Serpents and Spirits: Inside America’s Enduring Snake-Handling Churches
In a tiny, unincorporated Appalachian community called Jolo, West Virginia—population 824 at last count—there exists a religious practice so extraordinary and, frankly, unnerving that it almost defies belief. Yet, despite its near-mythical reputation, it is very real.
It was in 1977 that an obscure but fascinating documentary captured this world in stark, unsettling detail. It provided an in-depth look at a small Pentecostal Holiness church whose members quite literally put their lives on the line for their faith. Their worship involves not just fervent singing and speaking in tongues but also the handling of venomous snakes—rattlesnakes, copperheads, cottonmouths, and even the occasional cobra—believing that their ability to do so safely is a sign of divine protection.
For most people, the idea of handling deadly snakes, let alone drinking poison, sounds like something pulled from an exaggerated Hollywood film about sinister backwoods cults. But to those involved, it is an essential act of devotion, rooted in a strict and literal interpretation of scripture. The basis for this practice comes from the Gospel of Mark:
“And these signs shall follow them that believe; In my name shall they cast out devils; they shall speak with new tongues; They shall take up serpents; and if they drink any deadly thing, it shall not hurt them; they shall lay hands on the sick, and they shall recover.” — Mark 16:17-18
For followers of the Church of God with Signs Following, this passage is not metaphorical; it is a direct command. They believe that snakes are incarnations of demons and that those truly filled with the Holy Spirit will not be harmed when handling them. Furthermore, as an ultimate test of faith, members sometimes drink poison—most commonly strychnine—and believe that if they are pure of heart and spirit, they will survive unharmed. Should someone be bitten or poisoned and suffer ill effects, it is not a failure of the doctrine but rather a sign that they lacked the required faith.
The Experience of a Snake-Handling Service
Stepping into a snake-handling church service is an intense experience. The air is electric with clapping, stomping, singing, and shouting. The energy builds as the pastor preaches in a rhythmic, almost musical cadence. Many congregants speak in tongues, rocking back and forth in ecstatic worship. And then, at the height of the service, the real test of faith begins. Behind the pulpit, wooden boxes rattle ominously. The lids come off, and out come the serpents. Some members lift them high into the air, some drape them over their shoulders, and some dance while the snakes coil around their arms. Others take up small glasses of liquid strychnine and drink deeply.
It’s a spectacle that is as fascinating as it is unnerving. But it’s also a practice that has had fatal consequences. More than sixty people have died from snake bites during religious services in the United States, and according to a National Geographic report from 2003, most families involved in the movement have members with atrophied limbs or missing fingers. However, medical treatment is almost never sought in the event of a bite. Instead, congregants rely on prayer, believing that only divine intervention can heal them. If a member dies, it is understood not as a tragedy, but as God’s will.
The Origins of Snake-Handling in America
The roots of snake-handling worship can be traced back to the early 20th century, and much of its origins are tied to one man: George Went Hensley. Hensley, a charismatic preacher from Tennessee, is widely credited with popularising the practice after allegedly receiving a divine revelation instructing him to prove his faith by handling venomous snakes. He travelled across the American South, preaching and demonstrating his belief that true Christians could handle serpents without fear.
Hensley’s life, however, was anything but saintly. He was married four times (with three divorces) and was frequently reported to be drunk. Despite these personal failings, he remained a revered figure among his followers. Ironically, in 1955, after decades of advocating the practice, Hensley died from a snake bite he received during a service in Florida. His death did nothing to shake the faith of his followers; if anything, it reinforced their belief in the power of their rituals.
The Risks and Reality Behind the Ritual
To an outsider, the first and most obvious question is: how do these people not die immediately from venomous snake bites?
The answer, as uncomfortable as it may be, lies in the treatment of the snakes. While some suggest that the reptiles become desensitised to human handling over time, the more likely explanation is that they are deliberately weakened. Snakes that are underfed, kept in confined spaces, and mistreated tend to produce less venom and are less inclined to bite. However, this is not a foolproof method—hence the recorded fatalities. Deaths tend to occur when a newly captured snake, still in good health, is introduced to the service.
A Practice in Decline, but Not Gone
Despite its dangerous nature, snake handling has not disappeared. As of 2013, there were still roughly 125 churches practicing snake-handling rituals in the United States, primarily in the Appalachian region, stretching from Florida to West Virginia, and even as far west as Ohio. The practice has also spread to Canada, with reports of such churches operating in Edmonton and British Columbia.
While some states, including Tennessee, Alabama, and Kentucky, have outlawed the handling of venomous snakes during religious services, enforcement is rare. The movement has, however, become more secretive over time. These days, gaining access to a service as an outsider—let alone filming one—is incredibly difficult.
Snake Handling Churches: A Unique but Controversial Faith
In many ways, the Church of God with Signs Following is not drastically different from mainstream Pentecostal churches. They hold similar beliefs about salvation, holiness, and strict moral codes. Women are expected to wear ankle-length skirts and abstain from makeup, while men must adhere to modest dress standards. Most of their ministers prohibit the use of alcohol and tobacco. But, of course, the snake-handling element sets them apart in a way that few other religious sects can claim.
To those who practice it, snake handling is not a reckless dare or a bizarre stunt—it is the ultimate test of faith. The belief that God will protect them from harm is as real to them as the ground they walk on. To outsiders, however, it remains one of the most dangerous and perplexing religious traditions in America.
As long as there are believers willing to take up serpents in the name of faith, the practice will continue to persist—hidden, secretive, and undeniably compelling.
