Addressing fellow Scientologists during the church's New Year's Eve gathering, Miscavige described the Dublin Mission, which claims to have distributed 110,230 booklets to members of the public last year, as an "exemplary emphasis of how missions take root in cultural soil".
But the church's extraordinary, and up until now, unheard of work left drug agencies and gardai here scratching their heads.
And despite regularly reporting on drug-related stories in the capital, it was certainly the first I heard of the Scientologists' crusading work to clean up our streets.
All I knew about the church is what was written about some of its most famous followers; that it drove Tom Cruise to jump up and down like an excited teenager on Oprah's couch; and that it contributed to the Hollywood star's divorce with Katie Holmes, the mother of his daughter Suri.
I headed down to the headquarters of the church's Irish mission in Dublin's city centre, situated above a hairdresser's salon on Middle Abbey Street.
I climbed the creaky stairs of the premises and was met by a man standing behind a desk, who introduced himself as Viktor.
The room was non-descript and sparsely decorated, with some potted plants and two smaller offices located to the rear.
After I enquired about joining the church, Viktor directed me towards two chairs that were placed in front of a television, which was surrounded by numerous DVDs about the religion.
Viktor was about to put on one of the DVDs when I enquired about the personality tests the church is known to frequently offer to the general public for free.
I took a seat, and Viktor went through the instructions with me.
It took me approximately 25 minutes to answer the 200 questions.
It was quiz-style questions on one set of papers, answers on the other, with three possible replies; yes, no or maybe.
The questions were bizarre, personal and quite unsettling, obviously crafted to decipher every aspect of my personality.
Addressing fellow Scientologists during the church's New Year's Eve gathering, Miscavige described the Dublin Mission, which claims to have distributed 110,230 booklets to members of the public last year, as an "exemplary emphasis of how missions take root in cultural soil".
But the church's extraordinary, and up until now, unheard of work left drug agencies and gardai here scratching their heads.
And despite regularly reporting on drug-related stories in the capital, it was certainly the first I heard of the Scientologists' crusading work to clean up our streets.
All I knew about the church is what was written about some of its most famous followers; that it drove Tom Cruise to jump up and down like an excited teenager on Oprah's couch; and that it contributed to the Hollywood star's divorce with Katie Holmes, the mother of his daughter Suri.
I headed down to the headquarters of the church's Irish mission in Dublin's city centre, situated above a hairdresser's salon on Middle Abbey Street.
I climbed the creaky stairs of the premises and was met by a man standing behind a desk, who introduced himself as Viktor.
The room was non-descript and sparsely decorated, with some potted plants and two smaller offices located to the rear.
After I enquired about joining the church, Viktor directed me towards two chairs that were placed in front of a television, which was surrounded by numerous DVDs about the religion.
Viktor was about to put on one of the DVDs when I enquired about the personality tests the church is known to frequently offer to the general public for free.
I took a seat, and Viktor went through the instructions with me.
It took me approximately 25 minutes to answer the 200 questions.
It was quiz-style questions on one set of papers, answers on the other, with three possible replies; yes, no or maybe.
The questions were bizarre, personal and quite unsettling, obviously crafted to decipher every aspect of my personality.
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