Mercy and Prison

Today is Divine Mercy Sunday, and, while I didn't consider this until a fellow volunteer pointed it out, I spent it engaging in a corporal work of mercy.  There's something beautiful and humbling about that in a way.  Though, every time I enter a prison for Mass, I feel that humility set in, regardless of the Sunday it is.

When you walk into a prison, you surrender your freedom as readily as those who are locked inside.  Once you're through the sally port, where there are two sets of doors on a hallway that outside runs between the two lines of fencing with razor wire, you're entirely in the world of the correctional institution.  Every movement is monitored and must be approved.  Identification is checked again, as is UV light hand marks that identify you as a volunteer.  Prior to even going in, we all signed waivers just in case the unthinkable might happen.

Inside the walls of the institution, you remain yourself, not a number like the guys who are incarcerated.  That said, you become acutely aware that you should not deviate from the path to the chapel.  Knowing you've left your freedom at the door can be a terrifying experience for some of the newer volunteers, but it becomes an accepted fact.  For me though, it is a humbling experience...the guards are nice enough, as long as you follow orders and go where you should; however, I have given my freedom to them.  I don't control my destiny within those walls, God and the people with the uniforms do.

Once inside the chapel, we all set up the chairs and open the Stations of the Cross on the walls.  People divide up and practice the songs and chants, or like me, separate the missals for music and readings into pairs to hand out at the doors.  We try to use their first names as they come in, one volunteer remembers each one of them.  This is to try to show that we care, the Church cares, and there is life after prison; inside the walls of the institution they are referred to by their number, but we refer to them as people. 

Today we had a lot of people we normally don't see.  We even had a couple of new faces who were there to support their friend, who was being confirmed and brought into the Church.  This threw off the "we know your name" thing, but it also brought great joy to see new faces at Mass!  One of the men was a Muslim who was there to take the photo of the moment his friend was anointed and was missing his own prayer meeting to be there.

It was a beautiful Mass.  And there is just something surreal being in that environment and telling a man in the Department of Corrections inmate uniform, "Peace be with you".  Especially after trying to enter another facility in the county earlier in the week and being unable to due to a lockdown over a violent incident.  Along those lines though, I rarely sit with my back facing one of the inmates, just in case; we're not in a low security facility and there are certain innate precautions you take if you can.  Today, I was so busy greeting, that I sat in the middle of a number of the guys; and told myself two things:  God is in control and These guys mostly like you.  With that in mind, I didn't dwell on it.

The Confirmation went swimmingly, with the joy evident upon the face of the inmate showing this wasn't just about looking good to maybe get out early.  I wish I could see that joy on most Catholic confirmees I see!  His Muslim friend with the camera worked to get a shot just as he was anointed with the holy oils, and was utterly respectful and seemed happy for him.

As we entered Communion, the newly confirmed man went first and he knelt and received on the tongue.  This drew a number of stares from both volunteers and inmates alike.  This, more than anything, is what amazes me most about volunteering in prison ministry.  Not kneeling and taking the Lord's Body on the tongue, but the reverence many of the inmates show.  I try to keep custody of the eyes, but I have seen tears fall down the faces of burly and tattooed men before as they receive the Eucharist in this environment.  I have watched the Sign of the Cross not be used as a hand wave, but as a deliberate motion undertaken in all seriousness. 

As the Mass ended, there were refreshments as part of the celebration of one man coming into the Church.  Father had to work hard to get them approved, but all the guys were really happy to have them.  I could have partaken as well, but chose not to.  What I didn't eat or drink was more that they could, not normally having the chance to do so with the cookies available.  The man who came into the Church barely touched them either, he was still beaming with joy as volunteers and inmates alike congratulated him.

Soon it was time to leave.  Back through the door once the guard said it was alright and across the yard back to the sally port.  Then having our IDs and hand markings checked, back through to the other side and our freedom that we hopefully took a little less granted than normal.  

Every time I go to the prison, I find my faith renewed.  I don't do this intending it as a corporal work of mercy, though it's amazing that this one landed on Divine Mercy Sunday.  Rather, I do it to be able to bring a bit of the outside world to those who are in a place with little hope and a great deal of dehumanization.  Any graces I may receive are just a bonus, a gift from a loving God who does not forget His children, even those who lack their freedom.