The devil inside

Considered hokey or frightening by some, exorcisms and their practitioners are in surprisingly steady demand. Those seeking help run the gamut, from trend-hoppers to people who believe they are seriously possessed

by Kathleen Hughes

In April 1996, at a white multi-family house, across from the Little Sisters of the Poor home in Pawtucket, Mario Garcia performed an exorcism on his mother-in-law, Maria Leal. The ritual ended when the woman's esophagus was punctured by one of the two eight-inch metal crucifixes that Garcia allegedly pressed down her throat in an attempt to drive out the evil spirits. Although a charge of assault with a deadly weapon was filed against Garcia, and Leal spent a few days recovering at a well-guarded Rhode Island Hospital room, both she and her husband refused to testify, and the case was dismissed. Leal declined comment, other than to say, "It's not like they say it is."

Three exits up Interstate 95, the Reverend Paul Desmarais of Sacred Heart Roman Catholic Church in Pawtucket has performed five exorcisms in his 12 years of work. The Roman Catholic Diocese of Providence, like many dioceses, has no official exorcist, but Desmarais is one of a few priests to whom those inquiring about demonic possession or exorcism are directed. Desmarais came to perform exorcisms through his work with youth, particularly those involved in cults and satanic worship. He's medium-sized, even-tempered, and resembles St. Francis of Assisi more than the doomed Father Merrin of the famed 1973 film, The Exorcist, especially when his two tiny fluffy white dogs hop onto his lap, climb up his arms, and onto his shoulders, where they pause, as we sit chatting in armchairs in the living room of Sacred Heart's rectory.

These days, Desmarais says, he gets about one call a week from people claiming to be possessed, although less than one a year, on average, prove to be authentic. Many of the possessed have experimented with the occult, such as asking questions of the notorious Ouija board. One such man in his mid-20s came to Desmarais 10 years ago, complaining that the demons of blasphemy, mockery, and lust were haunting his dreams. His possession was evident in his clairvoyance (other possible signs are foreign voices and languages, supernatural strength, and aversion to religious objects), and Desmarais agreed to perform an exorcism. But the hundreds more who claim possession, he says, "are often trying to avoid personal responsibility . . . They call me, they say, `I have no control over what I do -- I must be possessed.' "

Some, including Pope John Paul II, would argue that the devil or Satan is en vogue today, and maybe they're right. Consider Marilyn Manson, The Crow, the semi-celebrity of Church of Satan founder Anton LaVey -- with coverage by the Washington Post and Village Voice, plus the Goth subculture, and the near-calamitous shortage of Catholic priests. Coupled with senseless violence in massacres at schools and in workplaces, one might cite the devil's greater power in the world. Or one could recognize the unpleasant effects of media sensationalism and the need for more effective steps to curb gun violence.

Still, there's at least the impression of more estrangement in the world today, and in response, some are reaching out for a practice -- exorcism -- that most consider hokey, creepy, or the stuff of horror films. And it's not just homemade, fringe exorcisms such as the kind attempted by Garcia in Pawtucket in 1996. Exorcism is big business for several small fundamentalist Christian groups, such as Colorado-based Bob Larson Ministries, where books, tapes, and videos that purportedly aid the buyer in spiritual warfare and the exorcising of demons start at $10 and run beyond $300, and privileged memberships can be had for $1999 and $4000.

Rev. Paul Desmaris

Even a new, relatively centrist church, the Vineyard Christian Fellowship (VCF), founded 26 years ago by former Righteous Brothers keyboardist John Wimber, focuses on a kind of exorcism or "deliverance" via communal prayer by small groups over the "demonized" person. There are more than 500 VCF churches in the US and eight other countries.

But the biggest contributor to recent interest in exorcism is the church that many consider the expert and most serious proprietor of the ritual -- the Catholic Church. In January 1999, the Vatican formally released De Exorcismus et supplicationibus quisbusdam, a new rite of Exorcism, for the first time since 1614 AD. The revision is partially housekeeping -- all rites were supposed to be rewritten after the 1963 Vatican II conference -- but it's noteworthy that this aging pope has seen the completion of the revision. Coupled with other church acts, such as a well-publicized increase in the global appointment of official exorcists by Catholic dioceses in the autumn of 2000, and a six-part series on Satanism in the official Catholic newspaper, L'Osservatore Romano, the Vatican's message seems clear: the world today is growing complacent about the devil, possession, and exorcism.

Despite all this activity, most would still be hard-pressed to recall a sermon on satanic possession or exorcism. One Rhode Island parish priest says he doesn't preach about possession because it affects such a small proportion of the population -- which is a way of saying that audiences aren't particularly receptive to it. The Reverend Anne Grant, pastor of Trinity United Methodist Church in South Providence, notes that while her largely Liberian congregation is comfortable with the subject, as were her Haitian, Asian, and African colleagues at seminary, due to the rituals of their native countries, white congregations tend to be embarrassed or even angered by talk of exorcism.

Rev. Anne Grant

So, despite the small grassroots rising of exorcism among the likes of Bob Larson Ministries and the Vineyard church -- whether as a bought-and-sold panacea or a genuine attempt to make sense of the modern world -- and despite the launch of a worldwide publicity campaign by the rock-star like Pope John Paul II, possession and exorcism continue to prompt great skepticism and diffidence. While this science-based skepticism is not new, modern society's cynicism towards demonic possession and exorcism may be, and this may signal a broader detachment from that which is religiously sacred or mysterious. Perhaps this, above all else, should worry us.

WHATEVER THE Hollywood connotations of "exorcism," the practice, which occurs in many religions, Christian and otherwise, is usually very simple and abuts on similar, less sensationalist purification and healing practices, such as the Native American sweat lodge. Baptism, in fact, was originally an act of exorcism. Notes professor Lawrence Sullivan, director of the Harvard Divinity School, "Exorcism is a widespread practice . . . But the notion of what is cast out changes very radically from one religious tradition to the next." Sullivan notes that exorcism is central to Shinto, the traditional religion of Japan. Judaism, Buddhism, and Islam all focus on purification rituals that reflect cleansing or the purging of ill or evil spirits or influence.

The first Christian exorcist was Jesus, who did it frequently and easily, as "healing," and was often known as Jesus the Physician, according to Encyclopedia Brittanica. Christian exorcism, many believe, bears the influence of the many centuries of older Zoroastrian faith in Persia. There aren't any possessions or exorcisms in the Old Testament, because Satan didn't bother much tempting man, but rather tried to prove to God that man was worthless. The shift of Satan focusing on man and trying to prove God's worthlessness is chronicled in the New Testament.

The biblical focus on exorcism as healing of sickness underlines the fact that, for many centuries, schizophrenia and multiple personality disorder were conflated with possession. It was not until the Enlightenment, in the 18th century, that exorcism was suppressed to any degree. One clear difference in the revised Vatican ritual of 1999, in fact, is the modern church's insistence on psychiatric consultation prior to any considerations of exorcism. Famous exorcists who work as therapists or psychiatrists, such as the fictive Father Damian Karras and the real-life Reverend James LeBar, chief exorcist for the Archdiocese of New York, and a counselor at the Hudson River Psychiatric Institute, further illustrate the historical overlap between mental illness and possession.

As for the actual difference between psychiatric illness and possession, the Catholic Church identifies very careful signs, such as a person's ability to speak in or understand unknown languages; clairvoyance; supernatural strength or power; and great aversion to religious artifacts, such as a Bible, crucifix, holy water, or a holy relic. Finally, the possessing spirit never wants to be driven out and will do many things to avoid exorcism, so that a person who runs to the steps of the church and demands immediate exorcism isn't likely to be possessed. All in all, Desmarais says, The Exorcist is a very accurate depiction of demonic possession, albeit extreme. "Except for her head spinning all the way around," he notes. "I don't care if you're possessed or not, when your head spins 360 degrees around, you're dead."

Grant, who practices Wimber's deliverance ministry in her United Methodist Church, also describes physical phenomena that accompany demonization and deliverance. "Sometimes I've recognized evil by a sudden, extraordinary chill," she says, adding that one young man she prayed over tightly clenched his fists and experienced intense pain that moved all over his body, "almost like battles being waged in his body." Still, Grant has no set of rules for validating demonization. We all have demons of some sort, she says, that attach to us through some wound or point of emotional and spiritual vulnerability. In severe instances, demons "hang off us like bats," she says. Therefore, Grant will pray for anyone's deliverance from demons. "I don't theologize it," she says. "I'm ready to pray for deliverance for anyone who wants it."

'The Exorcist'

THERE ARE CLEAR differences between sin, evil, and possession. Given that no human is perfect, everyone commits some amount of sin, whether it's gossip, minor jealousy, greed, or violence. Grosser atrocities, such as murder, are considered evil, as well as devil- or illness-influenced, but they are only very rarely the result of possession. Hitler, for instance, is not believed to have been possessed. Most often, priests say, murderers are ill, not possessed, and possession in and of itself is neither evil nor the fault of the possessed. It's viewed, rather, as an affliction that one has left oneself open to, a Rhode Island parish priest explains. This isn't terribly difficult since, he says, "Sin, technically speaking, is turning your back on God. And if you turn your back on God, you turn your face to the devil." God, too, plays a role in allowing possession, according to the Catholic Church, although not as a punishment or retribution of any sort.

One seemingly small sin common to the demonically possessed, Catholic clergy say, is asking questions of the Ouija board or using other tools of the occult, because such activity willfully invites demons and spirits into a person. The Exorcist's Regan MacNeill's possession began this way, as did three of the five cases Desmarais describes, with one woman as "a Stop & Shop occultist -- any cult that was out there, she would join and participate." Many of the people over whom Grant has prayed for deliverance were involved in the occult, too.

If one of the basic facts of possession is, as Desmarais puts it, "Freewill is absolute . . . Neither God nor Satan can possess people completely -- people have to leave themselves open to it," then another tenet is that there's no predictability to possession. Even if a person tries to be possessed, there's no guarantee he or she will be. A Rhode Island monk calls this "all part of divine revelation." The doctrinal path to sainthood is similar, by the way, in that even if one is infinitely good and pious, only God can chose to anoint one as a saint, never mind hairshirts and self- flagellation.

WHETHER A Catholic exorcism with Father Desmarais or prayer for deliverance with Reverend Grant, both involve but very simple and careful prayer, sometimes over a long, monotonous period. Curious spectators would be severely underwhelmed, one suspects.

Both Grant and Desmarais emphasize that the process of deliverance or exorcism is mainly an assertion of God's love to reclaim a possessed person. "They have to know it's God's work . . . The exorcist does not talk to the devil," Desmarais says, noting the main error of the movie and former Jesuit priest Malachi Martin's accounts of several possession cases in Hostage to the Devil. "It should never be personal -- a priest should never invite the devil into his life."

As the Catholic ritual itself goes, the priest is advised to have Holy Water, a crucifix, a physician, and other women if the possessed is female, so that proper care is given during the exorcism. The rules further suggest that the exorcism take place in a church, if possible. The priest begins by invoking each of the saints to help the possessed, and continues through prayers, Psalms, gospel readings, until finally, specific prayers of exorcism.

Desmarais believes it's best to pray for exorcism very softly, very monotone, so as to avoid sensationalism. "I try not to scare and not to shock," he says, "But to let them know this is God's work . . . and God is gentle."

Although Grant's deliverance has no rules or guidelines like a Catholic exorcism, her technique is similar. Usually, she gathers a small group to pray for someone, who Grant instructs to "be like a baby in God's arms . . . I believe we need to empty ourselves of self, and simply be in God's presence, let God do the doing." When the praying itself begins, Grant asks the person to close his or her eyes, although she keeps hers open to, "watch what God is doing. If I close my eyes," she says, "too often, I get caught up in myself and my prayer becomes self-driven and phony." Usually, Grant places her fingers on the forehead of the person she's praying over, and quietly invites the Holy Spirit to minister to him or her. "Then I wait," she says, "and I praise God in tongues," a technique she learned as a child. "It is important for me to disconnect my tendency to analyze things and tongues does this," she explains.

One Connecticut man Grant prayed over was in his early 20s, overweight, "like a grizzly bear . . . and filled with rage. He loved his guns." His hurt and thus his demonization, she says, stemmed from his being abandoned by his father as a child. The man came to Grant's home for help, and although she says she disliked him so much she nearly avoided seeing him, she agreed to pray for him, with a small community of other church members. For an hour, they prayed, and the man, who was standing in the middle of them, was laid on the floor after his knees buckled. Grant says he had a choking experience, "which is common at the point of deliverance." And then, it was over. "The memorable thing was the change," says Grant. "That young man's transformation, from a gun-loving, enraged thundercloud to a compassionate and caring man, made the Biblical accounts of Jesus' deliverances come to life for me."

IT'S UNCLEAR WHY the Catholic church has suddenly decided to spotlight exorcism. It could be understood as part of Pope John Paul II's particular charisma and evangelist talents, given that exorcism is seen as a proclamation of God's love of man. It could also be aligned with what some call the pope's attention to the culture of death, which includes a persistent, strong focus on abortion, capital punishment, and euthanasia. Finally, the new exorcism could be an attempt to modernize the church, to eagerly acknowledge the scientific or medical explanations for most possession-like cases, and yet to assert that Satanic possession, however rare, does still exist.

What is quite clear is that exorcism has, in fact, been given new life within the Catholic Church over the last five years. Beyond the well-publicized appointment last year of an official exorcist for the first time in Chicago, New York's Father LeBar gave interviews to the New York Times, the Chicago Sun-Times, and FOX News, although he's no longer speaking with the press. Father Gabriele Amorth, the chief exorcist of Rome, and Father Raul Salvucci, another Italian exorcist, each published books in 1999, An Exorcist Tells His Story, and What to Do With These Demons, respectively. In an August 1999 press release, Salvucci asserts that income for 170,000 cult leaders in Italy has grown to $3 billion, from $600 million in 1991.

In January 1997, The Vatican's own newspaper, L'Osservatore Romano, published a six-part series on the phenomenological, anthropological, psychological, legal, doctrinal, and pastoral aspects of Satanism, "and the growing and disturbing phenomenon of practices connected with the cult of satanic sects." While no new statements of dogma or theology arose from this series, the mere scope and size of the report was a landmark, says one Catholic monk in Rhode Island.

But despite such a focus on Satanic activity, the church is curiously mum when it comes to statistics of authentic possession and exorcism. One very rare statistic found in an Italian magazine article, reprinted in January in National Catholic Register, claims that 500,000 Italians sought the help of one of the country's 400 exorcists in 2000; of these only one percent were genuinely possessed. But such statistics are so uncommon -- cnn.com, in January 1999, said Vatican officials had no figures on the number of exorcisms -- that there's no basis for comparison and it's impossible to prove or disprove any increase. "In most cases," the monk says, "You cannot even find out the name of exorcists in this country."

The reason for such a bob-and-weave may be that the church protects those who seek her help -- as in confession, matters of exorcism are private and confidential. The real-life child on which The Exorcist was based, for starters, was male, and lived in St. Louis, not Washington, DC. There might also be few statistics about exorcisms because, "Probably most of the people who go to an exorcist for help may not be possessed, but may still need help dealing with powerful demonic influence," the monk says. The mixed posture could also be a way of managing skepticism by boldly challenging it, and then gracefully stepping back, leaving it as a matter of faith.

Finally, it's possible that cases of possession have not actually risen, but that Rome is alarmed by the disdainfulness of modern society. The Exorcist is best known as a landmark horror movie and a good thrill, not as an instructive moral and spiritual battle. The Church of Satan ("the first above-ground organization . . . openly dedicated to the acceptance of man's true nature," according to its Web site) is the ultimate hedonistic, tits-and-ass-and-booze, good time hang-out. If more people are seeking the help of exorcists, it might well be because we're increasingly refusing to accept responsibility for our actions.

THE MESSAGES of the Vatican -- and John Wimber, and Bob Larson, too -- haven't been cast into a vacuum -- they're responding to a modern society that is snapping up the proffered services and wisdoms. This audience includes devil-worshipping children, who, "have real issues they need to talk about -- they talk about anger, sadness, hopeless," says Desmarais, the priest from Pawtucket. "The occult sometimes appeals to them as magic, a shortcut." It includes `the devil made me do it' adults, for whom exorcism resembles a new diet pill, the easy way out. And this society includes devout Catholics, fundamentalist Christians, and Wimber followers, like Grant, for whom confronting demons is a very real, basic part of life and faith.

As for the rest of us, we may appreciate cultural critic Frantz Fanon's post-colonial arguments about white oppressors making perfectly reasonable exorcism rituals seem monstrous and primitive; and we may have been kept from Ouija boards because they're tacky; and yes, Satanism, authentically scares us, so we won't be going there anytime soon.

But we aren't likely to listen carefully to a sermon or lesson about the demons either, even if, as Grant says, they "hang off us as bats." Rather, we might imagine demons hanging off Kramer on Seinfeld. Why? Grant suggests that committing to deliverance is difficult, because we're afraid we'll find ourselves inadequate. She also points to Jesus' exorcism of the man known as "Legion," who was possessed by 2000 demons in the Gospel of Mark, and the fear that villagers felt once the man was freed, his demons sent into a herd of pigs who then drowned themselves, such that they begged Jesus to leave. Faced with the same situation today, we'd all probably race to see who could get DreamWorks on the phone first.

Kathleen Hughes can be reached at khughes[a]phx.com.