It
was in the late 1970's. We were seminarians in a college program located
in Kentucky. The school is gone now, but we have many wonderful memories
of those days-- and some, not so wonderful.
The school numbered some 140 plus students. While the building was of a pretty good size, many of the lower classmen had roommates. This sets the general stage for our story. It was the middle of the night. Everyone in the house had gone to bed. Then it happened.
Many of us were awakened by a racket down the hall and someone screaming. Throwing some clothes on, we went into that hall to see what was going on.
"What the hell is it?" someone half-shouted.
"I don't know," answered another half-asleep young man.
They followed the sound to its source. Allan was yelling his head off in the middle of the hall.
"Help! Somebody come quick! Oh my goodness, I don't believe this! Help!" he cried
"Hey Al, pipe down, what's up?" one of the guys said.
A crowd gathered around him. He pointed to the room he shared with Chris. We could hear his roommate having an absolute fit in the room. There was also an almost rhythmic pounding upon the floor. Was he going crazy or something?
Opening the door, we received the surprise of our lives. Chris' bed was levitating in the air, with its various edges hitting the floor with his frantic movement upon the mattress. It was no trick, looking under the errant furniture, there was a definite space between it and the floor. Chris continued to shout. He was utterly petrified.
Thoughts raced to movies about possessed children and such supernatural experiences. But, this was real. What could be done?
One of the guys shouted, "I'll get the rector!" and disappeared from the room. The bed continued to float.
It was really quite an oddity, not something one sees every day. Chris had always been a bit high-strung. He would never recover from this experience and would always sleep with the lights on and the radio playing. As for myself, it seemed that anxiety over such a thing might only further the devil's ends. We were at the beginning stages of a discernment toward priesthood. A vocation is a fragile thing. Giving this business too great an importance might harm the trust in God vital for one who would be a priest. As providence would have it, Allan would become a priest but Chris would never continue on to be ordained. I suspected this single evening had a part to play in that redirection on Chris' part. He did not have the stuff for spiritual combat. His fear was too real. I wonder sometimes if there might have been a demonic spirit in that room, and that maybe his name was Fear.
The rector came and was as surprised as everybody else. He put his stole on and sprinkled holy water as he read the ritual blessing. Responding to the benediction and command of liberation, the bed lowered to the floor and Chris immediately jumped off.
The rector looked at the bed and then at us. He was like a father to us boys. His words were decisive and dispelled much of our excitement. "Take the bed frame outside and bury it. Burn the rest. It is best to be safe. We'll bring down another bed from supply."
We did as he said and there were no further such incidents. Well, almost . . .
Why is it that we only give the demonic its due when it does parlor tricks? The fact that people become comfortable living in mortal sin is what is truly frightful. Begone Satan!