Am I ambandoned?

Dear Anne:

Jackson has asked me to wake him at 4:30 if I can remember. For the past three nights our dorm has ricocheted with the fiesta sounds of mis campaneros cantando, singing folklore and ranchero into the wee hours. He wants to catch up on his rest.

What do you want? Yes, the seminal question of restlessness. Recently I told a friend that I admire the longing in his heart, how he spurns the formulaic and doxological in search of authentic encounter with the face of God. His custom prayer has long been to sit in silence. He is one of those firebrand intellectuals whose introversion yearns for privacy while burning feverishly to ignite passion for justice in others. At rest in solitude he makes a disciple of calming the storm of his convictions, the winds of his ideas and the waves his emotions. When we last spoke he had just reason to ignore my call since, after all, he was on silent retreat. I felt the tension of existence, the riptide of guilt undercutting my outgoing confession of genuine feeling for him. How did I dare interpolate the silence of his retreat?The life and death of human sexuality, the urge to know and be known amount to a mysterious connection of yin and yang for to ask of another is to penetrate individuality and to question is to disturb.

This past Christmas family reunited in Tucson, Arizona. Not all of share the same pages in the book of life we have received. Beautiful weather, family traditions and sincere joy in Christmastime reconciled us to the same page. For all us a riptide of concern for my impending fate worked to decenter us with fear. When I was beginning to feel guilty of causing this tension, I received a calming message from my friend. He simply said in reply “thank you for your long letter. I think more than a full response I just want you to know I honor the insight you’ve given me to your tumultuous soul.” And having spent several summers in Arizona with humanitarian relief group to deserted immigrants, No More Deaths, I knew he meant that in the midst of hard experience good can be seen. As he put it, “Remember the colors of the dessert.” He was right not to let myself get towed into the tumult of vicarious tumult that my relatives were experiencing. It assured me to trust in my acquired taste of beauty, learned in direct contact with the poor, the bent the broken over these many short years of my life. I remember soft pink hues that play upon the hard surface of the Tucson mountain skyline. In memory I savor the alpine glow from a jail cell, relishing in similar ways love from others that my soul preserves.

The other day on country cable TV I watched the music video of Jerrod Niemann’s haunting song “What do you want?” It depicted a disconsolate singer and a waif figured would be lover. The singer panted for the other’s affection like a Song of Solomon. Two tears spilled down my cheeks as I sang along.

I so badly want more from the Americas, our America. Am I abandoned or do ideals lead us eventually to a greater cooperation? I would have our pathway unite at the farm but we have cars and the roads all lead to the empire. Indeed, along with the men caught up in ICE we have been taken to the Roman Coliseum for humiliation. Would that we could all be true stewards of the land rather than impressions of men, characters in a scene, called criminal which is another word for savage. Thus this jungle jail in which each has his prisoner’s dilemma, to talk or not to talk, afraid a snitch will defile any intimacy. So we suffer under the barbarous regime of our ancestors in a survival of the fittest feat; man and beast become indistinguishable to the Judge. We languor stupidly.

The television is our pacifier, the NFL our own coliseum to mold the mass of America into lesser men whose capacities to reason have become so suppressed we remain stupidly fascinated by the myth of redemptive violence.

Chris

ups and downs

January 26, 2011

Dear Chris,

It is such a relief to hear from you! Letters are flowing to me from all directions. I love it! You are brilliant, enclosing letters to me with those you mail to friends, saving yourself a stamp and me some transcription. Clever, my friend.

I am deeply moved reading your letters and listening to your experience of the prison and the men to whom you are ministering. I can literally hear your voice, and I am amazed at the quality of openness and love you are bringing to the experience and to these men. I am crushed at their heartache and so grateful you are there for them. What a Godsend you are, literally. And your writing! It is so rich and prayerful, bringing your heartfelt experience alive for me. I cannot keep up in transcribing them all promptly but please continue to write as much as you can. You are truly inspired right now, and it is coming across in all of your writings. I know that some day they will be read by many.

It is simply amazing what is happening with the blog. Your letters, the questions and concerns of the people on the list, writing and editing the blog posts. It’s so exciting and rewarding and it is growing. I feel God’s Spirit with us, Chris, responding to our generous hearts all the more generously. He is revealing a path to us as we watch what you go through on your journey. Your writings are moving and as they go up on the blog along with my commentary, they create an opening for God’s Spirit to work. And more, I am now creating a relationship with your parents. We talk about once a week and email one another. They are such good, kind, and passionate people. They love you so very much.

As for me, I have a lot of ups and downs. Some days I am elated to be working on the Novena, and others are a struggle. Today is a day I feel like crying. Things are not falling into place with the committee nor with the speakers. I am trying to bring something new to it but perhaps it won’t be received, or maybe it is the way I have been bringing the ideas forward. I am dedicating a great deal of prayer and time to the marketing but it is quite possible that my work will be for naught. It’s edgy, perhaps too edgy. It’s okay if it doesn’t work out because I have done my very best. Not for me, not even for St. Ignatius, but for God. I have done what I feel He has been asking me to do. Perhaps I have been wrong from the beginning.

I will be changing my focus this month from marketing to the development of my three reflections. Please pray for me – for my peace, for my ability to discern what God wants for me to share with His people. But also pray that I can actually enjoy this experience of preparing and of the speaking itself.

Okay, so I have some practical questions for you around the blog and things:

• Are you okay with me referring to the situation with your meds? I am sharing in a general way, exploring the process through which you are going so people can understand what it’s like for you and others. I think this is important but I want to respect your privacy too.

• Do you think its okay to post the names of your dorm mates? Shall I change them or are you?

• I sent you a prayer card with my last letter. The one with the Ignatius icon and the Suscipe prayer. Did you receive it? Shall I send more?

• You also 3 books on the way and should have received them by the time you get this letter. Richard Beebe sent you Parting the Waters: America in the King Years 1954-63, and Sajeev Painunkal sent JFK and the Unspeakable and The School of the Americas. Please let me or Jake know if you did not.

Please forgive me Chris. I am so tired lately and I want to write you far more often than I do. And I want to write you brilliant pieces but alas they are turning into only updates. But please know my heart is with you. Please keep writing all you can. I will keep everything for you once you are out.

I saved a voicemail you left me around Christmas. Sometimes I listen to it to hear your voice. For a moment, you are in the room with me. I think of you often and pray for you daily. You are a special gift to us all.

Christ’s peace with you always, my friend,

anne

The Ebb and Flow of the Spirit

Chris sent this letter to me through a friend, Fr. Rich Magner. Rich was kind enough to transcribe it for me.

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A.M.D.G.

Dear Anne, 17 January 2011

“Love your enemies, do good to those who curse you”: Luke 6:27

I live in a den of thieves, dope dealers, womanizers, a ward of vipers, heathens, beasts, the vermin of society. I live in a house of prayer where men of all backgrounds have built a community of joy. And they have done so in defiance of a society that has tried to crush every man’s hope. I see the meaning of my life hear as paying attention, being with, telling the men that they manner. For as the poet W. H. Auden said: “Fate succumbs / many species: one alone / jeopardizes itself.” By small acts of loving kindness I help create my own culture and build community in the simple offering of what I have to give. Each day I pray to love these men a little more, and I find that it is only with an open heart that I am free to float equally among everyone. But this radical openness has an edge too, for I become more aware that each night, when I go to sleep, I die.

A few examples of ministry: The characters. “Robber” Jimmy committed a crime that Clyde says is a 0-6 mo. offense; instead, the advancement piled on sixteen years. Clyde is in for his work with the KKK as explosives expert. Graham dealt dope. Freckles stole. Jackson was drunk when he stole and bases his account of the incident on what they said. Roberto illegally entered the U.S. Trafficking marijuana. Chris messed up. Eric is in for 57 mo. for dope charges.

I miss Freckles, he’s in the hole. When we got back from dinner some of the Mexican mafia discovered that their commissary food had disappeared. Back up six hours and there’s Freckles and I having an interreligious dialogue about Islam & Christianity with regard to fasting. He recommends that I keep the reasons for my fast private until after I complete it. Later he asks me for two Powerades. I explain to him that my stock is to get me through the fast and I make a deal with him that he share juice at meals and get me a Powerade Tuesday. I give him one. Two had in fact already been stolen before Eric, my defender, advised me to push my tool box storage against the wall instead of at the foot of the bed where traffic passes. Eric and Freckles have indigent status, meaning they have no funds on a commissary account. Eric had asked me for a Powerade first and I gave him two. The moral of the story is that wealth maketh many friends but the poor is separated from his neighbor (Prov 19:4). Recognizing my shortcoming I need to practice vigilance, “watching daily at my gates” (Prov 8:34). Still, I am sure I did the right thing giving to Freckles even though I questioned his sincerity in making the deal, “For if thine enemy hunger, feed him; if he thirst give him drink, for thou shall heap coals of fire on his head in doing so” (Rom 12:20). To be generous here cuts against the engrained self-preservation and survivalism here and I would rather “not be conformed to this world” (Rom 12:2).

I’m just getting to know one group after Clyde’s persistent invitations to “talk with the white guys.” Call it baiting – I sit down for coffee and read the following passage from The Winds of War by Herman Wouk. The celebrity British broadcaster William Judsbury speaks of Hitler: “A zero of a man, with no schooling, of no known family – at twenty a dropped-out student, a drifter and a failure – five years a dirty, seedy tramp in a Vienna doss house – did you know that, Henry? Do you know that for five years this Fuhrer was what you call a Bowery bum, sharing a vile room with other assorted flotsam, eating in soup kitchens, and not because there was a depression – Vienna was fat and prosperous then – but because he was a dreamy, lazy, incompetent misfit? That house painter story is hogwash. He sold a few hand-painted postcards, but to the age of twenty-six he was a sidewalk-wandering vagrant, and then for four years soldier in the German army, a lance corporal, a message-runner, a low job for a man of even minimum intelligence, and at thirty he was lying broke, discharged, and gassed in an army hospital. That is the background of the Fuhrer.” p. 45

The silence lasts five, six seconds. Then Graham says “Wow, I’ve read a lot of Hitler and knew something of his tough past, but not like that.”Clyde, Jimmy, and Michael looked like cold water was just dashed in their face. The conversation moves on to drugs and women. I listen and when it’s my turn I share about living a celibate life. Graham opens up about what it was like being with his wife after being locked up for seven years, a nervous virgin all over again. He tells a riveting confession of a drunken kiss he gave another woman to his lasting regret and I applaud his virtue for striving to be faithful. Clyde and Jimmy have opposite stories. But so swiftly the spirit ebbs and flows.

Chris

wearing the Armor of Christ

I have received a landslide of letters from Chris. One directly, and many others he has sent to me through friends. Here is the first one.

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15 January 2011

Dear Anne,

Greetings to you from Irwin County Detention Center! Thank you for the letter. Just the day it arrived I received a visit from Fr. Bob Cushing who showed me the email you sent to the support community. His visit brought me great comfort and it pleased me to know he is in the loop. With all your prayerful organizing I am miraculously guarded with divine protection; you provide me with a sense of self that wears the armor of Christ, for we become one by our ceaseless prayer and I trust in the community to be the thriving hands and feet that spread my love for God. In particular I am entrusting you with the task of mediating my writings. May they prove fruitful through service to a more exalted purpose than I can imagine. By way of introduction, consider Psalm 89 to the God of hosts (89:8). As your friend it is such a gift to be chosen by you (89:19). From this relationship of conspiracy to discover the Kingdom of God in our midst, I am confident of God's abiding love making us each more mature, creative Christians (89:36). In our ministry we couple the search for God made by the prisoner (89:38); the pearl of great price after all comes from the clam savoring a grain of sand deep under the water. Our only reproach is the longing to find the great beauty, the suffering servant disguised in ugliness (89:50). With this in mind I thank your patience transcribing these pages. I know you will pluck out the pearls.

Anne I of course remember sharing coffee with you. It was your birthday, a Tuesday, and your friend the barista spared us a charge. I could feel bad that I don't remember all that we said; I mean, sure, one thing stands out: the revelation that you have a MA in professional writing impressed me and I admired your hope to create a Catholic imagination in column writing. Ok, it's two things plus this -- you called me out. I said, "Geez, Anne, I don't wish on anyone the merciless gruel of a writer's life." You said, "I bet you are a writer."

I think of myself more as a prayer. That's how we really met. All those Lenten faith sharing meetings set the foundation. That winter was a mournful one but during our meetings listening to the inflamed heart of yours stoked by the Spiritual Exercises in Everyday Life, the gray scale fell from my eyes and my vision became in living color. My heart hurt from leaving Gonzaga Prep shortly before. So powerful were my emotions once when I prayed with the Rembrandt depiction of the Prodigal son: I coped by burying my grief. You were one of the friends I made as I plunged into the Portland community in performing works of mercy, a consolation to me during a time I could not see God's face but in the reflection of others. Know that I am deeply moved to be seen in your eyes as a "companero." I pray that God's freedom further impair your neediness for the things of the world, that your faith guide you to the garments of Jesus Christ and heal you so that the fullness of vocation to which we are called be your inheritance.

Chris

Suscipe

Chris wrote me this very touching heartfelt letter 3 days before his sentencing. I have to admit, I got teary reading it.
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Dear Anne

* The Story of our relationship*
On your birthday we sipped coffee that was on the house, courtesy of your relationship with the barista. I just finished a cup of coffee on board the S80 aircraft. Our shared genetic code withdrew pleasure in heightened blood flow to the brain. In relation by way of this shared genome to all homosapiens we make story from our exploits just as cave dwelling artists did while hyped on an early form of mescaline. The rock they drew hunting scenes on had many times over been made and remade over the six billion years of its existence. Having shared much of the journey since the big bang, it is simple to see how our coffee grows from the same rock. The familiar way of speaking is required to know what pleasant joy we share with our God. Nothing could be so simple as coexisting with our God, for the rock has shown that separation happens in the unconditional acceptance of God's eyes. Jesus loved the rock unconditionally. As God's eyes incarnate, Jesus forgave not just Peter but all of humanity, teaching about the abundant affection of God, especially unto those of us forgetful of this love ordered in community. In storytelling of our love for God we act like Jesus relating as creators of a world where it is easier to love. The purpose of our relationship will unfold unconditionally. Our story began long before we were aware...

*My reply to what you shared*
From the depths of your prayer came the impelling vision of me in need of purpose as I serve my duty to this American United States. In response, you foresaw us in correspondence and by way of a blog, in community. Tasks you enumerated and expressed willingness to administer, among these the transcription of my letters, an ongoing guided reflection in letters to me, as well as collection of necessary financial support such as to purchase books and shipping/postage. My summary could not strain out the essence of freedom with which you offer these acts of service to God's Greater Glory. Please note the care with which I choose my words, for I tremble in fear before your divine sight. Help me to understand with greater clarity what in God's name may be our purpose. Forgive my faults too. I cannot comprehend the fullness of your mysterious relationship with Jesus. If the scales now have peeled from my eyes, what I behold is a glimpse at your sucsipe before God and the whole heavenly court. You would willingly offer your heart in its magnanimous capacity as a devotion, in all sincerity.

Anne, I answer with all my love: Thank you,
C

My second attempt

I still haven't heard from Chris. I wrote him another letter, which I sent on Sunday.

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January 16, 2011

Dear Chris,

It’s hard not to be able to talk with you. To hear your voice, to know how you are. I am constantly thinking about you and imagining what daily life is like. I cannot help but to ask a million questions: do they let you outside to breathe the fresh air? Are you able to wash each day? Have you made some friends? You have been in for over week as I write this and I am eager to hear from you.

Thankfully, I have gotten some much anticipated news about you. Somehow Fr. Bob Cushing found out about our blog and he graciously called me the day of his visit. Chris, it was such a fantastic surprise to get that call that it startled me awake: God is responding with velocity to our prayer community, sending to Spirit to guide us, comfort us, and communicate what we need to know.

Fr. Bob and I spoke for about 20 minutes. He fed me details as he drove homebound to Cordele. He said you were in high spirits, very prayerful, and focused on remaining in solidarity not just with SOAW but also with the Witness Against Torture movement to close Guantanamo. He said your main concern was to be productive and that you were even leading a Bible Study! I love this and can see it now: you circled up with your dorm mates each afternoon breaking open the Word. Fr. Bob says your companions are teaching you a thing or two, and that you are soaking it up. I thank God for granting us our prayers for you, that you are safe and transitioning smoothly, and that God keeps you very close to Him.

As for me, lots is happening. My prayer has led me to accept the opportunity to be a presenter at this year’s Novena of Grace. I am thrilled, and scared, and moved, and excited! There will be three of us: Fr. Rick Ganz, Mike Buck (a former Jesuit and dedicated lay leader) and me. It will take place March 3 -11 at St. Ignatius Parish. We will each speak 3 times over the 9 days, giving our reflections twice per day at 8am and 7pm Masses. Our theme is From Misfortune to Hope: a Pilgrimage to the Heart of our God. Our hope as a planning committee is that those who are losing faith, and questioning where God is in these dark times of Church and economic hardship, will have an experience of God’s love and kindness and commitment that ignites their hope once again in God’s promise of redemption, resurrection, freedom, peace. I am beside myself with many emotions and I can feel this opportunity is some sort of breakthrough in my search for God’s purpose for me. As a young 30-something woman, I will preach in a beloved Catholic Church. There is nothing I could find that is more exciting than this.

And God is already teaching me through the preparation. To help myself get more comfortable from the pulpit, I have begun to lector as much as possible during the weekend Masses. It has indeed eased my nerves but what I am really discovering is that I truly have a talent for proclaiming God’s Word. It’s exhilarating and as the nerves fade I find that I LOVE to do it, that it moves people, and that it deepens my relationship with God. So, I feel confirmation again that my pilgrimage is leading me somewhere.

As for your community of prayer, they are amazing. There are now 86 people in the community! I have included a list of their names for you on the next page. They have sent me notes of concern, photos to post on the blog, and they are writing to you and praying for you. I also had the pleasure of speaking with your parents about Fr. Bob’s visit. We are all deepening our bonds with each other through your journey, and as Fr. Bob says we are changed by this experience. We love you.

I miss you and pray for you often. The Spirit prompted me to urge you to pray to St. Paul. He has been where you are and his spirit will both guide you and intercede for you. The feast of his conversion is January 25^th.

Stay close with our loving God. And please write me when you have the chance.

In God’s Holy Spirit, my friend,

anne

My first letter

Friday, January 7, 2011

Dear Chris,

I wonder what you are doing right now, where you are, how you are feeling. I wonder what the place is like. What color are the walls? Is the pillow you sleep on hard or soft? Do you have a window in your room? And the people... Are the inmates pleasant or angry or just plain exhausted? Do the guards share a kind word? Are you able to take the Eucharist?

You've been on my mind and heart. Sometimes I am still surprised at this unique and beautiful friendship of ours. I am not sure how it happened, to be honest. It was over a cup of Brazilian coffee, wasn't it? I think you invited me to talk with you about writing. So we did, and we clicked, and right when we parted ways I recognized something special had happened: God had given me a compańero. Over the subsequent months our friendship began to bloom and I see clearly now that God is not only working in us as individuals, but He is working between us. We are not walking side by side on a well worn path, but bouldering, negotiating precipices, doing the best we can together to find a direction through the wilderness. It is through this work that God works, slowly molding and revealing to us who we truly are, for ourselves and one another. I feel Him doing this through our friendship, Chris. I don't know why, I just know it is pure gift.

I had a beautiful movement of prayer during the rosary the day of your trial. Praying the Visitation, I saw young Mary walking with anticipation to see Elizabeth. She must look into Elizabeth's eyes and see it is true, that she too is pregnant. This makes a difference somehow, that she is not going to have to go through this alone. Her steps are quick and short, her breath shallow, and she is half smiling. With the house in sight, she bounds up the path until she reaches the door. She takes a deep breath and knocks softly. Zechariah welcomes her warmly and at the very sound of her voice, Elizabeth turns and rushes to her. "It is you," she says, elated. As she meets Mary, she clasps her hands and looks into her eyes with such devotion that both of them start to cry. Their joy is overflowing at the knowing of the other. I felt it so clearly in my heart right then: God had given them to each other. To create the experience, to share understanding and support, to hold one another in prayer. I got the meaning of it. They were each a gift, given from the depth of God's heart.

In this way, Chris, God gave you to me. My compańero. And he gave you to me from the depth of His heart. God is so good.

So, I continue to pray for you though we cannot speak. And you'll also be pleased to know that 64 of your friends and family have joined your community of prayer. I have listed them for you. I will be creating our blog this weekend and posting this letter along with your writings from before you went in. Please write me, and when you do, please include your prayer requests and what you may need.

Stay close to God, Chris. All that He is, is with you and in you, at every moment and always.

In His Spirit,
anne