I’m ashamed to admit that I don’t know where my holy water bottle is now, but I’d like to tell you what happened approximately 40 years ago.
A friend, my 5-yr-old son, and I were going to drive my old rattletrap car to a shrine in a distant northern state during the winter. I had several empty, clean plastic milk jugs in the trunk so that we could bring home holy water, and blankets and pillows because we couldn’t afford a motel and were going to have to wrap up in the car to sleep. I had the car serviced, put a picnic basket in the trunk, and took off early on a Thursday morning, expecting to arrive at the shrine around midnight. Instead, we had three flat tires and ran out of gas unexpectedly, being told not to fill the tank more than half full because of a leak, so we had to curl up in the car overnight, one state shy of our destination.
On Friday we crossed into the state where the shrine was located, and arrived in the nearest town about 3:00 AM on Saturday morning. After stopping in town to ask directions, the car wouldn’t start and a kind man helped me to get it started. When we finally arrived at the shrine, we discovered all our jugs intended to hold holy water had been damaged and that our water jug had leaked, ruining our bread and soaking the blankets. Because we had no dry blankets, my friend and I took turns praying at the vigil and sleeping in the car, as I had to keep it running continually in order for us to be warm enough. My son went to pray when he was awake, and slept in the car when he became tired. He was so thrilled to pray the rosary there with us. His eyes shone with the delight that one so young displays when he’s lifted into an ebullient state.
We ate peanut butter on spoons and lunch meat rolled up, since we had no bread, but we didn’t go hungry. After Mass in the town on Sunday, we stopped at several houses where we begged for empty, clean plastic milk jugs. We filled all the jugs with holy water, blessed ourselves, the car, and tires and headed back home. We prayed out loud often because we had no money for tires and all three needed to be replaced; they’d been patched with the warning that they wouldn’t last long. We made it back about 6:00 AM on Monday, without a single incident. I learned that my tires were okay and didn’t need replacing, and no leak could be found in my gas tank. Hmmmmm.
The next day, I was standing , um, like a jaybird at my bathroom sink, getting ready to go to a Marian meeting. I turned on the COLD water, and scalding water came out, sputtering water hot enough to burn me, although my water normally wasn’t ever hot enough to burn my son’s tender skin. (One thing after another had occurred that morning, out of the usual, and it didn’t look as though I was going to get to attend the meeting.) I’m sorry to say that I screamed something that rhymes with “ram it” and immediately was kneeling on the floor crying my eyes out in sorrow at having wounded Our Lord with my quick show of anger. I was crying as though there were a death in the family. Meanwhile, I couldn’t get the faucet to turn off, and the steaming hot water was still sputtering all around, hissing loudly, and the room was filling with a visible steam mist. I ran to my bedroom, grabbed a jug of holy water and began throwing handfuls toward my sink, screaming so loudly that my throat hurt, “Get thee behind me, Satan! Out! Out! Out of my house!” At that time, although I believed the devil was real, I wasn’t convinced that the devil was in my bathroom; I merely wanted to be on the safe side, and was so exasperated that I didn’t know what else to do, so throwing holy water and screaming at the devil couldn’t hurt. Well, guess what? The water just fizzled to nothing and a nasty odor (not sulphur, though; can’t describe it) permeated the air. All sputtering stopped, and the faucet was totally off, yet I’d not been able to get back to the faucet for fear of getting burned again. At some point while all this was going on, it sort of sounded and felt like a wind was blowing from the sink toward the hallway. Can’t explain it any better than that. That night, one blister had developed, and a few other red marks were still visible on my torso, but everything ran smoothly in my house for a long time after that.
I can’t say with certainty, of course, but I believe that all the ridiculous wrenches thrown in our path on the way to the shrine were the work of the devil. Since my zeal and devotion had increased manyfold while at the shrine, I think the devil was working overtime that morning to thwart me. When I tell people that the devil is alive and well, that’s exactly what I mean. So, I say, on with the holy water brigade!
