coots, did not survive a 2014 snakebite, the Herald-Leader reported.
It’s unclear when Cody Coots was bitten by the snake, as shown in the newly released documentary called “My Life Inside: The Snake Church.”
Rattlesnake bites Kentucky pastor after father killed by snake | The State
Showing posts with label Snake Handling. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Snake Handling. Show all posts
Wednesday, August 22, 2018
Monday, August 28, 2017
Touching Death: The Turbulent Life of One of America’s Last Snake-Handling Preachers - The Ringer
Cody Coots looks comfortable, standing in the spot where his father was
killed. Behind him sits a guitar, before him a glass of strychnine
poison. To his right there’s a drum set, to his left a few venomous
snakes. He’s at a lectern in a large room in an old house on a back
street in Middlesboro, Kentucky, deep in rural Appalachia. This is his
pulpit. Before that it was his father’s, and before that his father’s
father’s, and before that his father’s father’s father’s, all of them
pastors here at Full Gospel Tabernacle in Jesus Name, a church that
promises salvation but sometimes delivers death.
,,,
Now the congregants kneel, and together they pray, all out loud, a cacophony of voices filling the room. When they finish, the music starts — Cody on guitar, his mother, Linda, on the drums, voices rising and feet stomping all across the room. They sing and they shout, songs about Jesus and about the Devil, about living right and doing good, about strychnine and serpents and heaven’s streets of gold. Soon a few start jumping, hopping up and down across the room with their eyes closed. A few more start speaking in tongues, a practice common in Pentecostal churches throughout the United States and much of the rest of the world, wherein worshipers utter a prayer language, often unintelligible to most listeners, that they believe emerges only when the Holy Spirit descends.
Touching Death: The Turbulent Life of One of America’s Last Snake-Handling Preachers - The Ringer
,,,
Now the congregants kneel, and together they pray, all out loud, a cacophony of voices filling the room. When they finish, the music starts — Cody on guitar, his mother, Linda, on the drums, voices rising and feet stomping all across the room. They sing and they shout, songs about Jesus and about the Devil, about living right and doing good, about strychnine and serpents and heaven’s streets of gold. Soon a few start jumping, hopping up and down across the room with their eyes closed. A few more start speaking in tongues, a practice common in Pentecostal churches throughout the United States and much of the rest of the world, wherein worshipers utter a prayer language, often unintelligible to most listeners, that they believe emerges only when the Holy Spirit descends.
Touching Death: The Turbulent Life of One of America’s Last Snake-Handling Preachers - The Ringer
Thursday, July 30, 2015
Man dies after being bitten while handling snake during Bell County church service | State | Kentucky.com
To get bitten is beyond stupid. To refuse the medical attention that is totally asinine.
Man dies after being bitten while handling snake during Bell County church service | State | Kentucky.com
A man died after being bitten by a snake he had been handling during a church service in Bell County on Sunday.
John David Brock, 60, of Stoney Fork, was bitten on the left arm while handling the snake at Mossy Simpson Pentecostal Church in Jenson, according to the state police.
Brock refused medical treatment and went to his brother's home, where he died.
Bell County Coroner Jay Steele said he pronounced Brock dead at the home of his brother Bobby Brock in the Kettle Island community at 4:25 p.m. Sunday.
Steele said an investigation into the incident is continuing.
Man dies after being bitten while handling snake during Bell County church service | State | Kentucky.com
Wednesday, May 28, 2014
Months after snake-handling preacher's death, his son recovering from snakebite | State | Kentucky.com
I just don't get it. Actually I do which is scary, but I still don't get it,,,
Snake-handling preacher Cody Coots got scared when the 6-foot long rattler bit his right hand early Monday.
Just three months ago, his father, Jamie Coots, died within minutes of being bitten by a rattlesnake during a service at his Middlesboro church.
The loss was still fresh for his family and friends, and Cody Coots, who took over for his father, had just been bitten by an even bigger rattler.
At first, "All I could think about — am I going to make it?" Coots said.
[,,,]
"He's a brute of a rattlesnake," said Hamblin, who is familiar with Coots' reptiles.
Coots went inside his mother's house, and the call went out for fellow believers to come and pray for him.
Hamblin said he and more than 20 other people, including other snake-handling pastors, rushed to the house.
Hamblin said Coots had someone call for an ambulance so he could formally decline treatment.
People who believe they are commanded to handle venomous snakes during worship services typically refuse treatment when bitten, preferring to rely instead on faith and prayer for healing.
"I told the Lord that I wouldn't go to the hospital," Coots said.
The only way he would have gone for treatment, Coots said, is if his wife had approved it while he was unconscious.
Months after snake-handling preacher's death, his son recovering from snakebite | State | Kentucky.com
Snake-handling preacher Cody Coots got scared when the 6-foot long rattler bit his right hand early Monday.
Just three months ago, his father, Jamie Coots, died within minutes of being bitten by a rattlesnake during a service at his Middlesboro church.
The loss was still fresh for his family and friends, and Cody Coots, who took over for his father, had just been bitten by an even bigger rattler.
At first, "All I could think about — am I going to make it?" Coots said.
[,,,]
"He's a brute of a rattlesnake," said Hamblin, who is familiar with Coots' reptiles.
Coots went inside his mother's house, and the call went out for fellow believers to come and pray for him.
Hamblin said he and more than 20 other people, including other snake-handling pastors, rushed to the house.
Hamblin said Coots had someone call for an ambulance so he could formally decline treatment.
People who believe they are commanded to handle venomous snakes during worship services typically refuse treatment when bitten, preferring to rely instead on faith and prayer for healing.
"I told the Lord that I wouldn't go to the hospital," Coots said.
The only way he would have gone for treatment, Coots said, is if his wife had approved it while he was unconscious.
Months after snake-handling preacher's death, his son recovering from snakebite | State | Kentucky.com
Friday, February 28, 2014
Even unto death
One of two fascinating articles concerning the "taking up" serpents. In other words snake handling. What is sad though, this article was posted on Feb 2, just two weeks prior to Jamie Coots' death by snake. Such an interesting sub-culture within the Pentecostal movement,,,
Places like this used to be private, secrets tucked away in the hills. Now many people travel from across the country, even the world, to sit in a pew and bear witness to the sights and sounds of this church, to see these people flirt with death. But to the congregants — the families who have worshipped this way for generations, the former alcoholics and drug users who are looking for a sign — this is salvation.
The outsiders want to see the rattlesnakes, but snakes don’t always appear during worship. Sometimes they remain curling in a box on the edge of the altar, untouched. They only come out when there is a call, when God tells a believer to take up the danger and trust Him.
For nearly an hour the music plays, a blues sound with a contagious rhythm.
Then, a frenzy begins to build. The music intensifies. The cries grow louder. Some stumble in trances, each person immersed in his or her own experience.
Outsiders peer through the chaos to see what happens next.
The pastor, Hamblin, sets down his guitar and walks away from the pulpit toward the box on the floor. He says his soul is churning. He must obey.
There is death in that box, he likes to tell people. He’s been bitten before. He’s seen men die in moments like these, good men, righteous men.
But when he grips his hand around the middle of the rattler, almost no one seems afraid.
He juggles the coils of patterned scales until the head is erect, stretching toward him, and he believes that this time, like so many others, God will hold the serpent’s mouth shut.
[,,,]
To understand modern-day serpent handing you have to go back to White Oak Mountain, a ridge that straddles the Hamilton and Bradley county lines. You have to go back to the early 1900s and George Hensley, a man whom some have called a moonshiner, an illiterate.
While serpent handling may have surfaced in churches before Hensley, the Tennessee native is credited for evangelizing the practice across Appalachia and drawing the world’s attention to his audacious brand of Pentecostalism.
A drunk who often struggled to keep steady work, Hensley sought redemption, and believed it could be found in a portion of the Book of Mark where Jesus says to handle snakes in his name.
On White Oak Mountain, he picked up his first snake as an act of obedience and quickly began recruiting followers, traveling across Appalachia and the Ozarks to plant churches that all functioned independently.
But the main vehicle for spreading his beliefs was as a pastor in the Cleveland-based Church of God, now the largest Pentecostal denomination in the world. The church once embraced snake handling, but has disavowed the practice for more than half a century.
[,,,]
Hamblin, especially, envisions serpent handling going mainstream. He hopes a spotlight, even a court fight, will help him win more followers, or at least secure acceptance.
Experts say his push is important to watch because it will test the limits of America’s commitment to religious liberty. Snakes can maim and kill, but they are essential to these people’s faith. It opens the door to an important question: Should the government protect people from themselves? Or leave them to do what they think is right, regardless of the risk?
“Taking away our snakes is like taking away the Baptists’ Bibles. Or the Catholics’ communion,” Hamblin said.
[,,,]
He remembers watching a television show explaining the practice, and he was intrigued. He read books, watched Internet clips and studied his King James Bible, especially the passage in Mark on which serpent handlers base their practice. Biblical scholars, as noted in many study Bibles, say that these few verses were not originally included in Mark’s Gospel, but were added later. Many experts say early Christians didn’t even know about these verses.
Even unto death
Places like this used to be private, secrets tucked away in the hills. Now many people travel from across the country, even the world, to sit in a pew and bear witness to the sights and sounds of this church, to see these people flirt with death. But to the congregants — the families who have worshipped this way for generations, the former alcoholics and drug users who are looking for a sign — this is salvation.
The outsiders want to see the rattlesnakes, but snakes don’t always appear during worship. Sometimes they remain curling in a box on the edge of the altar, untouched. They only come out when there is a call, when God tells a believer to take up the danger and trust Him.
For nearly an hour the music plays, a blues sound with a contagious rhythm.
Then, a frenzy begins to build. The music intensifies. The cries grow louder. Some stumble in trances, each person immersed in his or her own experience.
Outsiders peer through the chaos to see what happens next.
The pastor, Hamblin, sets down his guitar and walks away from the pulpit toward the box on the floor. He says his soul is churning. He must obey.
There is death in that box, he likes to tell people. He’s been bitten before. He’s seen men die in moments like these, good men, righteous men.
But when he grips his hand around the middle of the rattler, almost no one seems afraid.
He juggles the coils of patterned scales until the head is erect, stretching toward him, and he believes that this time, like so many others, God will hold the serpent’s mouth shut.
[,,,]
To understand modern-day serpent handing you have to go back to White Oak Mountain, a ridge that straddles the Hamilton and Bradley county lines. You have to go back to the early 1900s and George Hensley, a man whom some have called a moonshiner, an illiterate.
While serpent handling may have surfaced in churches before Hensley, the Tennessee native is credited for evangelizing the practice across Appalachia and drawing the world’s attention to his audacious brand of Pentecostalism.
A drunk who often struggled to keep steady work, Hensley sought redemption, and believed it could be found in a portion of the Book of Mark where Jesus says to handle snakes in his name.
On White Oak Mountain, he picked up his first snake as an act of obedience and quickly began recruiting followers, traveling across Appalachia and the Ozarks to plant churches that all functioned independently.
But the main vehicle for spreading his beliefs was as a pastor in the Cleveland-based Church of God, now the largest Pentecostal denomination in the world. The church once embraced snake handling, but has disavowed the practice for more than half a century.
[,,,]
Hamblin, especially, envisions serpent handling going mainstream. He hopes a spotlight, even a court fight, will help him win more followers, or at least secure acceptance.
Experts say his push is important to watch because it will test the limits of America’s commitment to religious liberty. Snakes can maim and kill, but they are essential to these people’s faith. It opens the door to an important question: Should the government protect people from themselves? Or leave them to do what they think is right, regardless of the risk?
“Taking away our snakes is like taking away the Baptists’ Bibles. Or the Catholics’ communion,” Hamblin said.
[,,,]
He remembers watching a television show explaining the practice, and he was intrigued. He read books, watched Internet clips and studied his King James Bible, especially the passage in Mark on which serpent handlers base their practice. Biblical scholars, as noted in many study Bibles, say that these few verses were not originally included in Mark’s Gospel, but were added later. Many experts say early Christians didn’t even know about these verses.
Even unto death
Tuesday, February 25, 2014
Coots' son takes over Ky. church, continues to handle snakes
It's been two days since a Middlesboro, Kentucky, pastor was laid to rest after a snake he was handling bit him, and now his 21-year-old son said he is taking over the church and will continue to handle snakes.
Jamie Coots died Saturday night after a fatal snakebite at Full Gospel Tabernacle in Jesus' Name. Tuesday, family and friends said goodbye at Creech Funeral Home.
Cody Coots, Jamie's son, said following the wake, a smaller group went back to his father's church and handled snakes.
"I knew people were wanting to do church and we couldn't do that in the funeral home because that would be breaking the law," said Cody Coots. "I didn't want to disrespect the funeral home by saying 'hey, we're wanting to have snakes here.'"
While Coots has a permit to possess poisonous snakes, according to Kentucky law it is illegal to handle them, but Coots said it was one of his father's dying wishes to practice their faith until the end.
Coots' son takes over Ky. church, continues to handle snakes
Jamie Coots died Saturday night after a fatal snakebite at Full Gospel Tabernacle in Jesus' Name. Tuesday, family and friends said goodbye at Creech Funeral Home.
Cody Coots, Jamie's son, said following the wake, a smaller group went back to his father's church and handled snakes.
"I knew people were wanting to do church and we couldn't do that in the funeral home because that would be breaking the law," said Cody Coots. "I didn't want to disrespect the funeral home by saying 'hey, we're wanting to have snakes here.'"
While Coots has a permit to possess poisonous snakes, according to Kentucky law it is illegal to handle them, but Coots said it was one of his father's dying wishes to practice their faith until the end.
Coots' son takes over Ky. church, continues to handle snakes
Sunday, February 16, 2014
Pastor dies after snake he was handling bit him
Kentucky Pastor Jamie Coots died Saturday night after he was bitten by a snake, according to Middlesboro Police Chief Jeff Sharpe.
Coots starred on "Snake Salvation" alongside Pastor Andrew Hamblin, from LaFollette, who was recently in court for TWRA citations for snake-handling. The National Geographic show profiled the Pentecostal, serpent handling preachers.
Chief Sharpe said Coots was found dead in his home at about 10 p.m. Saturday after a snake allegedly bit Coots while he was handling the animal in his Middlesboro church, Full Gospel Tabernacle in Jesus Name.
Pastor dies after snake he was handling bit him
Coots starred on "Snake Salvation" alongside Pastor Andrew Hamblin, from LaFollette, who was recently in court for TWRA citations for snake-handling. The National Geographic show profiled the Pentecostal, serpent handling preachers.
Chief Sharpe said Coots was found dead in his home at about 10 p.m. Saturday after a snake allegedly bit Coots while he was handling the animal in his Middlesboro church, Full Gospel Tabernacle in Jesus Name.
Pastor dies after snake he was handling bit him
Monday, October 7, 2013
Snake-Handling Preachers Open Up About 'Takin' Up Serpents' : NPR
Snake handlers dwell at the edge of the spiritual frontier — a community of people who are willing to die for their faith three times a week in church. Members of the Pentecostal Holiness Church take up venomous serpents to prove their faith in God. The practice is still widespread in Appalachia, though mostly hidden.
Pastor Jamie Coots warns about the scent in the snake room behind his house in Middlesboro, Ky.
"It's strong, so I'll go ahead and tell you that," he says as he unlocks the squeaky door. We're greeted by the rattles of dark-complexioned pit vipers lying about in glass cages. The air in the snake room is warm, musky and malevolent.
"Got rattlesnakes: the timber rattler and the canebrake," says Coots, inventorying his reptiles. "We have northern copperheads. And that's the only two cottonmouths we have."
Coots is a well-known snake handler here in southeastern Kentucky. He's 41, stout and bald, with a Vandyke beard. He's the third generation of Coots to take up serpents; his 21-year-old son, Little Cody, is the fourth.
"Takin' up serpents, to me, it's just showin' that God has power over something that he created that does have the potential of injuring you or takin' your life," Jamie Coots says.
[,,,]
Skeptics wonder if snakes handled in religious services are milked, defanged, weakened by mistreatment or in any way made less deadly.
"It's kind of like playing Russian roulette. The more frequently you handle [snakes], the more likely you are to get a bite. Serpents don't get tamed," says Ralph Hood, a psychology professor at the University of Tennessee at Chattanooga, who has documented hundreds of hours of serpent handling over 25 years. Having said that, Hood says he has brought herpetologists to services to try and understand why it is that handlers can pick up reptiles with impunity, even walk on them barefoot, and receive so few snake bites.
"All I know is that these people do handle [snakes], and most of the time they are not bit, and they can do what scientists think is not likely. Nobody has a good explanation," he says.
about a minute ago · Like
Snake-Handling Preachers Open Up About 'Takin' Up Serpents' : NPR
Pastor Jamie Coots warns about the scent in the snake room behind his house in Middlesboro, Ky.
"It's strong, so I'll go ahead and tell you that," he says as he unlocks the squeaky door. We're greeted by the rattles of dark-complexioned pit vipers lying about in glass cages. The air in the snake room is warm, musky and malevolent.
"Got rattlesnakes: the timber rattler and the canebrake," says Coots, inventorying his reptiles. "We have northern copperheads. And that's the only two cottonmouths we have."
Coots is a well-known snake handler here in southeastern Kentucky. He's 41, stout and bald, with a Vandyke beard. He's the third generation of Coots to take up serpents; his 21-year-old son, Little Cody, is the fourth.
"Takin' up serpents, to me, it's just showin' that God has power over something that he created that does have the potential of injuring you or takin' your life," Jamie Coots says.
[,,,]
Skeptics wonder if snakes handled in religious services are milked, defanged, weakened by mistreatment or in any way made less deadly.
"It's kind of like playing Russian roulette. The more frequently you handle [snakes], the more likely you are to get a bite. Serpents don't get tamed," says Ralph Hood, a psychology professor at the University of Tennessee at Chattanooga, who has documented hundreds of hours of serpent handling over 25 years. Having said that, Hood says he has brought herpetologists to services to try and understand why it is that handlers can pick up reptiles with impunity, even walk on them barefoot, and receive so few snake bites.
"All I know is that these people do handle [snakes], and most of the time they are not bit, and they can do what scientists think is not likely. Nobody has a good explanation," he says.
about a minute ago · Like
Snake-Handling Preachers Open Up About 'Takin' Up Serpents' : NPR
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