that Debby was in danger. I was well aware of what those ungodly creatures are capable of doing, or rather, persuading us to do since, after all, I have all too often entertained them in the dark recesses of my own life. “God, be merciful to me, a sinner” (Luke 18:13b). But this time, it was not about me.
I immediately gathered my briefcase containing a stole, crucifix, communion kit, and anointing oil. I also grabbed my Rites and Resources for Pastoral Care from the Australian Lutheran Church which included some invaluable liturgical resources on dealing with spiritual oppression. On route, I called a clerical colleague and left a voicemail asking him—no, begging him—to accompany me on this visit by meeting me at her address. Feeling ill-equipped and inadequate, I hoped to God that I wouldn’t have to face this disaster alone! The pastoral ministry is already marked by enough disappointment. But I was terrified of the irremediable consequences if this event followed suit. Lives were potentially at stake. Terror is an understatement. It was all horror and doom. I was a mediocre spiritual soldier, and an even less competent exorcist. My past exposure to the subject did not prepare me for this!
Yet there was profound comfort in my knowledge that a Christian’s power over the unholy trinity of sin, death and the devil is not based on the strength of his or her personal faith. Rather the victory was already founded on God’s concrete, holy and solid Word, embodied in the Christ event. We are assured in the Epistle to the Romans: “The God of peace will soon crush Satan under your feet. The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with you” (Rom 16:20). We have the choice to walk the bridge between man and God—a chasm overcome by the wood of the cross—in confidence or by testing each and every step. While both get us across, one offers a more peaceful trip. But in the end, it is the bridge itself, and not our ability to walk, that preserves us. Even the spiritual hypochondriac makes it across. The size of our faith is often overvalued.
Even the alleged faith-healers must admit that their belief is publicly exposed as smaller than a mustard seed, since they have yet to move a mountain or even heal their own flu bugs for that matter. “Physician, heal yourself!” After all, the wages of sin is death, and we all die—even the showmen. At the same time, some of them are legitimate, which is why one must be careful judging a faith by its fruits (Matt 7:15–20). Even the unfaithful cast out demons in Jesus’ name (Matt 7:22). Besides, the juiciest fruits are nourishing Christian doctrines. Televangelist Oral Roberts’ instruction that viewers seeking a quick cure to their illness place a cup of water on the television box and drink it afterwards is more in tune with mediumistic healing than anything Biblical.26 Just because something works doesn’t mean that it is good. Christian evangelists may not even be aware that they are instruments of the devil. The Anti-Christ of the Apocalypse is a pretend Christian and his servants perform legitimate miracles (Rev 16:14). Demoniacs frequently possess unusual, even superhuman, strength (Mark 5:3). Clearly the devil is able to cause healing and injury and not just mimic them. The magicians competing with Moses did not just perform alleged tricks (Ex 7–8). There are even rumours of the devil raising the dead—temporarily. One Christian missionary records a famous Shaman of an Inuit tribe who was able to raise the heathen from the dead, although he lost this power after his conversion to Christianity.27 Modern magicians claim these abilities as well. If they are real, it is certainly due to occult influence. Those who experience such healings are sure to endure enormous burdens as well.28 In 2013, the well-known magician, Criss Angel, publicized a controversial magic trick which entailed attaching a corpse to a breathing apparatus which apparently resuscitated the deceased. He simultaneously placed a volunteer in a hypnotic state who then communicated with the dead. It was a compelling video. Youtube wouldn’t lie—would it?
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
