Without any callous intention to crush hopes, it needs to be stated that there is not much value in the power of one’s faith in one’s faith. I, on the other hand, was well aware that this fight belonged to Christ and that a positive outcome was already assured—eventually. I was simply a humble instrument in its achievement. Intellectually I was convinced. But the heart often contradicts the mind. “Is God’s Word really that efficacious?” I mused, astonished by my own doubts. I was, after all, an ordained minister of God’s Church. A higher standard was expected.
Yet from there on, a dreadful downward spiral of disbelief was ignited and with what unmerciful truculence it burned. Scripture passages began popping into my head. But they were all accusatory ones, with the effect of casting doubt upon my ability to carry out my vocational responsibilities. The most troubling was that puzzling text about the disciples unable to cast out some species of demons because they had not prayed or fasted enough, recorded in the seventeenth chapter of St. Matthew’s Gospel. I had been praying non-stop. But I had also just had lunch. Was I disqualified? I suppose fasting is a method of reminding oneself of one’s weaknesses; that Christian piety is not a celebration of one’s inherent strength or spiritual achievements, but an unceasing confession that we are simply empty broken vessels which God chooses to use regardless. We are not friendlier, happier or stronger when we are hungry. Fasting exposes our true nature, demonstrating not our capabilities, but our incapabilities. Because we ate of the fruit in the Garden, Jesus fasts for forty days in the wilderness. He achieves a unique victory by Himself when all of humankind sits in defeat. The solitude and asceticism of fasting does not reveal our virtues. It is not an invitation to look inside of ourselves for spiritual assistance.29 Rather, it unmasks our sinfulness. Praise God for this, for Christ came not for the righteous, but for sinners. In any case I still regretted eating lunch, for a more practical reason: I felt that it might just make its way up again.
Another unnerving doubt crept into the compromised lucidity of my racing thoughts. I was harassed by the Biblical account of people trying to cast out demons in Jesus’ name but failing. The evil spirit retorted with, “Jesus I know, and Paul I recognize, but who are you?” (Acts 19:15) before he pounced on those disciples and beat them up so terribly that they tore out of the house naked and bleeding. What if the same happened to me? Or what about demonic transference—when the demon targets a victim in close proximity to the possessed?30 This was definitely not what I had signed up for when I consented to become a pastor. Didn’t the Holy Spirit and I have some kind of agreement? What about employee rights? Funeral requests from Masonic Lodge members I could handle, wedding requests by fornicating lovers I could deal with, emotionally-charged church council meetings I could survive, but this? This was totally absurd. Let’s be sensible. Maybe I could turn around and refer it to some else. Why hadn’t my faithful pastor friend, who assured me that “we are a team,” ever called me back? I resented him, blamed him, and even—with a little help from the devil—hated him. I wasn’t ready. Is humility still a virtue? Was this even humility or was it pride? There is, after all, a fine line between arrogance and self-confidence. Exorcism can be dangerous and humiliating. For this reason, humility is of paramount importance for exorcists. Saint Teresa explained how, when an exorcist abhors everything about oneself and clings only to the cross, the devil is deprived of all of his weapons. Otherwise, we allow the demons to fight against us with our own tools; handing over to them what we need for our defense.31 Anyways, besides my lack of piety, the book said that these sorts of matters were supposed to be handled by a bishop or ecclesiastical supervisor. “Perhaps I should turn around and call him right now!” My mind was plagued with all sorts of doubts, subtle forces dissuading me from completing the quest. In a hyperventilating state of panic and speechlessness, the Jesus Prayer, mumbled from my failing lips: “Lord, have mercy on me.” When we hit rock bottom, tormented by doubt, and have nothing else to offer, the Holy Spirit intercedes. No wonder our prayers sound like His. In fact, in those scattered yet prized moments of life, we realize that we never have anything to offer. The best prayers are Scriptures “prayed back” to God, so to speak.
I parked the car. I rang the bell. Debby opened the door without vocalizing a word, her haggard head hanging low, swiftly turning away while knocking over a chair in the process and partially tripping over it on her way back to her place. There she sat, in silence, head down, eyes low, groaning and moaning. Although I kept my eyes open and fixed on her, I prayed inside. I recited hymn stanzas in my heart, such as Jesus, Priceless Treasure:
In Thine arms I rest me;Foes who would molest me Cannot reach me here.Though the earth be shaking,Every heart be quaking,Jesus calms my fear.Lightnings flash
And thunders crash;Yet, though sin and hell assail me,Jesus will not fail me.32
I kissed my stole. I placed it around my neck. I hung my crucifix in plain sight of whatever was lurking in that smoky room of blighted hopes. I began timidly, “In the name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.” Ideally a private confession followed by holy absolution precedes the rite. In this case, there was no point. Debby was not all there. This was the devil’s jurisdiction, and he knew it. Like a beast before it pounces upon its prey lays still and surreptitious, yet ready and conscientious, the demon did not appear perturbed by my presence. Even though I prayed to be filled with courage in fighting this dragon laying waste to God’s vineyard and that he, instead of me, would be struck with terror, this reprobate beast seemed to burst with a raging glee—without any observable motion. It was in control, and did not appear at all alarmed or deterred by me. With a mixture of scornful indignation tempered by a cool appreciation that a Christian was present, the demon appeared unshaken—until I started to speak some more, and with confidence.
As I professed the Apostles’ Creed and spoke the Lord’s Prayer, her head was raised a tad, and the moans changed their pitch. After all, the Our Father is the paragon of prayers, and the Creeds are, predominantly, an explanation of the name of our Trinitarian Lord. Debby’s head began waving from side to side in an apparent effort to avoid the sound of my voice while expressing its disapproval. The tables had turned. I read aloud various texts from the Holy Scriptures concerning Jesus and the apostles casting out demons. The bodily thrusts intensified with more exaggerated jerks of her head. Indiscernible words were lazily offered by a beastly tongue. At first they sounded annoyed. Then, mad. Without warning, a series of embittered low-pitched voices ejaculated short phrases of anguish such as “No,” “Go away,” “Shut up,” and “Leave me alone.” Yet they no longer conveyed a threatening tone. Instead, they were pathetic cries, like a whiney kid in the playground who is irritated that he hadn’t gotten his way. An eerily hostile feeling of a contentious and inimical nimbus penetrated the relatively stable ambiance when I finally built up the courage to speak