infrared film that I had just purchased into my duffel bag, got out of the car, and made my way through the church basement to the parish office.
I poked my head through his open office door and said, “Good evening, Father, can I talk with you for a moment?”
“Hello Ron,” he said with a warm smile. “Come on in. What can I do for you?”
I entered the room and stood in front of his rich mahogany desk. “I need your help, Father.”
“Glad to help,” he said, smiling. “What’s this all about?”
“I’m going to an exorcism, and I need your blessing,” I blurted out.
“Exorcism,” he said, as his smile disappeared. “What do you mean ‘exorcism’?”
“I was contacted by this woman from Boston asking for help, so I called a Franciscan monk that I know, and he’s going to perform an exorcism on her—tonight.”
“Franciscan,” he said, as if it were a dirty word. “What do you know about this Franciscan?”
“I’ve known him for a while; he’s a designated exorcist for the Franciscan order.”
“This is serious, Ron. The Church doesn’t take this lightly. How do you know he’s authorized to do this? Have you checked with the Bishop?”
“I know him, Father. I believe him,” I said, ignoring his questions.
He stood up and walked around to the front of the desk. “You know there’s a lot that has to be done before an exorcism can be performed. You have to be evaluated by a medical doctor, a psychiatrist, a sociologist, and you have to go before a panel. This all takes time. As I said earlier, the Church doesn’t take this lightly.”
“I know in my heart I’m doing the right thing and I want—no, I need—your blessing.”
“Very well, Ron, if I can’t talk you out of it, it is the least I can do,” he said with a frown. He made his way across the soft carpet to the desk. Opening a drawer, he removed a purple stole and a small bottle, and returned to my side. He kissed the dark purple cloth and placed it around his broad shoulders. Sketching a crossin the air with his fingers, he uttered a short prayer. He tilted the bottle, moistened his finger, and anointed my forehead. He began to recite the Our Father as I joined in. An instant later it was over.
Despite his earlier dissuasion, any doubts that I had were gone. I felt stronger, confident, and almost invincible. Like I’d explained to Father, I knew in my heart I was doing the right thing. I stood up, thanked him for his blessing, and headed toward the door. As I reached the door, his voice stopped me. I turned to hear him say, “Good luck, Ron, and may God be with you.”
“Thank you, Father, but if I have God’s blessing, I need no luck.” I hurried away to pick up Maureen.
I was pleased and a bit surprised that Maureen had relented and agreed to join us. As she got in the car, I asked, “How you doing? You all right?”
“Yes. Let’s just get going before I change my mind.”
“Did you bring your scapular like Brian recommended?”
SCAPULAR
A devotional object used in the Catholic religion, made from cloth, wood, or metal, and usually worn around the neck. It is a silent prayer offered to the Blessed Mother in request for her protection.
“Yes. It’s right here.” She reached beneath her shirt and slid out a piece of cloth protected by clear plastic, hanging on a dark green ribbon. “It was my father’s. My mother gave it to me when he died.” With the last of her words, she closed her hand around the devotional artifact and squeezed tightly.
“I’m wearing my scapula and exorcism medal. See here.” I slid the medal out from the confines of my Ghost Project shirtto demonstrate. Being the devout Catholic I am and trying to comfort her, I asked, “Do you realize the significance of wearing a scapular?”
She didn’t answer, but stared out into the sea of cars as we traveled down Route 93 to 128.
“It’s solely of spiritual nature,” I said. “A sign of the wearer’s readiness to
I poked my head through his open office door and said, “Good evening, Father, can I talk with you for a moment?”
“Hello Ron,” he said with a warm smile. “Come on in. What can I do for you?”
I entered the room and stood in front of his rich mahogany desk. “I need your help, Father.”
“Glad to help,” he said, smiling. “What’s this all about?”
“I’m going to an exorcism, and I need your blessing,” I blurted out.
“Exorcism,” he said, as his smile disappeared. “What do you mean ‘exorcism’?”
“I was contacted by this woman from Boston asking for help, so I called a Franciscan monk that I know, and he’s going to perform an exorcism on her—tonight.”
“Franciscan,” he said, as if it were a dirty word. “What do you know about this Franciscan?”
“I’ve known him for a while; he’s a designated exorcist for the Franciscan order.”
“This is serious, Ron. The Church doesn’t take this lightly. How do you know he’s authorized to do this? Have you checked with the Bishop?”
“I know him, Father. I believe him,” I said, ignoring his questions.
He stood up and walked around to the front of the desk. “You know there’s a lot that has to be done before an exorcism can be performed. You have to be evaluated by a medical doctor, a psychiatrist, a sociologist, and you have to go before a panel. This all takes time. As I said earlier, the Church doesn’t take this lightly.”
“I know in my heart I’m doing the right thing and I want—no, I need—your blessing.”
“Very well, Ron, if I can’t talk you out of it, it is the least I can do,” he said with a frown. He made his way across the soft carpet to the desk. Opening a drawer, he removed a purple stole and a small bottle, and returned to my side. He kissed the dark purple cloth and placed it around his broad shoulders. Sketching a crossin the air with his fingers, he uttered a short prayer. He tilted the bottle, moistened his finger, and anointed my forehead. He began to recite the Our Father as I joined in. An instant later it was over.
Despite his earlier dissuasion, any doubts that I had were gone. I felt stronger, confident, and almost invincible. Like I’d explained to Father, I knew in my heart I was doing the right thing. I stood up, thanked him for his blessing, and headed toward the door. As I reached the door, his voice stopped me. I turned to hear him say, “Good luck, Ron, and may God be with you.”
“Thank you, Father, but if I have God’s blessing, I need no luck.” I hurried away to pick up Maureen.
I was pleased and a bit surprised that Maureen had relented and agreed to join us. As she got in the car, I asked, “How you doing? You all right?”
“Yes. Let’s just get going before I change my mind.”
“Did you bring your scapular like Brian recommended?”
SCAPULAR
A devotional object used in the Catholic religion, made from cloth, wood, or metal, and usually worn around the neck. It is a silent prayer offered to the Blessed Mother in request for her protection.
“Yes. It’s right here.” She reached beneath her shirt and slid out a piece of cloth protected by clear plastic, hanging on a dark green ribbon. “It was my father’s. My mother gave it to me when he died.” With the last of her words, she closed her hand around the devotional artifact and squeezed tightly.
“I’m wearing my scapula and exorcism medal. See here.” I slid the medal out from the confines of my Ghost Project shirtto demonstrate. Being the devout Catholic I am and trying to comfort her, I asked, “Do you realize the significance of wearing a scapular?”
She didn’t answer, but stared out into the sea of cars as we traveled down Route 93 to 128.
“It’s solely of spiritual nature,” I said. “A sign of the wearer’s readiness to
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