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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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
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