On Thu, May 22, 2008 at 1:52 PM, Caleb Alan Pritchard <
cpritchard2001@gmail.com <mailto:
cpritchard2001@gmail.com>> wrote:
I don't have time to read the full thing because we're about to
hit the road. The first few paragraphs are very promising though.
Jindal, you will no doubt remember, is that goofy hick-punjab
<
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rg5GWI7UKtQ> from Louisiana who is
on the short-list of McCain's Veep choices.
/New Oxford Journal /charged me $1.50 for the article and I can
only view it online for 48 hours, so here's the cut-and-pasted
version:
*BEATING A DEMON*
*Physical Dimensions of Spiritual Warfare*
*December 1994**By Bobby Jindal*
/Updated bio (2008): Bobby Jindal converted to Catholicism from
Hinduism as a teenager. In 1992, he graduated from Brown
University,where the following events took place. Afterwards, he
received a master's degree in politics from New College, Oxford as
a Rhodes Scholar. After serving two terms in the United States
House of Representatives (R-Louisiana) he is now Governor of
Louisiana. Some of the names in this article, but none of the
details, have been altered by the author. /
Though she had not said anything, I knew something was wrong.
Susan and I had developed an intimate friendship; indeed, our
relationship mystified observers, who insisted on finding a
romantic component where none existed. I called her after the
University Christian Fellowship (UCF) meeting -- UCF is an
Inter-Varsity Christian group composed of undergraduate and
graduate students. Though the interdenominational group's weekly
program of songs and prayers had produced the usual emotional high
among most members, Susan had left the meeting in a very sullen
mood. I asked her to join a group of us who were attending a
Christian /a cappella/ concert to be held on campus that same
evening.
Despite our intimacy, Susan and I had not spent much time together
this past year. We had succumbed to pressure from our friends and
decided we should not be so emotionally interdependent without a
deeper commitment. To be honest, my fears of a relationship and
the constraints of commitment had kept us apart; our friends'
objections merely provided a convenient excuse. Still, I felt
comfortable asking her to come to the concert, and she accepted
the invitation. Though Susan appeared composed throughout the
concert, her sudden departure in the middle of a song convinced
me otherwise and affirmed my earlier suspicions.
There was no doubt in my mind that I had to leave my friends and
follow her outside. I was not exactly sure what I would do or say,
but I knew I had to run after her. I found that she had not gone
far, but was sobbing uncontrollably outside the auditorium. Since
we had been very careful to avoid any form of physical contact in
our friendship, I was not sure how to respond. My inaction and her
sobs produced a very awkward situation. Fortunately, a female
friend who followed us out was able to comfort Susan with hugs
and soothing words of reassurance; her quick action was in stark
contrast to my paralysis. Once Susan had regained her composure
and fell silent, I knew I had to intervene. The female friend
meant well, but did not know Susan well enough to provide the
advice Susan was sure to seek.
Not even knowing the cause of this raucous scene, I asked Susan if
she would like to talk, and volunteered to walk her home. Wanting
to avoid any additional embarrassing scenes, I thought it best to
remain in silence while we walked. I dared not cause another
emotional outpouring until we were safely behind closed doors.
When we finally reached her dorm room, I promptly sat Susan on a
bed and placed myself in a chair located several feet across the
room. This physical arrangement was hardly conducive to the love
and support I was supposed to be providing, but I was too scared
and unsure of myself to get any closer.
Taking a very businesslike approach, I queried Susan as to the
cause of her distress. At first the words were slow to come and
the few that she uttered made little sense. Gradually the words
formed sentences and the sentences arranged themselves into a
coherent story. A jumble of events was transformed into a logical
sequence with a common theme of cause and effect. She had noticed
a lump on her scalp, had visited the university health clinic, and
had a biopsy performed. "Biopsy!" One thought replaced all others
-- "benign or malignant?" The results had indicated skin /cancer./
Cancer, in any form, is a disease with a very powerful ability to
capture our attention and unleash great waves of fear within us
all. The word itself, and the hopelessness it conjures up, causes
us instinctively to whisper condolences; our minds automatically
turn to the horrors of chemotherapy. Radiation, hair loss, and
death all seemed very real. No wonder poor Susan was devastated.
I quickly collected my thoughts and returned my attention to
Susan. Not only had the prognosis scared her, but she had found
little or no comfort among her friends. They considered skin
cancer a minor affliction, something that affects those whose
vanity causes them to tan in the sun too long. The only friend who
expressed concern was worried about the possibility of contagious
cancerous cells. Her friends, many of them pre-meds aspiring to be
compassionate and skilled physicians one day, noted that a simple
operation would remove the tumor, and then simply laughed the
entire matter away. She had felt foolish about her worries and
joined their laughter; however, her smile merely masked her inner
worries and fears. It was these repressed fears that had led to
her emotional outburst earlier that night.
As I listened to Susan recount these events, I wondered how we had
grown so far apart. There were now other guys in her life and many
friends I had barely met. I had insisted on emotional distance to
allow us to develop independence, but that was ridiculous. Susan
was my best friend and I hardly knew what was happening in her
life. I soon found myself breaking my silence; until this point, I
had hardly needed to prompt Susan to speak and had not even
provided soothing remarks. Now, I suddenly started comforting her
and validating her feelings. Of course I would be there for her.
Of course I understood her fears and worries. Of course I would
reach out and touch her?
The interaction of Susan's revelations and my assurances had
produced another outpouring of emotion, hysteria, and tears.
Against my will, I found myself reaching out and holding her hand.
I promised to stand by her forever, to be the rock against which
she could lean, to accompany her to the doctor's office and the
operating room. I never stopped to think of the significance of my
valiant pledges; I assumed any good friend would react similarly
in the same situation. How could any decent person turn away a
desperate woman in such need?
The tears vanished as suddenly as they appeared several times
throughout the night. Susan was even stable long enough for me to
buy her milk to ease the gastric pains caused by her anxiety. She
was literally worrying herself sick. I realized my words of
comfort were only temporary measures and were not enough to
provide her with long-term support. However, I did not go far
enough. Instead of directing Susan to depend on a source far more
dependable and stronger than myself -- i.e., our Christian faith,
her own inner strength, or even a professional care provider -- I
continued trying to solve her problems myself.
During Susan's next wave of tears, I found myself putting my arm
around her to provide both physical and emotional support. We were
soon sitting on the bed next to each other, and I told her a
fairy tale. Instead of tackling all of her problems at once, we
took each individual concern -- e.g., upcoming finals -- and
magically solved it. Her problems began to seem insignificant and
our ability to overcome adversity soon assumed heroic
proportions. We were soon laughing, and despair was definitely
vanquished, at least for the night. We were both startled to find
my arm around her shoulder, but she asked that I continue to hold
her for just a few moments longer. I happily complied and we
embraced her problems away; along with my soothing words, the
simple gesture of a hug was enough to bring peace to Susan's heart
for one night.
Susan had finally found a friend willing to believe and
understand her worries; she no longer had to pretend that cancer
did not frighten her. She was terrified, and I understood. I was
able to mix the almost contradictory states of empathy and
aloofness; Susan needed me to share her fears and yet still be
strong enough to comfort her. I was her partner in misery and yet
also served as her knight in shining armor.
The peace and our renewed closeness were not to last long. Susan
and I had consciously maintained a fairly distant friendship over
the year and the night's openness was a glaring exception. Scared
of her own feelings and dependence on me, Susan made it a point to
avoid me the next few days and answered my queries about her
well-being succinctly and coldly. Our relationship stayed in this
détente mode for an entire month. During this time, Susan's
doctors were preparing her for the operation. The relatively
simple procedure would not involve many days in the hospital and
had a very high chance of success.
Susan and I may have never confronted each other had it not been,
ironically, for our pride. We continued meeting for meals and
engaged in superficial conversation, focused on the weather,
sports, and any other topic except for cancer and our friendship.
The catalyst for our confrontation was a silly misunderstanding
over a dinner. Susan did not show up at the cafeteria at our
agreed upon time and made little effort to warn me of the
scheduling conflict that caused her absence. This inconvenience,
minor under normal circumstances, proved to be the starting point
of an intense struggle of wills. We fought to prove who could be
the most stubborn and arrogant; the result was a tie, with both of
us losing.
Waiting for an apology, I refused to talk with Susan for a week.
She decided I was being silly and refused to admit any error on
her part. Somehow, we finally searched deep and found the maturity
to discuss our differences. The strain of our open hostility
during the week and quiet indifference during the month had beaten
down both of our wills. We could hold our breath no longer.
We quickly settled the matter about the dinner and then turned our
attention to the real cause of the tension between us. For the
first time in a month, one of us mentioned the night of the
concert, the night I first heard of Susan's affliction. This talk
was very different in character from our last serious discussion;
whereas before I had provided support and comfort for a helpless
Susan, this was truly a battle of wills between two strong and
independent individuals. We discussed issues as varied as our
true feelings for each other and Susan's upcoming operation.
Then Susan confessed that she was disturbed by recent nightmares.
I accepted this as a normal reaction to a very difficult semester.
One of Susan's closest friends from home, her Bible study leader
there, had committed suicide shortly before Susan found the lump.
Adding insult to injury, she learned of his death through a
newspaper article, since her family and friends were too scared to
tell her. The operation alone would have been overwhelming for any
emotionally healthy individual. Given the loss of a dear friend
from home, the tension with one's best friend at school, and the
pressures of a very demanding academic schedule, it is a miracle
that Susan remained sane; nightmares hardly seemed a cause for alarm.
Then Susan started saying words like "visions" instead of
nightmares, and I began to get worried and scared. I had always
known that Susan was a charismatic Christian, but had thought
little of what such labels meant. She had told me of speaking in
tongues during certain prayers and even seeing visions in her
dreams as a child, but I had never pushed her to talk about such
things. I figured that what I did not know could not hurt me. How
wrong I was!
Susan started describing various odors (which others would later
ascribe to the sulfur that supposedly accompanies the devil),
sounds, and appearances that both she and her roommate had
witnessed. They had even called maintenance, which had found the
odors but not the cause. Her roommate, neither charismatic nor
Christian, had seen, heard, and smelled the same things, but had
not known how to interpret the events. I was about to hear Susan's
understanding of her visions and the accompanying disturbances.
A senior in UCF and a leader of my Bible study group had once
asked me if I believed in angels, spirits, and other such
apparitions. I had recently heard a priest confidently proclaim
that the Bible's words on such phenomena were never meant to be
interpreted literally; he had historical evidence that incidents
involving spirits were merely metaphors for tangible events. Being
a new Catholic and very eager to avoid the subject, I had accepted
the priest's views without question. After I related my doubts,
the senior proceeded to describe recent incidents involving
mutual acquaintances -- e.g., a woman who claimed demons inflicted
physical scars on her arms. I remained polite, but incredulous.
The issue of spirits did not affect me, and I was thus content to
leave its resolution to others. I had no opinions or feelings on
the subject.
But Susan was forcing me to take a stand on the entire issue of
spirits and charismatic Christians. Having given the subject
little thought, I was hardly ready to present an informed opinion.
Susan was my closest friend and I would have tried to believe her
had she claimed Martians had kidnapped her; friends are supposed
to believe in each other even when nobody else does. Despite my
verbal reassurances and lack of condemnations, Susan knew me well
enough to see that I was having problems accepting her visions
and spirits. I was doing everything I could to convey my support
and sympathy; however, I was definitely in unfamiliar territory
and was overwhelmed by the strength of her convictions. I wavered
between my loyalty to Susan and the apparent irrationality of her
claims.
I left the room we were in for a moment, on some flimsy pretense,
made the sign of the cross in desperation, and pleaded with God
for divine assistance. Seconds after I re-entered the room, Susan
angrily lashed out at me, telling me she never wanted to talk with
me again since I did not love her, and ran out in tears. I tried
following her, to no avail. I did not understand what I had done.
All I could think was, "Gee, thanks God. So much for prayer." I
realized that Susan had never fully presented her interpretation
of the recent events in her life, and I had not had the chance to
accept or reject her claims. The entire conversation remained very
nebulous in my mind, and many of Susan's reactions made little
sense. I had a vague sense that her anger and tears involved both
my inability to care for her and also my inability to understand
her recent experiences.
I was stunned, and so was hardly prepared for what was to follow
the next day. While Susan's older sister flew in to provide
comfort during this trying time, Susan visited the doctor for one
last set of tests. UCF had organized a prayer meeting that night
for Susan's upcoming operation and the intense emotional trials
she had endured. I called Susan, in an attempt to make peace, but
was greeted with cold indifference. As she was hanging up, I asked
if she wanted my presence at the prayer meeting. She declined the
offer, but suddenly changed her mind just before the line was
disconnected. I, along with several other students, gathered in a
classroom, despite the hectic finals schedule, to offer our
prayers and support for Susan. Since she was a very active member
and Bible study leader in UCF, many upperclassmen were in
attendance. These students, the most active and experienced
Protestant leaders on campus, came from different churches with
different creeds.
The meeting started, as did any other UCF gathering, with group
songs and a few prayers. We sat in a circle on the floor so we
could face one another. Susan refused to acknowledge my presence
when I entered. Though I was accustomed to feeling an emotional
high during these meetings, I felt the initial songs were a bit
dry. Given the circumstances, the group had lost much of its
normal enthusiasm. Susan's sister then asked for a period of
meditative prayer, the entire group would fall silent while
individuals would pray aloud "as the Spirit led them." This is a
common practice in both Bible studies and group meetings within
UCF. My inexperience as a new Christian and my reserved nature
prevented me from speaking during these times; rather, I prayed
silently.
After a period of group prayer, a student made a movement to end
the meeting. Suddenly, Susan emitted some strange guttural sounds
and fell to the floor. She started thrashing about, as if in some
sort of seizure. Susan's sister must have recognized what was
happening, for she ordered us to gather around and place our hands
on Susan's prostrate body. I refused to budge from my position
and froze in horror. I will never forget the first comprehensible
sound that came from Susan; she screamed my name with such an
urgency that the chill still travels down my spine whenever I
recall this moment.
Confused as to the events occurring before my very eyes, I
responded to the desperation and cry for help so evident in
Susan's voice. I wanted to rescue my friend from these horrible
people who were holding her down and ridiculing her dignity. I
tentatively approached the group and placed the edge of my
fingertip on her shoulder, as if afraid of becoming infected with
the disease that was ravaging her body. I had yet to realize that
the affliction was ravaging her soul.
In a voice I had never heard before or since, Susan accused me:
"Bobby, you cannot even love Susan." Before I even noticed the
sound of her voice, I thought it funny that Susan would refer to
herself in the third person. Then the full impact of the words hit
me. Forgetting the frantic students around me and even poor Susan
lying on the floor, I thought of our conversation the day before.
The real argument had been whether I was capable of loving Susan.
I needed the answer to be yes, more for my sake than ours. I have
always been a closed and relatively unemotional person and needed
to know that my best friend felt that I at least could love her,
due to some very strong remarks made two years before by my former
girlfriend (hardly an objective source), I was beginning to doubt
that I had the capacity for feeling.
Knowing that I was doing Susan no good, I quickly retreated to the
opposite side of the room. Susan proceeded to denounce every
individual in the room, often citing very private and confidential
information she could not possibly have known on her own. It was
information capable of hurting individuals -- attacking people, as
she did, by revealing their hidden feelings, fears, and worries.
The night was just beginning!
The students, led by Susan's sister and Louise, a member of a
charismatic church, engaged in loud and desperate prayers while
holding Susan with one hand. Kneeling on the ground, my friends
were chanting, "Satan, I command you to leave this woman." Others
exhorted all "demons to leave in the name of Christ." It is no
exaggeration to note the tears and sweat among those assembled.
Susan lashed out at the assembled students with verbal assaults.
Though I attempted to maintain a stoic attitude and an
expressionless face, my inner fear must have been apparent to all
present. I was the only one present who remained silent and apart
from the group.
I repeated to myself that such things do not happen to normal
people. I had attended a charismatic church once, out of
curiosity, but had merely seen a congregation dance wildly, pray
enthusiastically, and speak in a language that sounded like
gibberish. I wondered how the horror unfolding before my eyes
could make any sense. I desperately wanted it all to end, but
could not leave.
Then the fear and doubts began. Though I have experienced the
normal periods of questioning, I have never come so close to
abandoning my faith as I did that night. I could not pray to God.
I tried as hard as I could, but I couldn't. Out of desperation, I
called upon the saints to articulate my prayers and rescue me from
this living nightmare. Though I had never prayed with the saints
before, I began to understand the Church's teaching of the unity
within the One Body. I pleaded with the saints in Heaven to offer
God the prayers I was unable to formulate.
Susan's sister sent someone to call a local minister experienced
in such matters. Some desperate part of my brain wondered if we
should also call the campus priest. I wanted the full authority of
the Church to confront this demon, or whatever was causing this
horrible scene. I wanted the priest to bring the Eucharist and
watch the spirits fall before the power of Christ's Real Presence.
But I was scared. I wondered what would happen if the Eucharist
did nothing and the priest was helpless. What if the consecrated
Bread was just bread? What if the Church had no power over the
cause of Susan's bizarre behavior? I was unable to pray and too
frightened to test my Church's spiritual strength.
I, like many other students feeling the effects of the night, was
swaying from exhaustion. I was mentally, emotionally, physically,
and spiritually drained of everything I possessed. I was ready to
give up. I rubbed my hands over my face and through my hair in an
attempt to stir hidden reserves of energy. Though her eyes had
been closed the entire time and I was kneeling several feet away,
Susan must have sensed my actions. Addressing me for the second
and last time, Susan told me to leave because I was tired.
Whenever I concentrated long enough to begin prayer, I felt some
type of physical force distracting me. It was as if something was
pushing down on my chest, making it very hard for me to breathe.
Being a biology major at the time, I greeted this feeling with
skepticism and rational explanations. I checked my pulse for signs
of nervousness and wondered what could cause such a sensation.
Shortness of breath is a common symptom that can mean very little
or may signal the onslaught of a fatal stroke. Though I could find
no cause for my chest pains, I was very scared of what was
happening to me and Susan. I began to think that the demon would
only attack me if I tried to pray or fight back; thus, I resigned
myself to leaving it alone in an attempt to find peace for myself.
I gave up all attempts at prayer and admitted conditional defeat.
The effort succeeded and I felt relief immediately. There were no
more mysterious forces and I was able to watch the proceedings
with the security of an outsider, beyond the immediate reality of
the frenzied action I was witnessing. It may have been I was
trying too hard to pray and be there for Susan; however, the sense
of fear and dread felt like more than mere anxiety at the time.
Maybe she sensed our weariness; whether by plan or coincidence,
Susan chose the perfect opportunity to attempt an escape. She
suddenly leapt up and ran for the door, despite the many hands
holding her down. This burst of action served to revive the tired
group of students and they soon had her restrained once again,
this time half kneeling and half standing. Alice, a student leader
in Campus Crusade for Christ, entered the room for the first time,
brandishing a crucifix. Running out of options, UCF had turned to
a rival campus Christian group for spiritual tactics. The preacher
had denied our request for assistance and recommended that we not
confront the demon; his suggestion was a little late. I still
wonder if the good preacher was too settled to be roused from bed,
or if this supposed expert doubted his own ability to confront
whatever harassed Susan.
Alice's presence countered Susan's recent burst of energy, and
Alice's confidence inspired us all. Surely Crusade's experienced
leader would be able to rescue us and reaffirm our faith in
Christ, the Bible, and everything good. Even I felt confident
enough to approach God once again; Susan's lunge for the door
awakened and invigorated me. Strangely, I found myself repeating
the Hail Mary until it became a chant. Being a recent convert to
Catholicism, I had yet to accept the Catholic doctrines
concerning Mary and considered any form of Marian devotion to be
idolatry. Though I had never before prayed a Hail Mary in my life,
I suddenly found myself incapable of any other form of prayer.
Somehow, Mary's intercessions allowed me to find peace during that
long night; I knew that I had survived the worst and that I would
exit with my faith intact. It terrified me to recall how close I
came to turning away from Christ out of fear.
The crucifix had a calming effect on Susan, and her sister was
soon brave enough to bring a Bible to her face. At first, Susan
responded to biblical passages with curses and profanities. Mixed
in with her vile attacks were short and desperate pleas for help.
In the same breath that she attacked Christ, the Bible's
authenticity, and everyone assembled in prayer, Susan would
suddenly urge us to rescue her. It appeared as if we were
observing a tremendous battle between the Susan we knew and loved
and some strange evil force. But the momentum had shifted and we
now sensed that victory was at hand.
While Alice and Louise held Susan, her sister continued holding
the Bible to her face. Almost taunting the evil spirit that had
almost beaten us minutes before, the students dared Susan to read
biblical passages. She choked on certain passages and could not
finish the sentence "Jesus is Lord." Over and over, she repeated
"Jesus is L..L..LL," often ending in profanities. In between her
futile attempts, Susan pleaded with us to continue trying and
often smiled between the grimaces that accompanied her readings of
Scripture. Just as suddenly as she went into the trance, Susan
suddenly reappeared and claimed "Jesus is Lord."
With an almost comical smile, Susan then looked up as if awakening
from a deep sleep and asked, "Has something happened?" She did not
remember any of the past few hours and was startled to find her
friends breaking out in cheers and laughter, overwhelmed by
sudden joy and relief.
My expression must have betrayed my former fears; Stacy, a
freshman I hardly knew, asked about my welfare. I was startled
that anyone would be offering me assistance when Susan should
have been the focus of attention. I eventually left the room in a
stupor. As I was leaving in a crowd, Susan's sister, who had met
me once years before, called my name and asked that I "commit my
nightlife to prayer." I hardly understood what she meant and was
startled that others continued to single me out for attention. I
nodded and looked gently at Susan, who thanked me for coming.
Though I waited for a friend to avoid being alone during the walk
home, the rest of the night proceeded without incident. My nightly
prayers, despite my apprehensions, came to me easily and I no
longer had any problems approaching God; indeed, I left that night
with a reaffirmed faith in God's power over any force in or out of
this world. If the night's events had not seemed so real, I would
have thought my earlier fears silly.
Susan stayed in the house of a missionary with experience in
spiritual warfare in foreign countries. Her sister thought it best
she stay out of her own room. Susan's roommate, the daughter of a
Hmong faith healer, had decorated the room with supposedly pagan
influences. Other theories explaining the night's events soon
surfaced. Susan's mother had once worshipped and offered a
sacrifice at a pagan altar in the Far East for her husband's
health, though he had been healed, she had been warned not to
repeat such practices, but had returned to that same altar in the
Far East upon hearing of Susan's illness. The UCF staff member
dismissed Susan's affliction as a psychological disorder,
precipitated by the semester's stress, and advised her to seek
professional help. Susan, who had experienced visions and other
related phenomena as a child, thought her intense flirting with
guys and straying away from God had led to this punishment.
When the operation occurred, the surgeons found no traces of
cancerous cells. Susan claimed she had felt healed after the group
prayer and can remember the sensation of being "purified"; she
saw her physical and spiritual afflictions as being related. The
physician's improbable explanation that the biopsy may have
removed all the cancerous tissue is no less far-fetched.
Susan still struggles with the theological implications of her
experience. Though she recalls nothing of what happened that
night, the tidbits she hears from others terrify her. Can a
Christian be "possessed"? What precipitated her attack and will it
happen again? Susan has talked with ministers, charismatic
pastors, and others. It took months before we could reestablish
our friendship and she was able to trust me. Though I do not have
the answers she desperately seeks, I have provided comfort and
support whenever Susan has fears or doubts. With holy water and
blessed crucifixes, I have even given her physical protection from
the demons that have only once reappeared, and then for a mere
moment. We have resolved the tension in our relationship and I am
developing the ability to selflessly care for others.
I now realize that Susan's initial outburst during the concert
was a cry for help. Even more terrifying than the threat of cancer
and surgery were her nightly visions. However, Susan and I
retreated behind the barriers we had built between us before she
had the chance to seek my help. Given my response, it may have
been just as well that I had not known about the true cause of her
anxiety. I had attempted to solve her problems alone and had not
once mentioned the power of prayer or the necessity of relying on
God. I cannot imagine the disastrous consequences if I had
attempted to confront Susan's visions with my own strength.
The members and leadership of UCF have never publicly discussed
what we witnessed and experienced that night, rationalizing that
it may deter new Christians. Most of us were too scared to discuss
it even among ourselves. Ironically, Alice, a lapsed Catholic and
a practicing Evangelical, had deployed a crucifix blessed by the
Pope and given to her by a friend. That night marked the beginning
of her and Louise's investigation into the Church; while serving
as presidents of UCF and Campus Crusade for Christ, both left
their leadership roles to be confirmed into the Catholic Church.
Stacy, the freshman concerned about my welfare, became a close
friend and another convert to the Church. Perhaps most amazing of
all, Susan, despite her vicious attacks against the Church while
in her trance and despite her sister's staunch opposition, has
also become an active member of the Catholic Church.
I left that classroom with a powerful belief in Mary's
intercessions and with many questions about spiritual warfare; I
also learned a lasting lesson in humility and the limits of human
understanding. Was the purpose of that night served when so many
individuals were inducted into the Church? Did I witness
spiritual warfare? I do not have the answers, but I do believe in
the reality of spirits, angels, and other related phenomena that
I can neither touch nor see.