a whole lot of shaking going on
By all accounts he was fine until his mid-30s. His tastes varied but stayed firmly between acceptable extremes. It wasn’t until his family saw him in the big belt buckle that they began to worry. They had seen other outward manifestations but they were willing to write it off as a “phase;” the hat, the boots, the sudden interest in NASCAR.
Once considered one of the “seven orders of God’s church,” as mentioned in the Liturgy of Saint Basil, in the 21st Century exorcists were no longer in vogue. Even still Bishop Lewis got around. Besieged by letters and e-mails from his family he finally agreed to stop by the house of the man in question and take a look for himself.
Accompanied by his Mother, Father and a sister he walked right up and rang the bell. Behind the door he heard a snippet of Will the Circle Be Unbroken announce him. He felt a familiar chill run down his spine.
He had seen it all too many times. The devil usually comes to the weak through the familiar. He wears the clothes of the ally, he works in subtleties and before you know it you’ve crossed over and invited him into your home.
He was definitely all-too-present in this home.
His parents fell back in shock. On the walls hung photos and memorabilia, a lighted display case contained a well-worn banjo and their boy, flesh of their flesh, sauntered up in nothing less than a “Save a horse, ride a cowboy” t-shirt. His mom fell back with a gasp and a little prayer escaped his sister’s lips.
With a broad sweep of his arm he invited the bishop into his living room.
There were a few pleasantries exchanged but it soon became obvious what they were there for. It was show time.
The bishop began praying earnestly, and moved slowly to the man across from him. He then laid the cross on his head and said in firm tones, “In the name of Jesus Christ I command you to go out and leave him!”
The mouth of the man in the bad t-shirt distorted and he uttered a fierce cry. “caligas et illa got alas ‘infernum rotarum et illa caelestis mori vellem mihi vivere et habitaverunt in ea cowboys et angeli!”
The bishop did not move the cross from his head, and simply repeated his command. Then the spirit, apparently wrestling against the superior power, screamed “Nos nudant pulvis, radius mea tactus est eam tentationem osculum est salus mea illa dulcis, ‘agrestia, sumus periculosum cowboys et angeli!”
The battle of wills continued, the bishop calling the spirit a “deceiver” and an “abomination.” His mother fainted.
The man began to thrash around wildly as the plastic bass hung on the wall, sounding like a chorus of demons, began to sing “Illic ‘a et eget egestas illic ‘a history inter puellas amo vos guys similis mei cowboys et angeli!”
A velvet painting of Kenny Chesney began to writhe against the wall and a fiddle suddenly flung itself across the room and exploded into pieces as it met head-on the “I Heart Nashville” mug that had made its way from the kitchen under the same demonic spell.
And then it was over.
The man crumbled at the feet of the bishop, bleary-eyed and asking forgiveness. The father could not contain himself any longer and embraced both the man and the bishop in a powerful hug.
The sister began to shake and praise God. Looking at the bishop she told him what a great man he was.
The bishop, his hand turning the doorknob as he made his leave, simply said “Down in Louisiana we call that the Boogie Woogie.”
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