The
healing service was a wonderful success. The priest who offered the Mass
was a holy old man filled with the Spirit of God. He admitted that he had
not chosen this particular ministry, it had chosen him; or better yet,
God had called him to it.
Fr. John Lubey told me this story a number of years ago prior to a healing Mass he was celebrating. I remember that evening clearly because my ailing father would attend Mass in a church for the last time that night. Ironically, although my father would linger several years as an invalid, Fr. Lubey preceded my father into eternity by a few months. They were dear friends.
Many years earlier it had all started with a blessing after Sunday services. A woman was wheeled over to him crippled by arthritic disintegration of a hip. X-rays had shown the hip bone to be virtually destroyed. She was in great pain. He offered a special prayer over her and gave a blessing. He thought little of it, until he saw the woman again two weeks later, walking into his church. He could not believe his eyes. She informed him that the pain had gone away almost as soon as he had blessed her. When she went back to the doctor a few days later, new X-rays were taken. She brought them to show him. Where before there was no hip at all, there was now a perfectly sound one. The news spread. His special mission as a healer had started. To this day he has always insisted that every priest is a healer. Like I said, he was a holy man, humbled by God's use of him.
He warned those coming up at the end of Mass that they might fall backward in the utter peace of sleeping in the Spirit. He laid hands upon their heads and prayed; sure enough, like dominoes, they people were caught by spotters and gently placed on the floor. After a few moments, most would get up to be replaced by others in line. It was quite a sight.
The night had gone long, but he would never turn anyone away. This particularly evening a woman, somewhat insistent, addressed him after most of the others had left.
"Father, I need your help terribly. Feeling the peace of Christ here tonight makes me even more concerned about going home," she stammered.
"What is it child?" he asked with real concern in his voice.
"It's our house. Since we moved in a few months ago, things have just not been right. We've all had sore throats of which we cannot get rid. There are constant accidents involving the children, some of which have meant injuries slow to heal. I often suffer from nausea."
The old priest interrupted, "Dear, I hear what you are saying, but what can I do other than what I have done tonight?"
"Oh Father, you don't know the half of it. You've blessed me and my family, but I want you to bless my house," she said.
"I am an old man, it is hard for me to get around and I no longer drive. Your parish priest could do this for you," he suggested.
"Please Father, I want you. We are so very afraid. The nightmares are unbearable. And then there are the noises and invisible footsteps. Objects suddenly lost and found in rooms where you know you did not take them. Our holy pictures refuse to hang straight on the wall. Sometimes the most awful smells come out of nowhere. Father, there is something evil in my house, and I am desperately afraid. The freedom I have felt from it tonight, makes me all the more concerned about going home."
The old priest listened. She did not seem like a crazy woman. Her family standing nearby collaborated her story. Each of them was convinced that there was something bad, or as one of their children said, something nasty in the house.
The healer appointed by God had no other choice. "Okay," he said, "I will come."
Age and poor eyesight required that they drive him to the house. The route was a long one, taking him to the opposite end of the archdiocese, down into St. Mary's County, MD. The house was large and looked quite old. Located in a rural area, there were many nearby farms and a military installation.
The sun had gone down on what had been a long hot day. The priest of God followed the family into the house. All were quiet. No sooner had he entered, did he feel a bit queasy in his stomach. He was too much an old veteran of spiritual combat to be upset by the stories he had heard. No, this upset was caused by something else-- something unseen-- a presence-- in the house. He only said a few words and motioned for a glass of water. He offered a benediction over it and then took the glass, dipping his fingers into it and sprinkling the water as he blessed the rooms of the house.
He did the kitchen-- the dining room-- the living room-- the various bedrooms-- even the bedrooms and closets. A definite scratching noise could be heard as he entered each apartment of the home which would dissipate with the echoing of his prayers. The family followed him ever so closely, almost tripping over each other as they used the old man as a shield against the unwanted presence. He turned his direction to the basement and descended the stairs. Becoming suddenly quite dizzy, he grabbed tightly to the banister.
"Are you all right, Father?" spoke the woman of the house, more than a little bit alarmed.
"Um, just give me a minute," he replied, and then he continued his dissent. The children stayed upstairs. The priest noted this as another sign of something below. Children often have a special sense of such things invisible to adults. Note that little ones are often afraid of the dark. Perhaps adults are too quick to assert, "There's nothing in the dark that isn't there in the light"?
The cleric sprinkled the water with earnest and implored a blessing upon the house and all its inhabitants. The temperature of the room became colder. There was still something here-- something fighting to stay. But he had blessed the entire house, or had he? He looked around. Lost in the shadows of one side of the basement he spied a square of wood with a lock upon it. He looked closer-- yes, he was right, it was a door-- about half the height of a regular door.
"What's in there?" he inquired.
"Well I'll be," said the husband and father of the home, "I never noticed that before. I have no idea what's in there."
"The trouble is coming from here," observed the priest, "break the padlock."
A hammer was found and the lock was hit several times before it gave. The old priest asked and was given help opening the door. As the door opened, the temperature dropped even more and a vapor of air arose from the room lost in darkness. Their nostrils were assaulted by a sickly sweet smell which quickly became foul.
"It stinks," said the woman.
The priest stooped over to look inside. "It smells of something worse than our noses can detect. But it's too dark to see very far. We need a flashlight."
Several were brought down from upstairs. The priest kept vigil at the hatchway to a dark reality. He was tired. Younger men should be at such work. But alas, he thought, "Not my will but thine be done."
He entered the secret room. His breath left his mouth as a cloud. There was more than a chill in the air, this small room was freezing. The walls had been painted a blackish red. There was a desk and a chair. Upon the desk were books dealing with witchcraft and the occult arts. Upon the floor were stacks of old pornographic magazines. The place was utterly unclean.
He poured the water around the room and offered a blessing upon the cubicle. The scratching sounds they had heard upstairs sounded like a canon blast in the basement. Asking the others to help him, they picked up the materials around the room to destroy them. However, they found that they could not tear the pages no matter how hard they tugged.
"Quick! He said, "Get me a box!"
They put all the books and magazines in a large box and took it outside into the front yard. Since it was a farming area, he concluded they would get into little trouble for burning the stuff.
They made an area for the fire and lit a match. The fire went out. They tried again. The same thing happened.
The priest turned to the adults, "Do you have any gasoline?" he asked.
"We have some for the lawnmower, I'll go get it," said the head of the house.
The fuel was poured all over the books and magazines. A match was truck. The fire started very small but as the priest prayed the flame grew and blossomed. The pages kept trying to escape the flames and a few had to be chased and returned to the inferno. May the demon or demons here, thought the old holy man, leave this family alone and return to the everlasting flames of hell.
After all the materials had been consumed, including the desk and chair, the priest returned to the basement room. He blessed it again and consecrated the home to the Sacred Heart, leaving a picture of this depiction of Jesus in the subterranean room. The cold vanished and peace came to their house and to its family.
This story was told to me by the priest himself who was involved. It reminds us of the infestation of sin and the efficacy of the power of Jesus in the Church to exorcize it.