Exorcism, Ann Arbor Style

Published in Faithlinks October 27, 2002 (www.faithlinks.org)

"Exorcism, Ann Arbor Style"
by Matthew Lawrence
© 2002 Matthew Lawrence

It's not that we thought our new house was haunted, per se. I mean, we had never seen specters in the attic or blood seeping through the walls or furniture hanging from the ceiling or any of those other silly haunted house clichés.  No, it was more out of tradition than anything that we held an exorcism in our house a week after moving in.

It might seem strange to you but this is how it works in my religion: as soon as you've moved into a new home, you invite a friendly priest and two dozen of your best friends over for a little ghostbusting.  Your priest calls it a House Blessing because he wants you to focus on the positive, but you know none of this would be necessary if it weren't for the dark spirits that you suspect might be lurking in the shadows.  I mean, sure, it's all sweetness and light on the invitation but just wait until the gruesome goblin comes flying out of the closet!  Then won't you be surprised!

Well, so would I, actually.  Like I said, it's not as if we actually believed the house was possessed.  We're just a bunch of liberal Episcopalians -- I doubt our priest even believes in the devil.  But let me tell you, when it's the first night in your old new house and you're lying awake at two in the morning and you hear strange sounds coming from the basement like someone trapped inside a brick wall and you find yourself envying your children because they have their parents nearby and you don't, it helps to know that your house will soon be officially certified as demon-free by a bona-fide religious authority.  Even if he is an Episcopalian who talks about the Mythic Imagination a bit more often than is absolutely necessary.  (By the way, it's very important that the priest performs the exorcism in one of those impressive black robes. If he shows up wearing anything less than The Full Get-Up ask him politely if he really expects your Mythic Imagination to be triggered by a golf shirt and khakis.)

Once the priest is properly attired we gather in the living room munching hors d'oeurves and slurping wine until everyone is feeling brave, and the priest reads something from the Bible and makes some wry comments that leave you wondering what he actually believes.  Then off we go on a parade from room to room.  It's sort of an apocalyptic home tour: arriving in each room, you receive compliments on your color schemes and drapery, then join your friends in a cosmic battle of good against evil.  The priest is spraying holy water on the walls while you are carrying a lit candle or a bowl of water or if you're lucky the swinging incense pot, and everyone is praying and chanting and harrowing the hounds of hell from under the beds.

The best part comes when the priest gathers us in a circle holding hands.  He gets us droning like Buddhist monks, some of us high and some of us low, while a musician friend gives us a drum roll on some bongo drums and another plays some Tibetan wind chimes. The priest holds out a cross and presents it to all the corners of the house while he whispers a prayer that sounds vaguely Latin, and then he comes into the center of the circle and his voice gets louder and louder: "Let the mighty power of Holy God be present in this place to BANISH from it every unclean spirit, to CLEANSE it from every residue of evil, and to make it a SECURE HABITATION for those who dwell in it; in the Name of Jesus Christ our Lord!"  Then he claps three times and we all stamp our feet and shout "Amen!"

After that, we figure we're pretty safe.

The Rev. Matthew Lawrence
Chaplain, Canterbury House
Director, Institute for Public Theology