Parents face charges in healing deaths of children

Parents face charges in healing deaths of children
By Lucky Severson

MADISON, Wis.—When the 911 call finally came from Kara Neumann’s mother, it was too late to save the 11-year-old girl suffering from juvenile diabetes.

Dr. Norman Fost, a pediatrician and ethicist at the University of Wisconsin, says too many children like Kara suffer and die needlessly because their parents refused to take them to a doctor, and instead put their faith in the healing power of prayer.

The Neumann’s reportedly subscribe to the teachings of the Unleavened Bread Ministries, an online religion that practices faith healing.

Now Kara’s mother, Leilani Neumann, will stand trial Saturday (May 16) on charges of reckless homicide, and her father, Dale Neumann, will face trial in July. Fost said Kara’s death could have been prevented.

“Millions of Americans have diabetes and most children with diabetes are living reasonable normal lives,” Fost told Religion & Ethics NewsWeekly. “There are complications later in life ... but Kara Neumann had many, many decades of happy life ahead of her.”

Shawn Peters, a University of Wisconsin religion professor and author of the book, “When Prayer Fails,” said there are a surprising number of religious groups that preach faith healing based on a literal interpretation of the Bible and a fervent belief in the power of a loving God.

“They look to passages from books of the Bible such as the Epistle of James ... that says, `Are any among you sick?’ And it seems to spell out treatment, and it’s treatment that doesn’t include secular medicine. It’s treatment that includes prayer and anointment with oil.”

Across the country, in a small cemetery outside of Portland, Ore., there are at least 75 tombstones of children whose parents belonged to a small church, The Followers of Christ, which relies on faith healing in lieu of medical treatment.

Church members Carl Brent Worthington, and his wife, Raylene Marie Worthington, are facing charges in the death of their 15-month-old daughter, Ava, who died in 2008 of bronchial pneumonia and blood infections after she was denied conventional medical care.

Raylene Worthington’s parents, Jeffrey Dean Beagley and Marci Rae Beagley, are also facing charges of criminally negligent homicide in the death of their 16-year-old son, Neil, who died last June of heart failure triggered by a urinary tract blockage.

In both deaths, state medical examiners said both children could have been treated with routine medical procedures or medicine.

Russ Briggs left the Followers of Christ after he buried two baby sons in the Oregon cemetery. “There’s something about holding your child in your arms while it dies,” he said. “It’s ... it’s just ... it’s terrible.”

Peters said the Wisconsin and Oregon cases that have come to public attention are only the tip of the iceberg of children who die because of a reliance on faith healing.

“It’s sort of a hidden tragedy in communities that are not part of mainstream America,” he said. “We just don’t know what’s happening to the kids in those church communities.”

Until 1999, parents whose children were buried in the Followers of Christ cemetery were not prosecuted because Oregon law had a religious faith healing exemption. Oregon ended the exemption, but more than 30 states, including Wisconsin, still allow them.

But that hasn’t stopped the district attorney in Wisconsin from charging the Neumann’s parents with reckless homicide.

That’s when Joe Farkas, the legislative affairs representative for Christian Science Churches in Wisconsin, stepped in. The church helped write the law that includes the exception, which after the Neumann arrest was viewed as protecting reckless parents. Now the church is proposing new legislation which Farkas said will give children more protection.

“We never intended it to be in any way perceived as a shield for reckless behavior,” he said. “So as people very much involved in that law, we always had wanted to protect children and we felt that we had to step in with a solution.”

Krumping gives movement to the spirit's call

Krumping gives movement to the spirit’s call
By Steven G. Vegh

CHESAPEAKE, Va.—On a peaceful afternoon in a suburban home garage, Demetrus Leslie, 17, jerked like he was dosed with strychnine. His arms lashed menacingly, then he dropped to the floor, only to rear up smoothly.

His chest popped in and out, convulsing as if an alien larva heaved within. He ranged around the garage, “traveling,” or following the direction of his foot stomps and arm swings.

“Go, go!” admiring friends yelled over the pounding music. In his spontaneity, speed and mesmerized concentration, they could see the tell-tale symptoms.

Demetrus had got krump. Praise the Lord!

Krump is a frenetic dance born on the West Coast, combining flashes of modern dance, break-dancing, tribal-like dance, hip hop, “pop lock” steps and free-form motion, often at blurring speed.

But while some krumpers elsewhere - have a nearly religious devotion for the dance, Leslie and his friends say Krump truly is all about God.

“When you going the fastest, that’s when you unleash, that’s when God takes over,” said Demetrus, who belongs to a local krump group, Kreative Mindz Crew: The Syfer Family, that aims to keep kids off the street and in the church.

The origins of the name Krump are obscure, but fans including Demetrus’ older brother, Kreative Mindz manager Danyasius Leslie, give it this definition: Kingdom Radicals Uplifting Mighty Praise.

“How would I describe krump?” said Danaysius, 29. “I would say, because I have a Christian background, that it’s the power of God that moves.”

For Kreative Mindz dancers, to krump is to praise God through movements inspired by the Holy Spirit. “It’s God, man, all we do is give the glory to God,” said Jaren Goodridge, 15.

Krump’s spiritual dimension may not be immediately apparent to the uninitiated spectator, and Leslie conceded it can be hard for outsiders to see the thrashing and jumping as divinely inspired.

In the Leslies’ garage, lithe Goodridge danced like a caffeine fiend, slender arms swinging, bending and jabbing triple-time, one motion flowing into the next, his gaze fixed on the floor.

Alexis Hinton, in contrast, shot wolfish looks, baring her teeth while stamping and clawing the air with outstretching arms. Despite the feminine bows on her red flats, she radiated anger. Krumping, she said, is a powerful emotional release.

Nohnee Purvis, a high school sophomore, said he first krumped for fun but soon, “the whole spiritual thing of it just hit me in the chest,” he said. Now, he even acts differently.

“Sundays, I’d just sit in the house, sleep, talk on the phone,” Purvis said. “Now I get up and go to church. My whole mind has changed. We got Christ up.”

Leslie started the group two years ago with his brother and some friends, inspired by “Rize,” a lauded 2005 documentary on krump by renowned photographer David LaChapelle.

According to Leslie, a hip-hop dancer named Tommy the Clown started krump in California in the 1990s. The expressive, freestyle dance caught on as an alternative to street violence, with dancers competing, or “battling,” one another to display their moves and krumping prowess.

Leslie’s dance practices in his garage fascinated neighborhood kids and he began recruiting, setting conditions for membership.

One rule is to keep up with school work. “I don’t look for C’s and D’s; I look for A’s and B’s,” said Leslie, who often checks in with parents about teens’ grades.

Leslie also feeds dancers a steady diet of Bible verses and expects them to make Jesus Christ their model. The twice-weekly dance practices start with prayer. Dancers are expected to go to church.

The group has performed about 25 times during Sunday worship at New Light Full Gospel Baptist Church in Virginia Beach, which Leslie attends. Bishop Rudolph B. Lewis said some older congregants initially recoiled when he allowed krumping at services.

Lewis himself said he understands krump dancing no better than his parents’ generation understood Elvis Presley’s risque swivel-hips in the `50s. But he’s told parishioners that teens are more likely to attend church—and to say no to gang-banging—if they know their unorthodox worship styles are welcomed.

“God wants to hear what you want to say, and he don’t care how you say it, and if you say it like this”—Lewis contorted himself, krump-like—“he hears you.”