[Wow. The Mercury wrote A LOT of stuff in 2018, and here’s a feature story that we think is worth remembering from February 21, 2018.—eds]
On an unseasonably warm Saturday morning, Archbishop James Cloud and I meet at a Starbucks in Bethany, a small suburb north of Beaverton. Bishop Cloud wears a clerical collar, with a crucifix hanging from a golden chain around his neck. He is in his mid-40s, has a playful smile, and could otherwise be mistaken for the dungeon master of a local D&D group. But we’re not here to play games. In less than an hour, I’ll be accompanying Bishop Cloud a half-mile down the road to watch him perform a home exorcism.
Finishing our coffee, I ask Bishop Cloud what to expect. It’s my first exorcism, after all, and I don’t know the protocol.
“If you have a faith, pray,” he tells me. “Get yourself centered, ready to rock, because if you go in unarmored and without faith, you can be attacked, as retribution for what I’m going to be doing. It can get scary.”