I pulled this from another letter written the same day, March 5, 2011.
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Anne, I don't mean to accidentally appeal to the pitiable them of unrequited love. To clarify my last letter, let it be said: I do not consider myself worthy of the Society. No, I least of all its men show the talent to multiply ten-fold that is required for the Society's way of loving. She is a pure evaluative animal and I a beastly performance. She wants, and has had, men who through her formation were made from avid Manicheans into tart, saintly Augustines. Her disciplined institute housed the secret the works of the Kingfisher, Hopkins types living for God in obscurity, only posthumously Chardinian discovered, renowned because they lived free of ego. Full of Christ, their cups spilled over. I write to prove how faithful I am. I want you to believe in me Christ reigns.
Sunday, March 27, 2011
What Springs from Heartbreak
March 5, 2011
Dear anne,
"When the disciples saw him walking on the sea, they were terrified. 'It is a ghost,' they said, and they cried out in fear." Mt 14:26
So sensitive am I about hurts you've never once asked me to write - how do I say this? - why I left the Jesuits? Why I crossed the line? They are the same, an answer to God's call. I contemplate still signing my name Chris Spicer, SJ... but no, I have crossed out the SJ. I do not belong. Yet, and this is what makes it so hard, I know that I am a Jesuit in the true sense of the word, an offense to the Society. I remain a member of the body of Christ, a companion of Jesus. And how plain my heart bleeds with Ellacuria and companions -- that yes, of course my witness at the Ft. Benning gates bled in pain and suffering at how US Imperialism could spill the brains of the defenders of faith, paragons to the virtue promulgated by Archbishop Romero to be the voice of the voiceless. Like he, then the four US church women, the UCA martyrs shared in the fate of the poor.
What do I mean "offense?" The weaker notion is that I am not an offering that had an odor of sweetness for the Society. The stronger notion is that I am the vanguard. So I see myself, one blessed by God to go out on my own under cover of night to enter the camp of the enemy and, by dagger, wound the Kind of Darkness. To accept this mission I so resolved to accept the path outward bound, knowing that crossing the line at Ft. Benning in good conscience would not jeopardize a future application to re-enter the Society I love. I believe God would invite me to finish the work He started in me, allowing me with grace to entertain such a fantasy, burning zeal to endure a repetition of the more humbling stages of formation so that one day I emerge a fully formed man of the Exercises -- a trustworthy administer of the faith that does justice.
Ad Majorem Dei Gloriam.
Chris
Dear anne,
"When the disciples saw him walking on the sea, they were terrified. 'It is a ghost,' they said, and they cried out in fear." Mt 14:26
So sensitive am I about hurts you've never once asked me to write - how do I say this? - why I left the Jesuits? Why I crossed the line? They are the same, an answer to God's call. I contemplate still signing my name Chris Spicer, SJ... but no, I have crossed out the SJ. I do not belong. Yet, and this is what makes it so hard, I know that I am a Jesuit in the true sense of the word, an offense to the Society. I remain a member of the body of Christ, a companion of Jesus. And how plain my heart bleeds with Ellacuria and companions -- that yes, of course my witness at the Ft. Benning gates bled in pain and suffering at how US Imperialism could spill the brains of the defenders of faith, paragons to the virtue promulgated by Archbishop Romero to be the voice of the voiceless. Like he, then the four US church women, the UCA martyrs shared in the fate of the poor.
What do I mean "offense?" The weaker notion is that I am not an offering that had an odor of sweetness for the Society. The stronger notion is that I am the vanguard. So I see myself, one blessed by God to go out on my own under cover of night to enter the camp of the enemy and, by dagger, wound the Kind of Darkness. To accept this mission I so resolved to accept the path outward bound, knowing that crossing the line at Ft. Benning in good conscience would not jeopardize a future application to re-enter the Society I love. I believe God would invite me to finish the work He started in me, allowing me with grace to entertain such a fantasy, burning zeal to endure a repetition of the more humbling stages of formation so that one day I emerge a fully formed man of the Exercises -- a trustworthy administer of the faith that does justice.
Ad Majorem Dei Gloriam.
Chris
Quote from Socrates
"Will you not allow that I have as much of the spirit of prophecy in me as the swans? For they, when they perceive that they must die, having sung all their life long, do then sing more lustily than ever, rejoicing in the thought that they are about to go away to the god whose ministers they are."
-- from Phaedo
-- from Phaedo
Thursday, March 24, 2011
The journey of James
Dear Anne:
"But the hair of his head began to grow as soon as it was shaved off." Judges 16:22
Just back from 30-minute cardio exercise with James in the always accessible rec room of "echo charlie." We cooled down walking around the half court-sized square room. He said that he has been able to run again. One of the unexpected blessings of involuntary arrest and kidnapping from Mexico, dragged in front of a US court without intervention by his Canadian government. Since he got the three year charge he has also discovered who his real friends are. Before he used to go after six, eight girls without a pang of contrition. Now he is buoyed by one faithful girlfriend. "You find out who your friends are when the chips are down," he said. One friend came from Canada to Santa Ana, CA: he flew down without telling James. Then he put $300 on James' commissary account, allowing him a significant improvement in standard of living. "I told him he didn't need to do that and he said 'I just did.'" As a result, James could begin to eat right and work out. Over time he had dropped from 220lbs of steely muscle for his rugged expeditionary lifestyle to 170lbs with flab and cholesterol concern. He would eat every bit provided, half what they provide per meal here at Seattle Federal Detention Center, to the point he would crush up chicken bones and eat them for iron and save the orange peels -- given the orderlies hadn't stolen that week's ration -- to make tea later. Trying to reason with the steadfast girlfriend, he told her to take care of herself. "She chewed me out good for that," he said. Like her unexpectedly loyalty, the ten and a half months cooped up surprisingly restored James' knee. How unexpected the return of God's glory: God's justice is not our our justice.
Chris
"But the hair of his head began to grow as soon as it was shaved off." Judges 16:22
Just back from 30-minute cardio exercise with James in the always accessible rec room of "echo charlie." We cooled down walking around the half court-sized square room. He said that he has been able to run again. One of the unexpected blessings of involuntary arrest and kidnapping from Mexico, dragged in front of a US court without intervention by his Canadian government. Since he got the three year charge he has also discovered who his real friends are. Before he used to go after six, eight girls without a pang of contrition. Now he is buoyed by one faithful girlfriend. "You find out who your friends are when the chips are down," he said. One friend came from Canada to Santa Ana, CA: he flew down without telling James. Then he put $300 on James' commissary account, allowing him a significant improvement in standard of living. "I told him he didn't need to do that and he said 'I just did.'" As a result, James could begin to eat right and work out. Over time he had dropped from 220lbs of steely muscle for his rugged expeditionary lifestyle to 170lbs with flab and cholesterol concern. He would eat every bit provided, half what they provide per meal here at Seattle Federal Detention Center, to the point he would crush up chicken bones and eat them for iron and save the orange peels -- given the orderlies hadn't stolen that week's ration -- to make tea later. Trying to reason with the steadfast girlfriend, he told her to take care of herself. "She chewed me out good for that," he said. Like her unexpectedly loyalty, the ten and a half months cooped up surprisingly restored James' knee. How unexpected the return of God's glory: God's justice is not our our justice.
Chris
CS Lewis and the Gangster
March 2, 2011
Dear Anne:
"Volunteer!" shouts the guard.
[10:30am] We stand in line for chow. Garrett forfeits his place in front of me. "That guy is hideously sick. I want to give him all the space he needs." I keep reading Screwtape Letters, raising my eyebrows about the uncle's point to Wormwood that both the avid warhawk and the arden pacifist make easy prey. The guard ejects me at the kitchen. "We're doing bottom tier" and I wander off through the tables recognizing now the inmates on the first floor. Then a guy says "What you know about that?" He has the whole series, he says, and I'm thinking Narnia, the Magician's Nephew, etc. "The Screwtape Letters is probably the best one," he says. "You a reader?" He hands me a set titled The CS Lewis Classic with Miracles, Mere Christianity, A Grief Observed, The Great Divorce, The Screwtape Letters, and The Problem of Pain. "I might look like a gangster," he says, "but I'm a smart gangster."
Chris
Dear Anne:
"Volunteer!" shouts the guard.
[10:30am] We stand in line for chow. Garrett forfeits his place in front of me. "That guy is hideously sick. I want to give him all the space he needs." I keep reading Screwtape Letters, raising my eyebrows about the uncle's point to Wormwood that both the avid warhawk and the arden pacifist make easy prey. The guard ejects me at the kitchen. "We're doing bottom tier" and I wander off through the tables recognizing now the inmates on the first floor. Then a guy says "What you know about that?" He has the whole series, he says, and I'm thinking Narnia, the Magician's Nephew, etc. "The Screwtape Letters is probably the best one," he says. "You a reader?" He hands me a set titled The CS Lewis Classic with Miracles, Mere Christianity, A Grief Observed, The Great Divorce, The Screwtape Letters, and The Problem of Pain. "I might look like a gangster," he says, "but I'm a smart gangster."
Chris
Sunday, March 20, 2011
shiny little snippet!
Here's a little piece of another letter from Chris dated March 4.
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The dorm is empty.
Yes, we all get locked in our rooms.
What do you want to know, that the guard's cubicle has steel roofing? Does it interest you that we have a certain amount of four seat tables like a circle attached? Well, about these things we care. We sit on them, and as Daniel Berrigan, SJ says, faith is where your ass is at.
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The dorm is empty.
Yes, we all get locked in our rooms.
What do you want to know, that the guard's cubicle has steel roofing? Does it interest you that we have a certain amount of four seat tables like a circle attached? Well, about these things we care. We sit on them, and as Daniel Berrigan, SJ says, faith is where your ass is at.
Play as Prayer
March 4, 2011
Anne,
I thank God for you. Your prayers have speeded my reunion with the Son! Fr. Watson came today with a generous heart, offering the sacraments of reconciliation and communion! Yee haw!
I asked if he could use a hand in making rounds since he works as full-time chaplain here. Last month the facility put the kibosh on Mass for inmates as one general congregation. Now he makes the rounds... He can use help from the wider community since volunteers are needed to run Bible study. He just can't handle it all by himself and unfortunately no inmate can lead Bible study. He attributed the policy to radical inmates.
Tonight just before lock down, I got a knock at the door. "Everybody calls him Cuernos," Cole says. Why, because he's from Honduras? Because he has a job that makes $28 a month? (That's upper class in contrast to the $14 made by a guy who quit his post in the kitchen, explaining "I was sick of it.") By the way, Cuernos means Horns; immigrant does not. He has no family in the United States, thus no money on his books, no letters, not that mail from a village in Honduras could be impossible, just inconvenient. Once a month he uses the commissary cash he earns to call home at a price of a dollar a minute.
Ach! I nearly fell over getting out a soup for him. "There you go, friend," I said, fair pay for his advice tonight about how I could call a cell phone or email. Check that, a dignified wage is....any suggestions, anne? Cute guy, slender face swallowed up by an oversize XXXL jacket and headphones. He listens to 93.3 KUBE on his taped up radio. He lights up when I tell him I play pool. "OK, amigo, tomorrow we play."
Anne, once I read a column in a Seattle newspaper by Pat Howell, SJ reflecting on the prayer of play. Yes, we forget God takes delight! I might boldly abuse my lay status to claim something in play Eucharistic, or at least sacramental. You?
Chris
Anne,
I thank God for you. Your prayers have speeded my reunion with the Son! Fr. Watson came today with a generous heart, offering the sacraments of reconciliation and communion! Yee haw!
I asked if he could use a hand in making rounds since he works as full-time chaplain here. Last month the facility put the kibosh on Mass for inmates as one general congregation. Now he makes the rounds... He can use help from the wider community since volunteers are needed to run Bible study. He just can't handle it all by himself and unfortunately no inmate can lead Bible study. He attributed the policy to radical inmates.
Tonight just before lock down, I got a knock at the door. "Everybody calls him Cuernos," Cole says. Why, because he's from Honduras? Because he has a job that makes $28 a month? (That's upper class in contrast to the $14 made by a guy who quit his post in the kitchen, explaining "I was sick of it.") By the way, Cuernos means Horns; immigrant does not. He has no family in the United States, thus no money on his books, no letters, not that mail from a village in Honduras could be impossible, just inconvenient. Once a month he uses the commissary cash he earns to call home at a price of a dollar a minute.
Ach! I nearly fell over getting out a soup for him. "There you go, friend," I said, fair pay for his advice tonight about how I could call a cell phone or email. Check that, a dignified wage is....any suggestions, anne? Cute guy, slender face swallowed up by an oversize XXXL jacket and headphones. He listens to 93.3 KUBE on his taped up radio. He lights up when I tell him I play pool. "OK, amigo, tomorrow we play."
Anne, once I read a column in a Seattle newspaper by Pat Howell, SJ reflecting on the prayer of play. Yes, we forget God takes delight! I might boldly abuse my lay status to claim something in play Eucharistic, or at least sacramental. You?
Chris
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