Sister Murray had spoken in tongues. But the pallid, haggard old woman’s voice was uncharacteristically guttural. It was unsettling, and confused listeners. No one came forth from the church members to interpret. Fraught whisperings weaved their way through the pews. Reverend Cox ran fretting fingers through his dirty-blond hair. He had started this small, storefront church five years ago in 1961, but he had never expected something like this to happen. A silent rebuke meant her utterances were unholy. It would be humiliating for one of such longstanding conviction, but she had to be brought before the congregation.

"There is a person among us who is possessed! Possessed of a demon with a deceiving tongue! A demon that would spread its iniquity among everyone here, should we let it. But that will not happen. This church is strong! This church will bind its members like sticks in a bundle, so that it will not break. I command this demon to come forward! I command it in the name of the most powerful, of He who would vanquish it. Come forward!"

Sister Murray's old, aching bones shivered. After all these years, could this really have happened to her? She was an upstanding member of her congregation. She had spoken in tongues many times over her life. There had always been an interpretation. But not today. How was that possible? Had the Holy Spirit, here in her last days, forsaken her? Yes, she hadn't sounded like herself, but an old woman's voice sometimes fails her. Now, she had no choice but to squeeze through her pew and come forward. When she got to the front of the church, her strength left her, and she went to her knees. Only her faith provided the strength to lift her sallow, veiny arms up toward Heaven. Reverend Cox spoke from the pulpit.

"Yea, even a devout woman who has spent a lifetime serving the Lord can fall to Satan's trickery. One of his minions has forced his way into the heart of our beloved sister. We renounce you, vile devil! Remove this evil thorn you've thrust into her soul. God the Father and Jesus his Son command it. This congregation commands it. Come out!" Reverend Cox came feverishly forth from the pulpit, but recoiled when he neared Sister Murray. He tried again to approach her, but his body fell back as before. Running his hand again through his hair, he returned to the refuge of the pulpit.

"This is a powerful demon! Every soul in this church must turn their spirit upon it. Invoke God to loosen its grip! Pray, brothers and sisters, pray as you've never prayed before!" Sister Murray was losing her last bit of strength. It was hard to keep her arms in the air. But she knew she must not lose this lifeline to the Lord. If it took the last bit of determination she had in this world, she must keep reaching for God's grace. The congregation responded to Reverend Cox's behest. Sisters moaned, men shook their hands above them in the air. The church was full with the Holy Spirit.

Reverend Cox reached into the pulpit and produced a small glass bottle of bless oil. He poured some on his palms and rubbed them together. Again he tried to approach Sister Murray. This time, he was able to close the distance. With his palms upon her temples, his face grimaced.

"Out, wretched toad! Leave this lamb of God! Go back to your master. You shall not claim this righteous woman this day!" Sister Murray shrieked, so loudly that the church went silent. Her outstretched arms fell to her sides and her entire body seemed to wilt.

"I've no more strength, Lord," she said in a whisper. A tall deacon got up and led her to his chair, got her a cup of water.

"This demon is gone from our midst! Praise God!" said Reverend Cox.

"I think we need to call Sister Murray an ambulance," said the deacon.

"I'll be fine," she said. "If this devil is gone, I'll be fine."

At home, an exhausted Sister Murray rested on her couch, contemplating for hours what had happened. Day turned to night as she pored over her years with the pentecostal church. It unnerved her to examine them so skeptically, but today seemed to demand it. Memories of her first easter outfit, her baptism, her joining the church choir, the first time she had spoken in tongues, all came forward in her mind like evidence at a trial. No true god, this secular prosecution insisted, could put an old woman through what she had endured this day. It seemed impossible, but a lifetime of devotion had been counterswayed by one cruel, mortifying morning. She had – here, in what surely were her last years - lost faith! Was it conceivable for one so devout to turn completely from god in the course of a day?

It was.

Her eyes filled with tears at the lifetime she had wasted serving this god – this false god. In turns, she felt betrayed, ashamed, deflated, outraged.

But mostly, Miriam Murray felt...free.