Tracy Wilkinson - The Vaticans Exorcists: Driving Out the Devil in the 21st Century

Copyright 2007 by Tracy Wilkinson

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First eBook Edition: February 2007

ISBN: 978-0-7595-1837-7

To Mike.

My experience as a journalist has more to do with wars, guerrilla movements, and political conflict than with ancient rituals of the planets largest religion. But my years in Rome have immersed me in this world of faith and devotion, and taught me to respect a system of beliefs that sometimes seems foreign.

This book was written in the spirit of attempting to understand that which is mystifying. I am grateful to the many priests, psychiatrists, patients, and others who agreed to speak to me for this project.

There are many other people whom Id like to thank: journalists John Allen and Cindy Wooden for helping me navigate the corridors of the Vatican and the intricacies of the religion; Tod Tamberg of the Los Angeles archdiocese for the discussion on ways to view evil; and Father Keith Pecklers of Romes Pontifical Gregorian University for reading pages and generally enlightening me on the teachings and workings of the Catholic Church. There are also officials at the Vatican, whose names I cannot mention, whose assistance was critical.

In the secular world, Scott Lilienfeld, a professor of psychology at Emory University in Atlanta, provided crucial insight on how the human mind works and pointed the way in research of this field.

Among my most direct collaborators, I must thank Nancy Meiman for accompanying me on my very first meeting with Father Amorth, and Pietro de Cristofaro, who, with persistence, established invaluable contacts in the pursuit of exorcists. Plus, he knows Latin.

Colleague Livia Borghese deserves special recognition; we embarked on a wonderful road trip that resulted in critical interviews and access.

And endless appreciation goes to my husband, Mike OConnor, whose support sustained me to the end.

Finally, there is one person without whom this book would not be possible. Maria de Cristofaro identified the trend of exorcisms and saw the potential for a good story long before I did. It was her belief in the topic that kept this project alive, and it was her guidance that carried it each step of the way.

Any errors and misjudgments are my own.

C aterina seems the picture of normalcy. Tall, blue-eyed, and blond, the forty-five-year-old Italian woman has the slender, taut body of the professional dancer she is. She comes from a good family, the daughter of a surgeon and a music teacher. She speaks calmly and intelligently, not an intellectual but a person with education and grace.

Her exorcist is Father Efrem Cirlini of Bologna.

At seventy-nine years of age, Father Efrem is one of the oldest of Italys approximately 350 exorcists. He looks a bit like Santa Claus, a man with a full, bushy white beard who cuts a rotund figure under his roughhewn tan cassock. He wears a thick leather belt around his ample waist and a tiny wooden cross pinned to the left side of his chest. Caterina and Efrem have been meeting weekly for years, sometimes just for prayer, and sometimes for what both describe as a full-blown exorcism of the demons that possess this troubled woman.

An authentic exorcism, like psychotherapy, is not a one-shot deal. It can take many, many attempts to banish the devil. What happens in Italy, in numerous Catholic churches, is a Vatican-sanctioned ritual involving people who truly believe. This is not Hollywood.

On a hot late summer morning, Caterina and Efrem met for one of their sessions. It was a Friday, and these appointments are as much a part of Caterinas schedule as going to the dentist or teaching one of her dance classes. She stepped casually through the heavy wooden doors of the sixteenth-century Ss. Gregorio e Siro Church, on a back street in central Bologna, where Father Efrem practices. Outside, Smart cars and motorbikes pushed through a city as famous for its communist governments as its renaissance architecture, with buildings the color of terra cotta. Inside, elderly women dressed all in black whispered prayers at small hushed chapels and lit devotional candles. Modernity and tradition, two worlds seemingly as different as could be. And yet here they do not collide, they intersect. A contemporary Bolognan seeks help in an ancient ritual.

Father Efrem and Caterina began solemnly and rhythmically with prayers and blessings. But within minutes Caterina transformed into another soul, at times angry, at times mournful, emitting voices from some unknown place deep in her body and bone-chilling screams that echoed under the vaulted ceilings of a side room inside the cavernous medieval church.

Padre nostro, che sei nei cieli, sia santificato il tuo nome, they recited at first, in unison. Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name...

Caterina sat in a green plastic chair in the center of the room. The tools of the exorcism were laid out on a large oval wooden table to one side: the red book of rites and prayers; a silver crucifix; a bottle of holy water from Lourdes, and a small plastic canister of holy oil. Efrem lifted and placed a purple satin stole around his neck, then stood off to Caterinas right side. Her eyes darted around the room, finally focusing on a distant point. She worked her right thumb against her left hand, rubbing, kneading, worrying.

Ave Maria, full of grace.... Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death....

Efrem moved behind Caterina, placed his hands on her head, and then anointed her forehead, making the sign of the cross with holy oil. It is these blatantly religious symbols that most pester the devil, say priests. Immediately Caterinas face contorted, her cheeks flushed. Efrem pressed on, making signs of the cross on each hand and the nape of her neck. She grimaced, as if in pain. Her voice suddenly became weak and raspy, even as she continued to attempt to recite a prayer. Ges Cristo! Jesus Christ! Then her body convulsed violently, a seizure wringing her lanky frame.

I cant do it! she boomed in a voice deeper than what seemed possible. Repeatedly she exhaled air, blowing through her lips almost comically, like a child blowing bubbles, and as if she were expelling inner toxic fumes. She shook her head back and forth, back and forth.

Alternately, her normal voice returned, then other voices emerged: the hoarse, laryngitis voice; a little girl voice; and most dramatically, the deep masculine voice. At times, she even spoke of herself using masculine verb conjugations and pronouns. It was, Efrem explained later, the devil himself speaking.

Alarmed but persistent, Father Efrem placed a large crucifix against her throat. Pray for us! he implored to a litany of saints. Saint Michael, pray for us. Saint Gabriel, pray for us. Saint Raphael, pray for us. Caterina attempted to push the cross away and rolled her eyes in disgust. Her violent reactions surged when the priest uttered the name of John Paul II, the late pope. She clasped her head, then hurled forward. Each time the priest removed the cross, she lost her voice again, choking. Signore piet. Lord, have pity! Efrem cried. Free us, oh Lord! Suddenly, Caterina began emitting groans that sounded like a monster vomiting. Over and over. She sat ramrod erect in the green chair, her hands frozen into claws. This is foul! she growled, huffing. Basta stupido prete! Enough, you stupid priest!