Gn 20:17 Then Abraham prayed to God; and God healed Abimilech, and also healed his wife and female slaves so that they bore children.
13 June 2011
Dear Anne,
“Then Jesus said to the disciples, ‘There was a rich man who had a manager, and charges were brought to him that this man was squandering his property.” Lk 165:1
Because I had only one hundred and five cents it finally occurred to me that I should sell my wares. So I wrote up a brochure for Spicer’s store of tricks and skills and went selling door to door on the forth and third floors. One customer at first said, “But there’s a lot of stores man” and then excusing himself from the phone “Hold on baby, man’s selling skills.” He looked at my list that says Do you need computer skills? and was hooked. Another customer said “Oh, you hussling, I see.” For a few minutes to fill out an online application he accepted a price of $4.00. At $10.00 for a half hour a customer wants a Spanish lesson. For twentyfive cents a customer got a
quick lecture on the organization of creation in Genesis chapter one. For two helping of spiritual conversation, r fifty five cents, a customer asked me first to interpret Luke chapter 16, the parable of the cunning manager, and then whether ethically one who could do good with the money is justified faking a sickness to a doctor in order for a medical benefit. All listened with interest as I delivered my sales pitch. One recommended a special case of need, a guy locked up for ten years who types with his index fingers groping for the letters—I knew—I had helped him in the lab computer lab actually. I showed him how to use the cursor on the mouse to highlight a group of words, how to use the cursor keys and showed him about the backspace key, how to save and print—his resume. And one signed up for a course on the Book of Genesis tomorrow at 10 AM. Tonight I study special paper folding problems for a man studying to be a carpenter. Oh, and I was hired to type up a guy’s book For $0.17 per page, I’ll profit from exposure to this man’s intimate portrait.
Anne, tonight’s learning reminded me that many people are accustomed to trade and barter for goods and services. It was a refresher of exchange theory of living or exchange economics. You and I relate out of our thirst for God, a desire that’s so intense for God, with gratitude, that we give ourselves freely. Yet I wonder if we might recognize the custom of some of our friends who may value what we do. Whether it’s because they see us as gifted in a radical way or just as inspiration, maybe they would like to be offered an opportunity to show their thanksgiving in a monetary measure.
Now thanks be to God I have no debts and no ambitions. Wrong! I feel so indebted to you, Anne, and if others could help me show you my gratitude I would greatly appreciate it. And I’m indebted to my parents, the St. Joseph’s of Seattle community, so many friends, so many new friends, members of the greater SOA Watch community in particular Judith Kelly, Mr. and Mrs. Phares, Nico DeGama, Fr. Roy Bourgeois, los campesinos of Arcatao, la parroquia San Bartolome and my home community the White Rose Catholic Worker. Most of all there’s the legions of behind the scenes, both living and dead, these prayer warriors who have aided my soul. You Jesuits, past teachers and companions. Oh God, if my act could not begin to express my gratitude and my love, so much more infinite is your love! Incomprehensible, most merciful and compassionate God, I thank you. And I continue seeking to serve you inspiring a faith that crosses the line.
Chris
Monday, June 20, 2011
Ah, to be in Mass
Gn 20:13 And when God caused me to wander from my father’s house, I said to her, ‘This is the kindness you must do to me: at every place to which we come, say of me, He is my brother.’”
13 June 2011
Dear Anne,
“Singers and dancers alike say, “All my springs are in you.” Ps 87:7
What a pentecost! Tuesday I received from Rosie R. a letter saying she’d be speaking about
Dorothy Day on Sunday at Loyola’s annual Thomas Merton Society event and wouldn’t it be great if the Feds sprung me so I could attend. That started the ball rolling and with event coordinator’s help sending an invitation letter, sure enough, I made it! Fr. Jim of the Trappist Monastery of Gethsemane presided the Mass. Wow, just to hear my self in unison with so many, praying Credo. And it was overjoy when, because I sat next to Frank, a former Worker of Kansas City, when he and I both said “flesh” instead of “and the word became man.” His nuances surprised me! I like to say “She” for the holy spirit part and whadda ya know, Frank said it
too! And if I were alone no one would have corrected me, but the group prompted me to get it right—No, not “and the life of the world to come. First it’s “We look for the resurrection of the dead’ Silly and then we add “and for the life of the world to come.” But Anne, that’s not all. The
most amazing, most awe inspiring sight: Fr. Jim announced at the beginning how being that our Mass took place in a venue without kneelers, then at those Mass parts we wouldn’t kneel but rather stand or sit as we were able. Well, after this young woman had received the Eucharist, she took to her knees anyway. Only her. Yet she sat on her heels on the ground, eclipsed in prayer; she didn’t want to be seen and it seemed like she was just drawn to put herself closer to the earth somehow. Glory to God!
13 June 2011
Dear Anne,
“Singers and dancers alike say, “All my springs are in you.” Ps 87:7
What a pentecost! Tuesday I received from Rosie R. a letter saying she’d be speaking about
Dorothy Day on Sunday at Loyola’s annual Thomas Merton Society event and wouldn’t it be great if the Feds sprung me so I could attend. That started the ball rolling and with event coordinator’s help sending an invitation letter, sure enough, I made it! Fr. Jim of the Trappist Monastery of Gethsemane presided the Mass. Wow, just to hear my self in unison with so many, praying Credo. And it was overjoy when, because I sat next to Frank, a former Worker of Kansas City, when he and I both said “flesh” instead of “and the word became man.” His nuances surprised me! I like to say “She” for the holy spirit part and whadda ya know, Frank said it
too! And if I were alone no one would have corrected me, but the group prompted me to get it right—No, not “and the life of the world to come. First it’s “We look for the resurrection of the dead’ Silly and then we add “and for the life of the world to come.” But Anne, that’s not all. The
most amazing, most awe inspiring sight: Fr. Jim announced at the beginning how being that our Mass took place in a venue without kneelers, then at those Mass parts we wouldn’t kneel but rather stand or sit as we were able. Well, after this young woman had received the Eucharist, she took to her knees anyway. Only her. Yet she sat on her heels on the ground, eclipsed in prayer; she didn’t want to be seen and it seemed like she was just drawn to put herself closer to the earth somehow. Glory to God!
To UA or not to UA
Gn 19:29 So it was that, when God destroyed the cities of the plain, God remembered
Abraham, and sent Lot out of the midst of the overthrow, when he overthrew the cities in
which Lot had settled.
18 May 2011
Dear Anne,
“The LORD is my shepherd, I shall not want.” Ps 23
Again my neighbor on the clutch with the Bible passage, saying, “It get’s me through
everything.” So Anne, wonderful wonderful news: It’s time for some agree contra action!! This little-engine that-could heart of mine has long been toying with the plan of refusing to take the
Urinary Analysis (UA). Agere contra-style, I’m going against my own will on this one. Though the desire to visit the prisoner of Cook County appeals to me, tonight I’ve found inspiration to go against it. Pablo Picasso said something about art being the result of the artist’s dominance over himself. Look what I’m seeing now: Yes, not submitting to the UA resists conformism to the system. Yes, it once more heightens the conflict of SOA? WHINSEC’s existence once again by consequence of my willingness to suffer. Yes, it once more dramatizes my love for the enemy by taking further the cross a second mile. Yes, it provides the condition for the possibility of relationship with the least of Chicago, knowing the forgotten as one-with. Yes, it problematizes the assumed guilty until proven innocent practice of the US Justice System. and Yes, it attracts the humbling likelihood of criticisms of me such as having a) a martyrs complex b) a lazy work ethic c) and/or it opens attack that I am a stupid, dumb protester d) that is, I probably have red eyes not from reading but because I must have smoked pot.
Abraham, and sent Lot out of the midst of the overthrow, when he overthrew the cities in
which Lot had settled.
18 May 2011
Dear Anne,
“The LORD is my shepherd, I shall not want.” Ps 23
Again my neighbor on the clutch with the Bible passage, saying, “It get’s me through
everything.” So Anne, wonderful wonderful news: It’s time for some agree contra action!! This little-engine that-could heart of mine has long been toying with the plan of refusing to take the
Urinary Analysis (UA). Agere contra-style, I’m going against my own will on this one. Though the desire to visit the prisoner of Cook County appeals to me, tonight I’ve found inspiration to go against it. Pablo Picasso said something about art being the result of the artist’s dominance over himself. Look what I’m seeing now: Yes, not submitting to the UA resists conformism to the system. Yes, it once more heightens the conflict of SOA? WHINSEC’s existence once again by consequence of my willingness to suffer. Yes, it once more dramatizes my love for the enemy by taking further the cross a second mile. Yes, it provides the condition for the possibility of relationship with the least of Chicago, knowing the forgotten as one-with. Yes, it problematizes the assumed guilty until proven innocent practice of the US Justice System. and Yes, it attracts the humbling likelihood of criticisms of me such as having a) a martyrs complex b) a lazy work ethic c) and/or it opens attack that I am a stupid, dumb protester d) that is, I probably have red eyes not from reading but because I must have smoked pot.
I wish
Gn 19.28 and he looked down toward Sodom and Gomorrah and toward all the land of
the Plain, and saw the smoke of the land giving up like the smoke of a furnace.
19 May 2011
Dear Anne,
“God so loved the world he gave his only begotten son for it.” Jn 3:16
Riding home to Chicago! I’m giddy with so much to share, what a day! First of all my neighboring passenger selected the above passage excusing himself saying “I only know the classic ones.” “Fine. That’s fine!” I said. Isn’t it a perfect one too? Remember how the incarnation brought such joy! Speaking of which, I’ve not even told you that Bobby’s baby was born. No, I know, I didn’t even mention the expectation! Monday night after a conversation I don’t recall now, he sighed and with last breaths before falling asleep mentioned that he couldn’t wait ‘til Friday when the baby was coming. I was like ‘What!’
Then, two days early[1] his wife went into labor. He came in yesterday with his arms raised and said, “The sun is born!” I looked out the window and back at him. The sun had just set. “Huh?” I said. “The SON is born!”
Oh, but it felt bittersweet. He flipped onto his bottom bunk bed and groaned “I shoulda been there.” And in an upright world I hope he could have. He didn’t bother to ask for a furlough back
to Alaska. Even though he knew in former times inmates could routinely get furlough permission, albeit flanked with guards, in order to attend a birth or a funeral—he didn’t ask.
Chris
[1] Bobby told me that the date was set for a C-section because in the first pregnancy his wife had not dilated past a one. They had arrived at the emergency room only to discover that her water had broke long before. “I felt some mucousy stuff in my panties, “She told the nurse. It was okay though because he planned on seeing a future birth. “I ain’t done yet!” he said.
the Plain, and saw the smoke of the land giving up like the smoke of a furnace.
19 May 2011
Dear Anne,
“God so loved the world he gave his only begotten son for it.” Jn 3:16
Riding home to Chicago! I’m giddy with so much to share, what a day! First of all my neighboring passenger selected the above passage excusing himself saying “I only know the classic ones.” “Fine. That’s fine!” I said. Isn’t it a perfect one too? Remember how the incarnation brought such joy! Speaking of which, I’ve not even told you that Bobby’s baby was born. No, I know, I didn’t even mention the expectation! Monday night after a conversation I don’t recall now, he sighed and with last breaths before falling asleep mentioned that he couldn’t wait ‘til Friday when the baby was coming. I was like ‘What!’
Then, two days early[1] his wife went into labor. He came in yesterday with his arms raised and said, “The sun is born!” I looked out the window and back at him. The sun had just set. “Huh?” I said. “The SON is born!”
Oh, but it felt bittersweet. He flipped onto his bottom bunk bed and groaned “I shoulda been there.” And in an upright world I hope he could have. He didn’t bother to ask for a furlough back
to Alaska. Even though he knew in former times inmates could routinely get furlough permission, albeit flanked with guards, in order to attend a birth or a funeral—he didn’t ask.
Chris
[1] Bobby told me that the date was set for a C-section because in the first pregnancy his wife had not dilated past a one. They had arrived at the emergency room only to discover that her water had broke long before. “I felt some mucousy stuff in my panties, “She told the nurse. It was okay though because he planned on seeing a future birth. “I ain’t done yet!” he said.
me vs we
Gn 19:14 So Lot went out and spoke to his sons-in-law, who had contracted marriage with his daughters, ‘Get up and leave this place,’ he told them; ‘the LORD is about to destroy the city.’ But his sons-in-law thought he was joking.
13 May 2011
Dear Anne,
“The Lord’s love for us is strong; the LORD is faithful forever. Halleluja!” Ps 117
Bobby’s shelf of books includes Farther than Any Man: The Rise and Fall of Captain James Cook by Martin Pugort, Creeds Law by Kerry Newcomb, Revenge of the Mountain Men by William W. Johnstone, Boone’s Lick by Larry McMurtry, Longarm and the Heiress by Tabor Evans, Hondo by Louis L’Amour, as well as Milo Talon and May There Be a Road; The Devil Gun by JT Edson, Max Brand’s Pleasant Jim and Elmer Kelton’s Stand Proud. Then there’s High Druid of Shannaru Straken by Terry Brooks and The New World Translation of the Holy Scriptures.
We’ve just been let out for the extension hour given Friday and Saturday nights. Bobby: “Now TO’s dead. They was gonna give him to the count of ten. Dude got to eight and shot him.’ He reads Gunn by Jory Sherman. Earlier he had told me the plot of how it’s Gunn versus a whole group. They resort to tactics like torture to get Gunn’s whereabouts. The friend who was captured tells them to go to hell. Under the torture he nods and nods so they take out his gag and he tells a lie that’s close to the truth: where Gunn used to be and where the group knew he used to be. But they hold on to him and when they get back they give him one last chance or else death, being kicked by a horse. He says, go to hell!
Anne, themes of individual courage fill these books, at the expense of the collective. Here, a whole group is no match for the individual. Unless, that is, the individual’s strength comes from something greater than himself. In this case the friend so loves Gunn he would accept his own death before he surrendered Gunn’s hideout. What greater love is there than a man who would lay his own life down for a friend? Where do you see the Guantanamo detainee in the story?
Chris
13 May 2011
Dear Anne,
“The Lord’s love for us is strong; the LORD is faithful forever. Halleluja!” Ps 117
Bobby’s shelf of books includes Farther than Any Man: The Rise and Fall of Captain James Cook by Martin Pugort, Creeds Law by Kerry Newcomb, Revenge of the Mountain Men by William W. Johnstone, Boone’s Lick by Larry McMurtry, Longarm and the Heiress by Tabor Evans, Hondo by Louis L’Amour, as well as Milo Talon and May There Be a Road; The Devil Gun by JT Edson, Max Brand’s Pleasant Jim and Elmer Kelton’s Stand Proud. Then there’s High Druid of Shannaru Straken by Terry Brooks and The New World Translation of the Holy Scriptures.
We’ve just been let out for the extension hour given Friday and Saturday nights. Bobby: “Now TO’s dead. They was gonna give him to the count of ten. Dude got to eight and shot him.’ He reads Gunn by Jory Sherman. Earlier he had told me the plot of how it’s Gunn versus a whole group. They resort to tactics like torture to get Gunn’s whereabouts. The friend who was captured tells them to go to hell. Under the torture he nods and nods so they take out his gag and he tells a lie that’s close to the truth: where Gunn used to be and where the group knew he used to be. But they hold on to him and when they get back they give him one last chance or else death, being kicked by a horse. He says, go to hell!
Anne, themes of individual courage fill these books, at the expense of the collective. Here, a whole group is no match for the individual. Unless, that is, the individual’s strength comes from something greater than himself. In this case the friend so loves Gunn he would accept his own death before he surrendered Gunn’s hideout. What greater love is there than a man who would lay his own life down for a friend? Where do you see the Guantanamo detainee in the story?
Chris
Moments
Gn 19:5 They called to Lot and said to him, ‘Where are the men who came to your house tonight? Bring them out to us that we may have intimacies with them.’
7 May 2011
Dear Anne,
“Listen, my people, I will speak; I need no bullock from your house, no goats from your fold. For every animal of the forest is mine, beasts by the thousands on my mountains. I know every bird of the heaven; the creatures of the field belong to me.” Ps 51
On Fridays and Saturdays after 10 PM lockdown for count we get another free spell until 11:30. Tonight I lay in my bunk in love with the sounds of the men at recreation. To Crow I put it thus, “I still remember being fifteen in love. We would lay side by side gazing into each other’s eyes.” I still remember the flecks of sunlight buried in her swirling blue irises. I didn’t need to go on about how as a celibate I look with love on my context. He was envisioning his girl again “That is one of the most intimate times,” he said.
Yes, and now the unit has locked down and still and moments unfold in mind. Yesterday. Today intermingling. Old Matt lies on his bunk talking with his dentures out, patting his belly. He returned from an attempted surgery to refasten the tendon of his bicep. “I was still groggy but I think I heard them say, 'Bring him on the 13th.’ They won’t tell you. You’re not supposed to know when they take you so you don’t call someone to meet you in the hospital.”
His injury supposedly happened since locked up, but who knows. When going to the hospital like this, he tells me, they take you to the hole. “Man I was dizzy with all that bright orange: the jumpsuit, t-shirt, boxers, socks—even orange slippers. They had regular sheets four years ago though…”
The main complaint of his was from having to fast prior to surgery, so before he got back to the unit at 6:30 PM he had no food since dinner the previous day at 4:30 PM.
7 May 2011
Dear Anne,
“Listen, my people, I will speak; I need no bullock from your house, no goats from your fold. For every animal of the forest is mine, beasts by the thousands on my mountains. I know every bird of the heaven; the creatures of the field belong to me.” Ps 51
On Fridays and Saturdays after 10 PM lockdown for count we get another free spell until 11:30. Tonight I lay in my bunk in love with the sounds of the men at recreation. To Crow I put it thus, “I still remember being fifteen in love. We would lay side by side gazing into each other’s eyes.” I still remember the flecks of sunlight buried in her swirling blue irises. I didn’t need to go on about how as a celibate I look with love on my context. He was envisioning his girl again “That is one of the most intimate times,” he said.
Yes, and now the unit has locked down and still and moments unfold in mind. Yesterday. Today intermingling. Old Matt lies on his bunk talking with his dentures out, patting his belly. He returned from an attempted surgery to refasten the tendon of his bicep. “I was still groggy but I think I heard them say, 'Bring him on the 13th.’ They won’t tell you. You’re not supposed to know when they take you so you don’t call someone to meet you in the hospital.”
His injury supposedly happened since locked up, but who knows. When going to the hospital like this, he tells me, they take you to the hole. “Man I was dizzy with all that bright orange: the jumpsuit, t-shirt, boxers, socks—even orange slippers. They had regular sheets four years ago though…”
The main complaint of his was from having to fast prior to surgery, so before he got back to the unit at 6:30 PM he had no food since dinner the previous day at 4:30 PM.
Wednesday, May 18, 2011
My Conscience Speaks
4 May 2011
Dear Anne,
"While Paul was so speaking in his defense, Festus said in a loud voice, 'You are mad, Paul; much learning is driving you mad.' But Paul replied, 'I am not mad, most excellent Festus, I am speaking words of truth and reason.'" Acts 26:24-25
Sunday has called my attention in a profound way. Two events coincided on that day that I recognized have a direct bearing on my soul. Most devastating was the news of another extrajudicial killing and the President's word admitting his policy of extrajudicial mass murder since last August. Because of a suspect of terrorism living in Pakistan the President sent unmanned aerial vehicles firing hellfire rockets throughout the region. Hundreds and hundreds of incidences of extrajudicial killing were warranted, according to the President's speech, because he had received intelligence of Osama bin Ladin's location in a compound deep in Pakistan. A suspect of terrorism is innocent until tried and proven guilty. the fact that the presence of one suspect alone could sanction indiscriminate invasion resulting in hundreds of innocent lives lost, the legitimation of Drone Warfare itself, deeply disturbs me.
I am a child of the Catholic generation raised by Pope John Paul II. He taught us by example to be global citizens traveling the world: truly he exemplified a ministry of presence. My generation was made conscientious of the responsibility to lead faithful lives, a practice of small steps we took in pilgrimages during world youth days. On Sunday the church remembered his saintly life. I will forever think of his teaching of life in commitment to the neighbor known and unknown requiring risks to accept the burden of the community -- what Pope John Paul II called a virtue, solidarity.
Anne, I believe that I am called to witness solidarity in a unique way now. My heart senses the way ahead. Allowing myself three days of purification I sense the timing has come to demonstrate my love of enemy. This Mother's Day I will see my mom on a visitation, God willing, and then I will make my stand for love, for solidarity.
A more precise mind could formulate what I sense is wrong. When I look around at the men here serving their sentences and then be deported, I am struck again and again by the discrepancy where the government labels these men criminals for trespassing yet has its military, my military, myself, entering foreign countries against which no declaration of war was imposed. The office of the executive controls, enforces, but does it have a right to determine law? Currently it does. I therefore feel impelled to resist the powers that be. My heart mourns the loss of accountability representatives once had to check the powers of the President. As a citizen of this country I know my duty under international law to resist extrajudicial killing. The moment came Sunday when by Presidential decree all the previous drone warfare was excused. As a son of the Catholic church made bolder by the teaching of Pope John Paul II, I make the historic occasion one week from the day.
My conscience speaks. I may be imprisoned but my soul is free. Worship the true God with me, friend; resolute our object of solidarity shall never be LOCKED DOWN.
Chris
Dear Anne,
"While Paul was so speaking in his defense, Festus said in a loud voice, 'You are mad, Paul; much learning is driving you mad.' But Paul replied, 'I am not mad, most excellent Festus, I am speaking words of truth and reason.'" Acts 26:24-25
Sunday has called my attention in a profound way. Two events coincided on that day that I recognized have a direct bearing on my soul. Most devastating was the news of another extrajudicial killing and the President's word admitting his policy of extrajudicial mass murder since last August. Because of a suspect of terrorism living in Pakistan the President sent unmanned aerial vehicles firing hellfire rockets throughout the region. Hundreds and hundreds of incidences of extrajudicial killing were warranted, according to the President's speech, because he had received intelligence of Osama bin Ladin's location in a compound deep in Pakistan. A suspect of terrorism is innocent until tried and proven guilty. the fact that the presence of one suspect alone could sanction indiscriminate invasion resulting in hundreds of innocent lives lost, the legitimation of Drone Warfare itself, deeply disturbs me.
I am a child of the Catholic generation raised by Pope John Paul II. He taught us by example to be global citizens traveling the world: truly he exemplified a ministry of presence. My generation was made conscientious of the responsibility to lead faithful lives, a practice of small steps we took in pilgrimages during world youth days. On Sunday the church remembered his saintly life. I will forever think of his teaching of life in commitment to the neighbor known and unknown requiring risks to accept the burden of the community -- what Pope John Paul II called a virtue, solidarity.
Anne, I believe that I am called to witness solidarity in a unique way now. My heart senses the way ahead. Allowing myself three days of purification I sense the timing has come to demonstrate my love of enemy. This Mother's Day I will see my mom on a visitation, God willing, and then I will make my stand for love, for solidarity.
A more precise mind could formulate what I sense is wrong. When I look around at the men here serving their sentences and then be deported, I am struck again and again by the discrepancy where the government labels these men criminals for trespassing yet has its military, my military, myself, entering foreign countries against which no declaration of war was imposed. The office of the executive controls, enforces, but does it have a right to determine law? Currently it does. I therefore feel impelled to resist the powers that be. My heart mourns the loss of accountability representatives once had to check the powers of the President. As a citizen of this country I know my duty under international law to resist extrajudicial killing. The moment came Sunday when by Presidential decree all the previous drone warfare was excused. As a son of the Catholic church made bolder by the teaching of Pope John Paul II, I make the historic occasion one week from the day.
My conscience speaks. I may be imprisoned but my soul is free. Worship the true God with me, friend; resolute our object of solidarity shall never be LOCKED DOWN.
Chris
A special prayer intention
From a 5 April 2011 Letter
---------------------------------------
Anne, if you could consider Sticks' prayer intention for visitors. His wife has left him. A lead for the kitchen assembly line, soft spoken, bedraggled unshaven, he admits that's he's at the anger stage of grief. He has, I think, less than six months remaining on his sentence here at Seattle FDC. Anne, his grey eyes yearn for a compassionate listener, even a penpal could sooth his need for connection. This morning he quotes from The Remnant, a book in a series I frankly don't know the author of, saying it narrates a history of the apocolypse, revelation period where the followers of the risen anti-Christ meet in secret with a code greeting, "He is risen" and reply "Chris is risen, indeed."
---------------------------------------
Anne, if you could consider Sticks' prayer intention for visitors. His wife has left him. A lead for the kitchen assembly line, soft spoken, bedraggled unshaven, he admits that's he's at the anger stage of grief. He has, I think, less than six months remaining on his sentence here at Seattle FDC. Anne, his grey eyes yearn for a compassionate listener, even a penpal could sooth his need for connection. This morning he quotes from The Remnant, a book in a series I frankly don't know the author of, saying it narrates a history of the apocolypse, revelation period where the followers of the risen anti-Christ meet in secret with a code greeting, "He is risen" and reply "Chris is risen, indeed."
St. Nick in SEATAC FDC
9 May 2011
Dear Anne,
"As you gain control of your mind, with the help of your higher self, then your mind and ego become your allies. but the uncontrolled mind behaves as an enemy." Bhagavad Gita 6.6
"Yea, that I walk through the valley of death I shall fear no evil," quotes Gian, my celly in Solitary Housing Unit (SHU) Zeta Beta 14 House. He's reading the USA Today that arrived for him this afternoon in the mail. "I feel so badly for the Mississippi Tennessee and Louisiana. I want to go and help with my body." He's a formidable figure even as a sixty year old. With meat cleaver hands and an ox-like head, it was easy to imagine him as the star high school lineman. He spoke of the incident that marked this character for life.
In the locker room one day the bully football players were passing around a box of juice, keep away from the trainer. when it dropped to the ground they shrugged and went to the practice field. The coach came out huffing a few minutes later "Who did that?" Gian saw nobody making a move so he stepped up to take the heat. "I did, Coach," he said. "You're off the team!!"
Gian learned a year and a half later that the seniors had met to decide his fate. The playoffs were just about to begin. "We won't kick 'em off. Just bench him a game to punish him and teach him a lesson," they agreed. The team lost the opening playoff game, however, and Gian only learned the verdict after a year when a friend coughed it up. Henceforth, Gian disowned his friend. "Sure he didn't mind hanging out at my house and using my things but he kept the secret a year before telling me truthfully what happened."
To this day Gian tests his friends. That explains why he is in SHU, for putting money on the books for two buddies "just to see what they'd do with it." But really, because they have been forgotten by their people on the outside. Anne, my celly is a living St. Nick!
Chris
Dear Anne,
"As you gain control of your mind, with the help of your higher self, then your mind and ego become your allies. but the uncontrolled mind behaves as an enemy." Bhagavad Gita 6.6
"Yea, that I walk through the valley of death I shall fear no evil," quotes Gian, my celly in Solitary Housing Unit (SHU) Zeta Beta 14 House. He's reading the USA Today that arrived for him this afternoon in the mail. "I feel so badly for the Mississippi Tennessee and Louisiana. I want to go and help with my body." He's a formidable figure even as a sixty year old. With meat cleaver hands and an ox-like head, it was easy to imagine him as the star high school lineman. He spoke of the incident that marked this character for life.
In the locker room one day the bully football players were passing around a box of juice, keep away from the trainer. when it dropped to the ground they shrugged and went to the practice field. The coach came out huffing a few minutes later "Who did that?" Gian saw nobody making a move so he stepped up to take the heat. "I did, Coach," he said. "You're off the team!!"
Gian learned a year and a half later that the seniors had met to decide his fate. The playoffs were just about to begin. "We won't kick 'em off. Just bench him a game to punish him and teach him a lesson," they agreed. The team lost the opening playoff game, however, and Gian only learned the verdict after a year when a friend coughed it up. Henceforth, Gian disowned his friend. "Sure he didn't mind hanging out at my house and using my things but he kept the secret a year before telling me truthfully what happened."
To this day Gian tests his friends. That explains why he is in SHU, for putting money on the books for two buddies "just to see what they'd do with it." But really, because they have been forgotten by their people on the outside. Anne, my celly is a living St. Nick!
Chris
Monday, May 9, 2011
A Lust for Life
21 April 2011
Dear Anne,
"Simon Peter said to him, 'Master, then not only my feet, but my hands and head as well.'" Jn 13:9
In a swell after the Bible study I was elated to discover on the book cart Lust for Life, the 50th anniversary edition of Irving Stone's autobiographical novel of Vincent Van Gogh. In a blue ballpoint, the inscription inside reads:
"To Crisman -
I read this book rather incidentally right after my return home (sophomore year)...and it not only spoke to me, it screamed and cried to me...the life of Van Gogh represents a similar struggle that we share, that in many ways has brought us together. I trust you will relate strongly. You have effortlessly and beautifully reminded me what in ways this book taught me -- that there is an artist in all of us, in ME...you spark such electrical creativity in me. Thank you. And though we may not necessarily be artists of canvas, we are artists of life. I wish for you so much...mostly peace and love,
Kate"
Anne, this is exactly what I'm talking about. Who was I saying it to -- Crow? Greg? -- that I love life so much.
No, its not even the events that happen, that I experience. But Life itself. The possibilities of goodness. At a certain point "love" can't begin to express this. If love were black and contained every single shade, every color of meaning, of despair and tragic consequence, then I even love Guantanamo Bay Prison and Abu Zubayda.
Chris~
Dear Anne,
"Simon Peter said to him, 'Master, then not only my feet, but my hands and head as well.'" Jn 13:9
In a swell after the Bible study I was elated to discover on the book cart Lust for Life, the 50th anniversary edition of Irving Stone's autobiographical novel of Vincent Van Gogh. In a blue ballpoint, the inscription inside reads:
"To Crisman -
I read this book rather incidentally right after my return home (sophomore year)...and it not only spoke to me, it screamed and cried to me...the life of Van Gogh represents a similar struggle that we share, that in many ways has brought us together. I trust you will relate strongly. You have effortlessly and beautifully reminded me what in ways this book taught me -- that there is an artist in all of us, in ME...you spark such electrical creativity in me. Thank you. And though we may not necessarily be artists of canvas, we are artists of life. I wish for you so much...mostly peace and love,
Kate"
Anne, this is exactly what I'm talking about. Who was I saying it to -- Crow? Greg? -- that I love life so much.
No, its not even the events that happen, that I experience. But Life itself. The possibilities of goodness. At a certain point "love" can't begin to express this. If love were black and contained every single shade, every color of meaning, of despair and tragic consequence, then I even love Guantanamo Bay Prison and Abu Zubayda.
Chris~
Insane in the Membrane
From 21 April letter
------------------------
"A petition was circulated in the Place Lamartine. Ninety men and women signed it.
To Mayor Tardieu:
We, the undersigned citizens of Arles, are firmly convinced that Vincent Van Gogh, resident of Place Lamartine, 2, is a dangerous lunatic, not fit to be at large. We hereby call upon you as our Mayor to have this madman locked up.
It was very close to election time in Arles. Mayor Tardieu did not wish to displease so many voters. he ordered the superintendent of the police to arrest Vincent. They found him laying on the floor below the window sill. They carried him off to jail." Lust for Life by Irving Stone (1984).
Eric stopped by for a visit. When I told him how Van Gogh was taken to an insane asylum he said, "This place is like an insane asylum. Only here, we're the sane ones. The CO's are insane. The system is insane."
------------------------
"A petition was circulated in the Place Lamartine. Ninety men and women signed it.
To Mayor Tardieu:
We, the undersigned citizens of Arles, are firmly convinced that Vincent Van Gogh, resident of Place Lamartine, 2, is a dangerous lunatic, not fit to be at large. We hereby call upon you as our Mayor to have this madman locked up.
It was very close to election time in Arles. Mayor Tardieu did not wish to displease so many voters. he ordered the superintendent of the police to arrest Vincent. They found him laying on the floor below the window sill. They carried him off to jail." Lust for Life by Irving Stone (1984).
Eric stopped by for a visit. When I told him how Van Gogh was taken to an insane asylum he said, "This place is like an insane asylum. Only here, we're the sane ones. The CO's are insane. The system is insane."
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
The shifting paradigm
14 March 2011
Dear anne,
"How tarnished is the gold,
how changed the noble metal,
How the sacred stones lie strewn
at every street corner!"
"Hey Spicer," Greg said, "You look like you've been working out!" I burst out laughing. No, I definitely haven't. And Greg, who hasn't either isn't beyond ribbing me for something we've got in common.
Anne, months ago I accepted the reality that an act like "crossing the line" would engage me both with my society's demons as well as my personal demons. Instead of trying first to absolutely evict my own, I resolved to embrace my imperfection with an openness to the greater goodness of society also.
My letters have offered you, I hope, revealing testimony of one citizen-user's experience of the US Justice System. It has come in pieces, in fragments, and admittedly in biased storytelling. For instance, yesterday I scribbled to you about Greg, and to give you, I thought, a good impression of him, I began by mentioning his reference to Grapes of Wrath. I never detailed his appearance or all of his criminal background, for although he shared a good deal, I thought of it as "immaterial" evidence. Then something occurred to me reading last week's New York Times article, "3 Officers Hurt in St. Louis Shootout, Suspect Killed."
I found myself entirely unsympathetic to the frame of the article. Immediately, I looked for holes. The man was a known felon, okay, so what? Greg has 13 felonies, would he be shot? Greg vented yesterday about the legal kidnapping he experienced and had even mentioned in a kind of fury how wrong it was that with a gun he would not go quietly. I imagined that the suspect may have held this indignation when he fired on the invading US Marshalls and then I became conscious of my bias, of how my paradigm of the world slowly shifts in my sole act of being here.
Just writing this, somehow, I would like to feel better. For I have in fact felt that I have done nothing today. I seem to merely have awoke for meals and already we're at the 10pm count. Still Life with Woodpecker by Tom Robbins and your loving letters, friends, have indulged me.
Thanks,
C
Dear anne,
"How tarnished is the gold,
how changed the noble metal,
How the sacred stones lie strewn
at every street corner!"
"Hey Spicer," Greg said, "You look like you've been working out!" I burst out laughing. No, I definitely haven't. And Greg, who hasn't either isn't beyond ribbing me for something we've got in common.
Anne, months ago I accepted the reality that an act like "crossing the line" would engage me both with my society's demons as well as my personal demons. Instead of trying first to absolutely evict my own, I resolved to embrace my imperfection with an openness to the greater goodness of society also.
My letters have offered you, I hope, revealing testimony of one citizen-user's experience of the US Justice System. It has come in pieces, in fragments, and admittedly in biased storytelling. For instance, yesterday I scribbled to you about Greg, and to give you, I thought, a good impression of him, I began by mentioning his reference to Grapes of Wrath. I never detailed his appearance or all of his criminal background, for although he shared a good deal, I thought of it as "immaterial" evidence. Then something occurred to me reading last week's New York Times article, "3 Officers Hurt in St. Louis Shootout, Suspect Killed."
I found myself entirely unsympathetic to the frame of the article. Immediately, I looked for holes. The man was a known felon, okay, so what? Greg has 13 felonies, would he be shot? Greg vented yesterday about the legal kidnapping he experienced and had even mentioned in a kind of fury how wrong it was that with a gun he would not go quietly. I imagined that the suspect may have held this indignation when he fired on the invading US Marshalls and then I became conscious of my bias, of how my paradigm of the world slowly shifts in my sole act of being here.
Just writing this, somehow, I would like to feel better. For I have in fact felt that I have done nothing today. I seem to merely have awoke for meals and already we're at the 10pm count. Still Life with Woodpecker by Tom Robbins and your loving letters, friends, have indulged me.
Thanks,
C
Monday, May 2, 2011
A page of Greg's story
13 March 2011
Dear Anne,
"A stray sheep was Israel that Lions pursued; formerly the King of Assyria devoured her, now Nebuchadnezzar of Babylon gnaws her bones." Jeremiah 50: 17
One of the orderlies made a point to evangelize me about the injustice of the system. Greg, I'll call him. Greg has spent 83% of his adult life in prison. It boils down to drug addiction, meth specifically. His original charges were fraud and then for possession of ammunition after becoming a felon. He violated probation, missing a urinary analysis test. The federal marshalls went to Graham from Tacoma to kidnap him from his parents house. He was in the backyard power washing the sidewalk when they entered through the electric fence, guns drawn. He had warned his girlfriend it could happen, that he would just disappear for two weeks until he could get out a phone call. It did. He told the judge how he just needed a drug program. He was supervisor with an asbestos removal company making $38.05 an hour. He had paid off $8000 of the $16,000 child support debt for his two boys. They live in Yakima. He currently makes $0.12 an hour as a dorm orderly when it costs $0.30 for Ramen soup. He knows how it will be at the halfway house; they'll force him to pay down part of the child support first, then out of the gross earnings 25% is taken to pay the cost of the halfway housing. 50% is taken for child support automatically from his paycheck.
Why do American taxpayers pay for him to do nothing here? He wonders. He could get a violation of probation for associating with felons outside, but in here it's okay? Couldn't he have an employment that pays a real wage so he could make a dent in the child support responsibilities? He wants people to become educated about the prisons, the fact that for meth and a gun a kid will get ten years.
He appreciates the privilege of how things are. "The further south you go, the more politics...races don't talk to each other."
It infuriates Greg to remember how a sex offender was given $20,000 bond right in front of him but he got $60,000. "The guy gets out in two months for a treatment program but I'm stuck for 8 months." He says the recidivism rate, or likelihood of a repeat offense for probation violations is 85% compared to the recidivism rate for sex offenders of 100%. It looks to Greg therefore that society would rather prevent the loss of a few hundred people's good credit than secure the protection of children against a crime that will destroy their whole lives.
----------------------------------
The following is written by Greg, enclosed with Chris' letter.
By Greg
3.13.2011
All the things that earth provides for humans to live and coincide
the earth, the moon, the evening stars, the planets above like the one they call mars.
We have birds and bees, flowers and trees, incredible love and hopes and dreams,
we have all these things we're meant to see, all the things above the earth and in the sea.
Why then do we pretend to toy, by building bombs meant to destroy.
It is said there is enough to kill all, you and me and even the birds and the fish in the sea.
Why is it hard to get along when laws they write are meant to fight.
What is the deal when they'd rather kill than heal.
I really just can't understand, why it's okay for them and not me to stand.
I stood up on my own two feet, they stuck me in prison and called my defeat.
They make up lies and tell it their way, telling everyone else "WE'RE WRONG" and that's ok?
I write from in prison just happy and free, because they took my freedom but my heart leads the way!
I hope from now on you'll see what is true, knowing who prints the money and makes the laws: they do!!!
Dear Anne,
"A stray sheep was Israel that Lions pursued; formerly the King of Assyria devoured her, now Nebuchadnezzar of Babylon gnaws her bones." Jeremiah 50: 17
One of the orderlies made a point to evangelize me about the injustice of the system. Greg, I'll call him. Greg has spent 83% of his adult life in prison. It boils down to drug addiction, meth specifically. His original charges were fraud and then for possession of ammunition after becoming a felon. He violated probation, missing a urinary analysis test. The federal marshalls went to Graham from Tacoma to kidnap him from his parents house. He was in the backyard power washing the sidewalk when they entered through the electric fence, guns drawn. He had warned his girlfriend it could happen, that he would just disappear for two weeks until he could get out a phone call. It did. He told the judge how he just needed a drug program. He was supervisor with an asbestos removal company making $38.05 an hour. He had paid off $8000 of the $16,000 child support debt for his two boys. They live in Yakima. He currently makes $0.12 an hour as a dorm orderly when it costs $0.30 for Ramen soup. He knows how it will be at the halfway house; they'll force him to pay down part of the child support first, then out of the gross earnings 25% is taken to pay the cost of the halfway housing. 50% is taken for child support automatically from his paycheck.
Why do American taxpayers pay for him to do nothing here? He wonders. He could get a violation of probation for associating with felons outside, but in here it's okay? Couldn't he have an employment that pays a real wage so he could make a dent in the child support responsibilities? He wants people to become educated about the prisons, the fact that for meth and a gun a kid will get ten years.
He appreciates the privilege of how things are. "The further south you go, the more politics...races don't talk to each other."
It infuriates Greg to remember how a sex offender was given $20,000 bond right in front of him but he got $60,000. "The guy gets out in two months for a treatment program but I'm stuck for 8 months." He says the recidivism rate, or likelihood of a repeat offense for probation violations is 85% compared to the recidivism rate for sex offenders of 100%. It looks to Greg therefore that society would rather prevent the loss of a few hundred people's good credit than secure the protection of children against a crime that will destroy their whole lives.
----------------------------------
The following is written by Greg, enclosed with Chris' letter.
By Greg
3.13.2011
All the things that earth provides for humans to live and coincide
the earth, the moon, the evening stars, the planets above like the one they call mars.
We have birds and bees, flowers and trees, incredible love and hopes and dreams,
we have all these things we're meant to see, all the things above the earth and in the sea.
Why then do we pretend to toy, by building bombs meant to destroy.
It is said there is enough to kill all, you and me and even the birds and the fish in the sea.
Why is it hard to get along when laws they write are meant to fight.
What is the deal when they'd rather kill than heal.
I really just can't understand, why it's okay for them and not me to stand.
I stood up on my own two feet, they stuck me in prison and called my defeat.
They make up lies and tell it their way, telling everyone else "WE'RE WRONG" and that's ok?
I write from in prison just happy and free, because they took my freedom but my heart leads the way!
I hope from now on you'll see what is true, knowing who prints the money and makes the laws: they do!!!
One, two, three, four...this is what you have in store
From a letter 7 March 2011
From the FDC SeaTac Inmate Orientation handbook:
"Official counts are scheduled to ensure accountability of all inmates committed to the facility. During the course of the day, Monday through Friday, there are five official counts. The counts are as follows: 12:01 am, 3:00 am, 5:00 am, 4:00 pm, and 10:00 pm. In addition, a 10:00 am count is conducted on weekends and federal holidays. The 4:00 pm and 10:00 am counts are standing counts. You must stand, no exceptions. If staff are conducting a picture count you will be required to state your name and register number to the requesting staff. It is your responsibility to be ready for the count when the time nears. The Unit Officer will announce, "COUNT TIME" when it is time to count and you are expected to:
From the FDC SeaTac Inmate Orientation handbook:
"Official counts are scheduled to ensure accountability of all inmates committed to the facility. During the course of the day, Monday through Friday, there are five official counts. The counts are as follows: 12:01 am, 3:00 am, 5:00 am, 4:00 pm, and 10:00 pm. In addition, a 10:00 am count is conducted on weekends and federal holidays. The 4:00 pm and 10:00 am counts are standing counts. You must stand, no exceptions. If staff are conducting a picture count you will be required to state your name and register number to the requesting staff. It is your responsibility to be ready for the count when the time nears. The Unit Officer will announce, "COUNT TIME" when it is time to count and you are expected to:
- STOP doing what you are doing and go to your assigned cell or area;
- Remain silent during the count;
- Remain in your cell until the officer has announced that the count is clear.
Rant
Here's a little snippet of a rant by James.
-------------------------------------------
7 March 2011
"I can't wait to get the hell out of America," says James. Last night we take laps for a half hour. It's not quite a Dennis Miller face with a bit of Paul Bunyan and a bit of leprechaun with a shaggy gray-tinged auburn beard. "In LA, man, sure there's the beaches but there's a whole lot I didn't need to see: the abuse of wealth, the ostentation, the racism, the prejudice. People don't even care," he rants, "that their government stomps around the hemisphere and invades countries around the world...just look at how it all began, with mass genocide against the lands inhabitants."
-------------------------------------------
7 March 2011
"I can't wait to get the hell out of America," says James. Last night we take laps for a half hour. It's not quite a Dennis Miller face with a bit of Paul Bunyan and a bit of leprechaun with a shaggy gray-tinged auburn beard. "In LA, man, sure there's the beaches but there's a whole lot I didn't need to see: the abuse of wealth, the ostentation, the racism, the prejudice. People don't even care," he rants, "that their government stomps around the hemisphere and invades countries around the world...just look at how it all began, with mass genocide against the lands inhabitants."
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Brightest moment of the year
12 March 2011
Dear Anne,
"Rend not your garments, and return to the LORD, your God. for gracious and merciful is he, slow to anger, rich in kindness, and relenting in punishment." Joel 2:13
Among feelings the least Homeric of them all could be contentment for only in his Penelope's arms can Odyssey's journey conclude, and there, upon contented, renewed feast of lovemaking can he rest in the knowledge of his beloved. Far be it from me to judge Western literature; I know how I clung to my contentment last night, after a feast of jokemaking and sharing of stories with Cole. In the quiet hovering afterward I lay. All the ribald humor and guffawing aside, I rested in the deeper knowledge that we are one. He had felt shy, describing the raid and the aftermath. What began as my reading aloud the extensive article "No Bars: The High Tech Prison is Here" in The Atlantic (Sept 2010) led to his own account of pre-trial monitoring that lasted a year and a half. During the week, Cole had the choice how he used eight spare hours, allotting them in a lump for a weekend hike or mountain biking day. Then I recounted, for the first person since entering the criminal justice system, details of the protest at the School of Americas. I lay afterwards remembering.
Oh, Anne, what I most enjoyed this year was to participate with the Puppetista crew in the making of puppets, together, communal meal sharing. As we went, creating the story that would be told Saturday and Sunday through the menagerie of color and choreography. That no brother or sister of ours in Mexico, Honduras, or Colombia, though their human rights may yet be nullified by US militarization, our mother shall consume -- and here I think of the story of Lazarus and the Rich Man -- she will consume us. We can be content in the knowledge of this. Note: I said not that we could be complacent but at ease in the will of God's judgment, Her spirit of wisdom.
Chris
Dear Anne,
"Rend not your garments, and return to the LORD, your God. for gracious and merciful is he, slow to anger, rich in kindness, and relenting in punishment." Joel 2:13
Among feelings the least Homeric of them all could be contentment for only in his Penelope's arms can Odyssey's journey conclude, and there, upon contented, renewed feast of lovemaking can he rest in the knowledge of his beloved. Far be it from me to judge Western literature; I know how I clung to my contentment last night, after a feast of jokemaking and sharing of stories with Cole. In the quiet hovering afterward I lay. All the ribald humor and guffawing aside, I rested in the deeper knowledge that we are one. He had felt shy, describing the raid and the aftermath. What began as my reading aloud the extensive article "No Bars: The High Tech Prison is Here" in The Atlantic (Sept 2010) led to his own account of pre-trial monitoring that lasted a year and a half. During the week, Cole had the choice how he used eight spare hours, allotting them in a lump for a weekend hike or mountain biking day. Then I recounted, for the first person since entering the criminal justice system, details of the protest at the School of Americas. I lay afterwards remembering.
Oh, Anne, what I most enjoyed this year was to participate with the Puppetista crew in the making of puppets, together, communal meal sharing. As we went, creating the story that would be told Saturday and Sunday through the menagerie of color and choreography. That no brother or sister of ours in Mexico, Honduras, or Colombia, though their human rights may yet be nullified by US militarization, our mother shall consume -- and here I think of the story of Lazarus and the Rich Man -- she will consume us. We can be content in the knowledge of this. Note: I said not that we could be complacent but at ease in the will of God's judgment, Her spirit of wisdom.
Chris
Politico
Part of a letter from 12 March 2011
-----------------------------------------
Timmy took a Pepsi and reiterated that he was just asking questions. He wasn't calling me a liar or anything!
Ryan has told me his story, now idling out with one week remaining until he goes to a halfway house until April. He said that while I'm here for being silly, he's here for being stupid. He got into it with the administration. They wanted him to act like he was in prison so he treated them like he does the prison guards and they didn't like it. Since 1974 he's been out of prison only seventeen months. A girl, a car and some cash await him on the outside. he's twice been picked up for violating parole, having moved addresses without giving notice. he says he wants to keep his head down and his butt out of trouble this time. At the same time that he wants to be a citizen, he says he just doesn't think like one. Heroin, it keeps him down. Half in the drug program are teens to 20, others are in their 50s, like him.
I don't disagree when he reams on the police, what we call the guards -- "I hate anybody making a cent off us," he says -- sort of, minus the vulgarity, minus the meaning. Oh, and Timmy has "alot to learn, you"...er, me...the politics on the inside.
Chris
-----------------------------------------
Timmy took a Pepsi and reiterated that he was just asking questions. He wasn't calling me a liar or anything!
Ryan has told me his story, now idling out with one week remaining until he goes to a halfway house until April. He said that while I'm here for being silly, he's here for being stupid. He got into it with the administration. They wanted him to act like he was in prison so he treated them like he does the prison guards and they didn't like it. Since 1974 he's been out of prison only seventeen months. A girl, a car and some cash await him on the outside. he's twice been picked up for violating parole, having moved addresses without giving notice. he says he wants to keep his head down and his butt out of trouble this time. At the same time that he wants to be a citizen, he says he just doesn't think like one. Heroin, it keeps him down. Half in the drug program are teens to 20, others are in their 50s, like him.
I don't disagree when he reams on the police, what we call the guards -- "I hate anybody making a cent off us," he says -- sort of, minus the vulgarity, minus the meaning. Oh, and Timmy has "alot to learn, you"...er, me...the politics on the inside.
Chris
Changing Celly
As you read in a former post, Chris got a new roommate. It seemed that somehow the switch was orchestrated by Cole, Chris' former roommate who he apparently quite bonded with. His new celly is Matt, and as I have heard from his parents, they are getting along quite well too. I think Chris is feeling a bit emotional in this post, which is why I think he wanders the way he does -- undergoing the emotional change of roomie. Just a guess on my part.
----------------------------------------------------
11 March 2011
Dear Anne,
"When Herod realized that he had been deceived by the Magi, he became furious. He ordered the massacre of all the boys in Bethlehem and its vicinity two years old and under, in accordance with the time he had ascertained from the Magi." Mt 2:16
[My celly snoring in the background] I should like to sleep in peace tonight and when my new celly snores then if I hear it I shall say to myself, "Ah, another prophet cries out in the wilderness." I shouldn't rest, or how can I? By definition, sleep shall evacuate my awareness of my body or my surroundings. what then, in such a mysterious state of unknowing, yet remembering, what then shall the LORD say? Anne, I would let you count the hairs on my head. Yet I seem to push against a wall, an unmovable monolith that is my only possibility. I dare not suggest less than Descartes, that I think therefore I am, but how am I impacting the downward oppressive wall? My insight rewarded itself in clearer knowledge of my frail powers and my stupid pride. I felt and still feel such affection for Cole, and was touched when he visited this afternoon and had me back over to hear more jokes. It seemed to me unnecessary, since I can cross his path on any given lap or share a meal, and yet it sealed our transition to friendship, a relationship of choice rather than of circumstance. By now, as a result of your generous reading, some of the new characters in this drama have made your acquaintance. And I know, your prayers. I am told that a wise man knows when to shut up. I boast in my ignorance however and feign no idea what half it is I have scribed. One thing I do know, my tender companion: without you I am a broken record.
Chris
----------------------------------------------------
11 March 2011
Dear Anne,
"When Herod realized that he had been deceived by the Magi, he became furious. He ordered the massacre of all the boys in Bethlehem and its vicinity two years old and under, in accordance with the time he had ascertained from the Magi." Mt 2:16
[My celly snoring in the background] I should like to sleep in peace tonight and when my new celly snores then if I hear it I shall say to myself, "Ah, another prophet cries out in the wilderness." I shouldn't rest, or how can I? By definition, sleep shall evacuate my awareness of my body or my surroundings. what then, in such a mysterious state of unknowing, yet remembering, what then shall the LORD say? Anne, I would let you count the hairs on my head. Yet I seem to push against a wall, an unmovable monolith that is my only possibility. I dare not suggest less than Descartes, that I think therefore I am, but how am I impacting the downward oppressive wall? My insight rewarded itself in clearer knowledge of my frail powers and my stupid pride. I felt and still feel such affection for Cole, and was touched when he visited this afternoon and had me back over to hear more jokes. It seemed to me unnecessary, since I can cross his path on any given lap or share a meal, and yet it sealed our transition to friendship, a relationship of choice rather than of circumstance. By now, as a result of your generous reading, some of the new characters in this drama have made your acquaintance. And I know, your prayers. I am told that a wise man knows when to shut up. I boast in my ignorance however and feign no idea what half it is I have scribed. One thing I do know, my tender companion: without you I am a broken record.
Chris
Friday, April 1, 2011
Call to action for us all
11 March 2011
Dear Anne,
"You shall distribute this land among yourselves according to the tribes of Israel. You shall allot it as inheritance for yourselves and for the alien resident in your midst who have bred children among you. The latter shall be to you like native Israelites; along with you they shall receive inheritances among the tribes of Israel. In whatever tribe the alien may be resident, there you shall assign him his inheritance, says the Lord God." Ezek 47: 21-23
"You're not very observant," says Stan about my inspection of his room. He counts out the extra sheets he has: two pink and a plum. And another pink. I didn't see it, or I didn't care and so I didn't see it.
You may not realize the door is shutting on you. The opportunity closes fast. I care that the SOA/WHINSEC closes, do you?
If it fascinates your imagination, investigate a little closer and see. Smell the stink of evil. I know a way to clean it up, to go in faith across that plain white line with truth. Be civil in your intention, but form it quickly now or it will be too late. Don't you want to help close the SOA doors? Jump on the band wagon. Everyone's doing it.
But see, you need to form your affinity group now. Reconfigure your mind on this. Legal measures must be taken soon to ensure your defense is adequately provided. By right you can put forth a full defense, meaning for your future attorneys a great face off. Give them the lead time they need to assemble a team of first rate witnesses to prove the case. First of all, for an international defense you have to have the US Magistrate agree that the SOA/WHINSEC is a wrong -- a pre-trial. Hence the importance of front loading the preparation. All the motions have already been assembled by the legal team. But since being ruled on last in 2006, no further test has been made for a serious legal fight. Should you see the urgency as I do, get moving, raise the sirens, beg your benefactors, recruit, recruit, recruit!
Chris
Dear Anne,
"You shall distribute this land among yourselves according to the tribes of Israel. You shall allot it as inheritance for yourselves and for the alien resident in your midst who have bred children among you. The latter shall be to you like native Israelites; along with you they shall receive inheritances among the tribes of Israel. In whatever tribe the alien may be resident, there you shall assign him his inheritance, says the Lord God." Ezek 47: 21-23
"You're not very observant," says Stan about my inspection of his room. He counts out the extra sheets he has: two pink and a plum. And another pink. I didn't see it, or I didn't care and so I didn't see it.
You may not realize the door is shutting on you. The opportunity closes fast. I care that the SOA/WHINSEC closes, do you?
If it fascinates your imagination, investigate a little closer and see. Smell the stink of evil. I know a way to clean it up, to go in faith across that plain white line with truth. Be civil in your intention, but form it quickly now or it will be too late. Don't you want to help close the SOA doors? Jump on the band wagon. Everyone's doing it.
But see, you need to form your affinity group now. Reconfigure your mind on this. Legal measures must be taken soon to ensure your defense is adequately provided. By right you can put forth a full defense, meaning for your future attorneys a great face off. Give them the lead time they need to assemble a team of first rate witnesses to prove the case. First of all, for an international defense you have to have the US Magistrate agree that the SOA/WHINSEC is a wrong -- a pre-trial. Hence the importance of front loading the preparation. All the motions have already been assembled by the legal team. But since being ruled on last in 2006, no further test has been made for a serious legal fight. Should you see the urgency as I do, get moving, raise the sirens, beg your benefactors, recruit, recruit, recruit!
Chris
Write On
9 March 2011
Dear Anne,
"The Lord forbid," Nabath answered him, "that I should give you my ancestral heritage." Ahab went home disturbed and angry at the answer Nabath the Jezreelite had made to him: "I will not give you my ancestral heritage." Lying down on his bed, he turned away from food and would not eat. 1 Kings 21:3-4
Before I finished the 12 rules of better breakups in Psychology Today Jan/Feb 2011, Cole entered the cell and exposed the issue. "So I have somebody you should talk to , to be celly with. He's in five house downstairs."
"Wow, I thought we were getting along."
"Yeah, we do. It's not you. Matt's not getting along with his celly and he's been on me to move in."
"You could own up, man. I know you guys wanted to be together before I came. I respected the you that was blunt and just said you wanted him to move in."
He shows me the guy, not knowing his name, "I think he's lonely." It turns out the cell is one of the loudest and according to the guy he was put there to detox. He says at least twice, in spite of my descriptions of dealing with worse, that I really wouldn't want to live there.
I go and find Matt, my opponent in Stratego. He's narrowly dodged the bullet twice on getting assigned a celly. He wants to keep the cell to his own, naturally. Nothing personal. Cole and Matt play pool. It turns out according to Matt that he and Mel have patched things up. I'm curious about Mel because Stratego Matt said, since I admired him for being a reader/writer type, that Mel could be someone to talk to. Since we sometimes sit together for a meal and have a pending chess match I'm further intrigued when I hear Mel likes biographies. Stratego Matt rotates into the pool game and next I do.
He lost his career as a slot machine technician. The guy he helped attempt robbery on the casino turned him in. What have been a state crime by law three years ago became a federal felony. On top of that he got put on the blacklist, sent to Vegas, and distributed throughout the nation to put the watch out against anyone who has ever tried to wrong a casino.
He puts four hours a day into the creation of the fantasy mentioned a few days ago on our walk. The maps, character backgrounds, chapter outlines, language dictionary. Its a labor of love now nine months and 70% complete. "For my kid," he says.
Chris
Dear Anne,
"The Lord forbid," Nabath answered him, "that I should give you my ancestral heritage." Ahab went home disturbed and angry at the answer Nabath the Jezreelite had made to him: "I will not give you my ancestral heritage." Lying down on his bed, he turned away from food and would not eat. 1 Kings 21:3-4
Before I finished the 12 rules of better breakups in Psychology Today Jan/Feb 2011, Cole entered the cell and exposed the issue. "So I have somebody you should talk to , to be celly with. He's in five house downstairs."
"Wow, I thought we were getting along."
"Yeah, we do. It's not you. Matt's not getting along with his celly and he's been on me to move in."
"You could own up, man. I know you guys wanted to be together before I came. I respected the you that was blunt and just said you wanted him to move in."
He shows me the guy, not knowing his name, "I think he's lonely." It turns out the cell is one of the loudest and according to the guy he was put there to detox. He says at least twice, in spite of my descriptions of dealing with worse, that I really wouldn't want to live there.
I go and find Matt, my opponent in Stratego. He's narrowly dodged the bullet twice on getting assigned a celly. He wants to keep the cell to his own, naturally. Nothing personal. Cole and Matt play pool. It turns out according to Matt that he and Mel have patched things up. I'm curious about Mel because Stratego Matt said, since I admired him for being a reader/writer type, that Mel could be someone to talk to. Since we sometimes sit together for a meal and have a pending chess match I'm further intrigued when I hear Mel likes biographies. Stratego Matt rotates into the pool game and next I do.
He lost his career as a slot machine technician. The guy he helped attempt robbery on the casino turned him in. What have been a state crime by law three years ago became a federal felony. On top of that he got put on the blacklist, sent to Vegas, and distributed throughout the nation to put the watch out against anyone who has ever tried to wrong a casino.
He puts four hours a day into the creation of the fantasy mentioned a few days ago on our walk. The maps, character backgrounds, chapter outlines, language dictionary. Its a labor of love now nine months and 70% complete. "For my kid," he says.
Chris
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Not so punny
10 March 2011
Dear Anne,
Cole came and said, come on let's play volleyball. Volleyball? Volleyball, he said. Volleyball, I said? yeah. Volleyball? And I thought of nothing as the white globe floated and stopped and hovered. Then techno beat and acid trip hallucination. My hands set the ball. It came, it went, and it went over. Steve said, "We're playing three on three." Cole and I waited to the side; we waited with need for Elijah. And my weight settled on the automatic running machine and to stay on I walked, to stay on I jogged, and then I ran sprinting. My heart was back in Africa at the beginning. I felt ancient. To live I put my hands down on my friends, the railings, and lifted up my feet. The worrying stopped, permissive again. "Okay, let's go," Cole said and I enjoyed.
"Hey Spicer, you gay? There's a debate in the unit. I don't care if you are, just give me a straight answer. No pun intended."
It's been said before but is worth saying again. Brilliance is the ability to hold in the mind the possible at the same time as the impossible and not be paralyzed. Ghandi said that if --in the case of a youth who wrote him that he had been verbally assaulted and antagonized to fight -- that if the youth had not pitied the opponent from the beginning, and for a moment flinched under the insult, then the battle had been lost already. Thus he advised the youth to fight for his honor since he had already lost it. Friends, you intervened like angels and it was a beatific sight. Instead of seeing his bald head and snake tattoos, I saw your faces. I smiled and said nothing. He laughed at his own pun and was satisfied.
Thank you, Lord. I asked you for humiliations and you give me just enough to learn my weakness. I cannot undo all the homophobia of a man's life nor a culture of it. You will show me the way of noncooperation; I trust in you.
Chris
Dear Anne,
Cole came and said, come on let's play volleyball. Volleyball? Volleyball, he said. Volleyball, I said? yeah. Volleyball? And I thought of nothing as the white globe floated and stopped and hovered. Then techno beat and acid trip hallucination. My hands set the ball. It came, it went, and it went over. Steve said, "We're playing three on three." Cole and I waited to the side; we waited with need for Elijah. And my weight settled on the automatic running machine and to stay on I walked, to stay on I jogged, and then I ran sprinting. My heart was back in Africa at the beginning. I felt ancient. To live I put my hands down on my friends, the railings, and lifted up my feet. The worrying stopped, permissive again. "Okay, let's go," Cole said and I enjoyed.
"Hey Spicer, you gay? There's a debate in the unit. I don't care if you are, just give me a straight answer. No pun intended."
It's been said before but is worth saying again. Brilliance is the ability to hold in the mind the possible at the same time as the impossible and not be paralyzed. Ghandi said that if --in the case of a youth who wrote him that he had been verbally assaulted and antagonized to fight -- that if the youth had not pitied the opponent from the beginning, and for a moment flinched under the insult, then the battle had been lost already. Thus he advised the youth to fight for his honor since he had already lost it. Friends, you intervened like angels and it was a beatific sight. Instead of seeing his bald head and snake tattoos, I saw your faces. I smiled and said nothing. He laughed at his own pun and was satisfied.
Thank you, Lord. I asked you for humiliations and you give me just enough to learn my weakness. I cannot undo all the homophobia of a man's life nor a culture of it. You will show me the way of noncooperation; I trust in you.
Chris
A new celly
After a bit of time with his roommate Cole, Chris gets a new celly named Matt. Celly is the term for cellmate.
--------------------------------------------
10 March 2011
Dear Anne,
"Everybody drinks it but nobody makes it," says Cole of alcohol. All the orderlies had to do UA Urine Analysis. They checked out. So about that bit of rebellion, yeah, I've come to peace with the fact its just one more aspect of inhumanity I can offer up to God. Giving the UA in itself is not a bad thing Fr. Watson says. Pray in thanks for him, anne! He celebrated Mass, the last in six weeks for us unless the visiting deacon arrives with Eucharist.
Well, I've prayed for my dormmates and joked again with that thug. Guess what? I met with Stratego Matt; classic one personality on the enneagram. Yet good, incredible; I liked the sterile clean of his room. He has good boundaries saying I can be messy in my areas. He snores. He works in the mornings. "Somebody says you sleep all day," he says. "No, I just tell people that."
Time to lock up and shut up,
Chris
--------------------------------------------
10 March 2011
Dear Anne,
"Everybody drinks it but nobody makes it," says Cole of alcohol. All the orderlies had to do UA Urine Analysis. They checked out. So about that bit of rebellion, yeah, I've come to peace with the fact its just one more aspect of inhumanity I can offer up to God. Giving the UA in itself is not a bad thing Fr. Watson says. Pray in thanks for him, anne! He celebrated Mass, the last in six weeks for us unless the visiting deacon arrives with Eucharist.
Well, I've prayed for my dormmates and joked again with that thug. Guess what? I met with Stratego Matt; classic one personality on the enneagram. Yet good, incredible; I liked the sterile clean of his room. He has good boundaries saying I can be messy in my areas. He snores. He works in the mornings. "Somebody says you sleep all day," he says. "No, I just tell people that."
Time to lock up and shut up,
Chris
Water for Elephants
A slice of a letter from 7 March 2011
* Peashooters are his biceps, according to the inmates :)
--------------------------------------------
"If only you would put up with a little foolishness from me! Please put up with me." 2 Cor 11:1.
Never could I have punched a concrete wall and felt in the echo on the other side; never can I guess what love in a prison cell when you forget time is so good interrupted. Then an unexpected bumping morse code -- should I ignore it? I timidly bumped with my left hand. It was Matt corresponding on the other side. I never that it could feel as wholesome as a hug.
"He scrutinizes me, shoots an oyster of dark brown tobacco juice out of the side of his mouth, and goes back inside." Water for Elephants, p. 33.
My peashooters are shot after four shabby sets of diamond pushups. Met Anton, the young guy shaved bald, pimple pocked, nose like a mole. Says he doesn't work, he only has six months to do and will maybe get a halfway house. This morning he gave me his breakfast tray. "I don't eat that shit," he says. "Monday morning is the worst." The biscuits were huge though. "Where I came from they give us quarter size ones like this," I counter, pinching the air. We've completed the lap and taken our positions, splayed our fingers apart on the polished cement. I flop on the seventh and sputter a few more. "That's it?" says John, seeing us break up. "Already done?" "That's it," I say. In his hand he carries a plastic chair from his room. "You doing a set?" "We're doing backs." "I'll join you in a bit," I say.
* Peashooters are his biceps, according to the inmates :)
--------------------------------------------
"If only you would put up with a little foolishness from me! Please put up with me." 2 Cor 11:1.
Never could I have punched a concrete wall and felt in the echo on the other side; never can I guess what love in a prison cell when you forget time is so good interrupted. Then an unexpected bumping morse code -- should I ignore it? I timidly bumped with my left hand. It was Matt corresponding on the other side. I never that it could feel as wholesome as a hug.
"He scrutinizes me, shoots an oyster of dark brown tobacco juice out of the side of his mouth, and goes back inside." Water for Elephants, p. 33.
My peashooters are shot after four shabby sets of diamond pushups. Met Anton, the young guy shaved bald, pimple pocked, nose like a mole. Says he doesn't work, he only has six months to do and will maybe get a halfway house. This morning he gave me his breakfast tray. "I don't eat that shit," he says. "Monday morning is the worst." The biscuits were huge though. "Where I came from they give us quarter size ones like this," I counter, pinching the air. We've completed the lap and taken our positions, splayed our fingers apart on the polished cement. I flop on the seventh and sputter a few more. "That's it?" says John, seeing us break up. "Already done?" "That's it," I say. In his hand he carries a plastic chair from his room. "You doing a set?" "We're doing backs." "I'll join you in a bit," I say.
Monday, March 28, 2011
talkin with the ladies
Thanks to Catherine for typing and sending this to me!
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7 March 2011
Dear Anne,
"Since we have such hope, we act very boldly and not like Moses, who put a veil over his face so that the Israelites could not look intently on the cessation of what was feeling." 2 Cor 3:12-13
Seven of us from echo-charlie just went to the psychologists for our formal intake interview. Peter complains to even be here. They should go to the facility at Lake Placid in upstate New York. But the treaty transfers get the once over - "so you're fine, right?" I meet with Dr. James again and sense she's a little tired. She wears contacts today and her skin glows. I'm struck with shyness and clam up, refusing to tell her about the whatchamacallit I got. "You can just tell me that you don't feel comfortable answering. Are you getting treatment?" "No." "Then you'll need to put in a 'cop-out.'"
"Do you know how to do that?" "Yes". Am I sheepish? What did Gus say to me when I visited...Don't be bashful. That's it. I've heard of guys who after a long time in prison fall head over heals with the first female guard who speaks to them kindly. I've also heard that "the first one you date (when you get out) is a victim." Yikes.
If it were one of these interviews with a female for application to the Society of Jesus, to examine your manner with the opposite sex, I wouldn't have passed muster. Transference, how does that work again?
Anne, I've brought back two books from the well-stocked psychology library. You wrote that print about authenticity encouraging me to trust your discretion. I've selected Uncoupling: Turning points in Intimate Relationships and Coping with Anxiety: Simple Ways to Relieve, Anxiety, Fear and Worry. Next I want the one on Boundaries.
Chris
Sunday, March 27, 2011
A footnote
I pulled this from another letter written the same day, March 5, 2011.
---------------------------------------------------------------
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.
---------------------------------------------------------------
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.
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.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
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
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
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
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
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
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
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
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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
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
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
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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 25th.
Stay close with our loving God. And please write me when you have the chance.
In God’s Holy Spirit, my friend,
anne
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