For those of you who don't know, a Deliverance Ministry is not a preacher praying about childbirth. Nor is it a sermon about a Burt Reynolds film. Although I joke about it now, it really is something serious and completely frightening. A Deliverance Ministry is a Protestant practice to cleanse a person's soul of non-human entities.
In short…it is an Exorcism.
Now, you can scoff and call me crazy. You can give me the Harvard studies of psychiatric reports of how exorcism is just pandering to those who imagine they have demons, and that possession is really manifestations of mental illness. You can quote me facts and figures and prove to your own satisfaction that devils don't exist and that nothing beyond what is in the physical world can harm you.
I happy for you if you believe that. Ignorance is bliss, after all.
I know better. I know better because I've lived through it. I've been on the front lines. I've been the fought over territory. I've heard the voices come from my own mouth. I've felt the pain, the suffering, the loathing…and the despair. I know what it's like to have something not me walk inside my skin.
You may ask yourself, "Well, what did he do to get possessed in the first place? Is he evil?"
No, I am not evil. I did nothing. I was, and still am, a devout Christian. I have my faith and my faith has never been so strong. I suppose I'll never know why I was chosen to be a house of demonic dwelling. I can only guess why someone as unimportant and mundane as I was targeted for harassment.
I remember that my life was getting worse. My wife had left me, taking our three children with her. My job was suffering, and I wasn't sleeping. I was tired and depressed. No matter what I did, it seemed to fall apart. I remember, though, my faith was strong. I just couldn't understand why I was suffering so.
I had a conversation with a co-worker one day about my life turning upside down. He began talking about this preacher he knew, and about deliverance. I listened, but I didn't believe I was possessed. I mean, I had all my faculties. I wasn't drinking blood by the moonlight, or vomiting green sputum at anyone wearing a collar. I could even hold my bible, although, now that I think about it, I did seem rather loathe to pick it up from time to time.
I cannot remember what convinced me to go. I remember reading the pamphlet he gave me, and discussing it with him afterwards. Perhaps it was the three long scratches that suddenly appeared on my left arm while discussing it with him. Perhaps it was the fact that part of me wanted to try to change the subject. I remember wondering what his wife was like in bed, and being shocked that I knew.
The next snatch of memory I have is of the sun shining too bright through the windshield of my car as I stared down the street to the house of the minister. I had stopped at the intersection, and was having an odd moment of duplicity. I had made an appointment with the man; he was expecting me. I always keep my appointments, as it is akin to a promise.
But, inside of my head, something with my own voice whispered to me silkily. Telling me to turn around. Telling me that this was ridiculous. Telling me there was nothing wrong with me. Telling me to go home. There was a cute girl who had moved in not far from my apartment. She was married, but she had been looking at me with an obvious hunger. I was sure I had not imagined it. A little flirtation, a little wine, and she could be mine for the night.
I drove to the minister's door, my heart thudding in my chest. What was I afraid of? He was just a man. What was the worst that could happen? The scratches across my arm burnt viciously. Perhaps I imagined it, perhaps not.
The door opened and the minister showed me in. My coworker was there. I hadn't expected him. I almost lashed out at him, demanded that he leave. Almost told the minister that I had decided against this, that I was fine. My pulse was thudding through my temples now. Why did the man scare me so?
He took me to his office, where he closed the door. To this day, the latch clicking in the plate sounded as distinctly final as the door to a prison cell sliding close. I was sitting on the small couch, my co-worker beside me. The minister was in a chair with a pen and notepad. He was asking me questions about my life. My past and present state of affairs. Asking me why I had come to see him today.
I almost told him, "No reason." The words were on my lips. What was I doing there? This was silly. I was fine. Nothing was wrong with me.
"Let's bow our heads and pray," the minister said.
"No," my lips answered.
It was my voice. My voice. My lips moving. My eyes widened with shock. I hadn't known I was going to speak, hadn't thought about it. As a matter of fact, I was in the process of bowing my head when the single word denial was issued from my mouth.
The minister looked at me briefly, then began to pray. "Dear Lord--"
"No!"
"--we come to you today--"
"No!"
"--to help this poor lost soul--"
"No!"
"--to fight Satan's minions--"
"Don't say his name!"
"--and to free your child--"
"This boy is not God's child--"
"--from his evil clutches. Help us--"
"Shut up, you fucking bastard!"
"--to fight Satan's--"
"I told you not to say his name!"
"--hordes. In Jesus'--"
"He's a bastard, too."
"In the name of Jesus, silence!" the minister said, calmly. I was struck dumb. The words that had been issuing forth unchecked from my own body suddenly stopped as though on cue. The minister completed his prayer and then opened his bible. I remember trying to hiss, but no sound would come.
"Now, vile creature, I ask you, in the name of Jesus Christ, what is your name."
"Satan."
"Do not lie to me! I demand in the name of Christ, what is your name?"
"You are weak. You cannot make me--"
"It is not my power that controls you," the minister said, "but the power of God and his son, Jesus Christ. By his name, I command you, tell me your name!"
"Legion! Lucifer! Gabriel! Lust!"
"I command you, Lust, leave this child!"
"No!" I cried. Truly, I did. My mouth was snarling, my body was taut, and there was nothing I could do. Tears of fear were streaming down my face. I was a spectator in my own body, watching as war was being waged over my flesh. I couldn't tell who was winning, but I knew that whatever was inside of me would kill me before it let me go.
"In the name of Christ, leave this child!"
"No! He is ours!"
"He is Christ's. Leave him now!"
"Don't you know who this boy is?" I screamed. "Don't you know what he's done? Are you so stupid that you would try to save--"
"Your lies will not sway me, nor will your speech find purchase in the ears of God. Now…leave this child!"
"Very well." Suddenly calm. Suddenly silky. My hand shot out without warning and grabbed my coworker. Power surged through my body and I couldn't breathe. I felt the thing leave me, as though my fingers were fangs that were pumping its poisonous form into the man next to me.
Together, we howled. I could not let go. He could not break free. We were joined in pain, as though our souls were being ripped apart by the being that had invaded me.
At some point, I lost consciousness. I woke up later (hours later, I discovered) and found both men standing over me.
"What happened?" I asked. "Is it gone?"
"Yes," the minister said, smiling. "It is gone. You are free."
I cried again, happy tears spilling from my eyes. We talked a little in his office, then moved into his house, where his wife had made coffee. I felt lighter, as though I had been carrying a weight on my shoulders for years. I was smiling, laughing and joking. I felt good.
My co-worker and I left at the same time. We bid goodbye to the minister. I thanked him profusely for his help. Without him, there's no telling what would have happened to me. I shook my co-worker's hand before I got into the car.
"Thanks, Jeff," I said.
"You're not safe," Jeff whispered, his hand suddenly tightening painfully on mine. My heart felt as though it stopped. "You're never safe. You're free from me now, but I have your friend. When I'm done ruining his life, I'll be back for you. As it is written, I'll return with ten of my kind. Sleep well, bastard child of God."
Jeff got into his jeep and left. I stood in the driveway, alone. What could I do? What should I do? I remember that I stood there until the minister's wife came out and asked me if I needed anything. I said no, still dazed, and got into my car.
On my way home, I decided to e-mail the minister and let him know what happened. I never got a response back. I don't know if the minister contacted Jeff, or if he thought me paranoid.
I left jobs shortly after that, leaving Jeff behind. I thought about him often, wondering if he ever bested the demon I had unwillingly unleashed unto him.
Not long ago, I found Jeff on a social networking site. I asked him how he was doing. He was doing great, at a new job and in a new city. After chatting, I got the whole story. He had cheated on his wife with her sister, gotten a divorce, gotten into drugs, gotten arrested and almost committed suicide. After five years, he had gotten his life back on track after a visit from the minister, who had been trying to reach ever since we left him that day. He told me that the demon had been chased from him.
I was happy for Jeff, but now, I am troubled. The thing is done with Jeff. Will he make good on his promise to come back after me? Every night I chant the Lord's Prayer. Every night I hold my cross in my hands. Every night, I pray to God that I will remain clean.
And every night, something in the dark chuckles, softly.
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