To begin walking in the Spirit can require a “learning curve”
By Marcellus Allen Roberts*
“I was in prison and you visited me,” (Mt. 25:36) A priest says Mass for inmates inside a prison. Unfortunately, Catholic priests comprise only 13% of all prison chaplains across the US.
During the COVID lockdown, the George Beto Unit of the prison in which I am incarcerated went through a significant transformation. In times past, an inmate would spend eighteen months at what was called a transfer unit — a small prison used to acclimate prisoners to their new environment before sending them to larger, more dangerous facilities. The lockdown changed all of that.
The pandemic exposed a brewing officer shortage and to make up for the lack, several of the smaller units were closed down and the larger units began taking on inmates directly from county jails. The buffer between guys with large sentences and those we call “short timers” has disappeared. Today, it is common for a man who has been locked up for twenty years to find himself in conversation with a man who left the county jail twenty days ago. Lapses in protocol may result in these two being housed together in the same cell, and since recidivism is higher in those given shorter sentences, it’s been an interesting adjustment to make.
This change in the demographics of the prison has brought up more conversations about recidivism, its causes, and how one can avoid becoming a negative statistic. We now get to watch men we saw walk out of the door months or years before walk back in, fresh from the county jail, on parole violations and fresh charges. The temptation for those who have been serving lengthy sentences to look down on those coming back in is strong, but it can also be turned around and used to generate a dialogue of understanding and mutual benefit.
Mother Teresa has inspired millions with her extraordinary example of compassionate and selfless
work for the poor, the ill, and the outcast.
Talking with so many men who have come back has given me perspective on the role recidivism plays on spiritual life in prison. “People are hungry for the Word of God that will give peace, that will give unity, that will give joy. But you cannot give what you don’t have.” (No Greater Love, St. Mother Teresa)
The book No Greater Love is an inspirational collection of Mother Teresa’s teachings edited by New World Library in 2000.
Now PeeWee’s back — back behind bars. This time, his third time down, they hit him with a bucket of ice water, a wake-up call, a “twenty-piece.” But don’t just shake your head at the facts. Listen. Be curious enough to ask about his emotional, mental, and spiritual state the last time he was released. He’ll answer with one word: empty.
The one-word answer leaves his lips so casually, as if he had already asked himself the question before and is only recalling the well-thought-out conclusion of a previous reflection. This is his answer even though he came into full communion with the Catholic Church during his last sentence, professed the same Confirmation promises handed down through the ages, and partook of the Precious Body and Blood.
He admits that between the altar of his First Communion and his parole, his life had been swept clean, put in order — yet left empty… “‘Eat, eat the bread. You are hungry.’ And the little one looked at me and said, ‘I am afraid. When the bread will be finished, I will be hungry again.’” (No Greater Love, St. Mother Teresa)
PeeWee will tell you how he was sober when released, but drunk and high twenty-four hours later. He was totally overwhelmed by the sudden influx of freedom and the almost total absence of accountability. With no one to answer to, he picked up his old habits with breakneck speed and laid his faith by the wayside — a phenomenon dubbed “jailhouse religion.”
“Jailhouse religion” is akin to the “dry drunk” of Alcoholics Anonymous. A person appears to have recovered from his disease because he has ceased indulging in the destructive behavior, but because he has yet to deal with the underlying psychological causes, as soon as certain conditions are met and the circumstances become favorable again, the destructive symptoms return in full force, as if they had never left. Things got bad enough that the windows of opportunity which were flung wide open upon PeeWee’s release began to close and his world began to collapse. First, unemployment. Then his social circle shrank to those who shared his addictions.
Alarmed, PeeWee used his health insurance to gain admission into a drug rehabilitation program.
For a brief period PeeWee started attending Mass again. How do you think he was received by the parishioners? He will tell you that the atmosphere was welcoming and inviting. But shame and guilt play cruel tricks on those who are in most need of fellowship and community. PeeWee never got the courage to open up to the members of that parish. He never asked for the support and accountability that would have helped him maintain his freedom.
“I ask Him to make a saint of me, yet I must leave to Him the choice of the saintliness itself and still more the means that lead to it.” (No Greater Love, St. Mother Teresa)
Ask PeeWee what kind of thoughts ran through his mind as he realized he was headed back to prison with a twenty-year sentence — his longest sentence to date. At first only the worldly pleasure that he’d miss out on came to mind — the same temptations that had put him back in shackles. But, a resolve to do this time differently settled over his heart as he resigned himself to the inevitability of his circumstances. He realized that God had granted him the opportunity for change and a chance to grow beyond the role of “jailhouse religious” and experience the transformation promised in the Gospel and communicated in the Sacraments.
Recidivism is a dark, difficult aspect of prison spirituality. It would be a falsehood to say that access to the Sacraments automatically cures all the ills of those separated from society and makes them fit for a successful reentry to their communities as contributing, law-abiding citizens. It is not automatic.
The Sacraments require right dispositions for the grace imparted by them to actively transform the lives of those who receive them.
God, in His mercy, showers down an abundance of graces so that with our cooperation, we can be maneuvered onto the righteous path. Staying on this path has a learning curve in the same way our natural abilities have a learning curve. The time it takes to learn to walk in the Spirit, in the light of Sanctifying Grace, varies.
I can relate personally because I was born with severely bowed legs and was well past walking age, scooting myself along the floor with my arms, before my parents concluded that I was suffering from a serious ailment. Had I been born in St. Mother Teresa’s Calcutta, I’d have been left without remedy and subject to the most brutal, lifelong destitution.
My parents were able to provide medical treatment; the doctors broke my legs and reset them, and for that reason, I walk today. Recidivism, in its most positive cases, is similar to that breaking of my legs. God breaks that He might bind, wounds that He might heal.
“This is humility: to have the courage to accept humiliation and receive God’s forgiveness.” (No Greater Love, St. Mother Teresa)
It is God Himself who allows a person to be thrown back into the barrel from which they thought they had escaped. Those of us who have yet to be granted a second shot at freedom dare not judge our brothers and sisters too harshly. Though we may have learned to run, we don’t hesitate to slow down to a crawl, if we must, in order to listen intently to those recidivists who return bearing morality tales. They might include the very lessons we need to learn, so that, when given the opportunity, we are prepared to wrestle with God outside these walls and not let go until we receive His blessings.
Last night, PeeWee and I prayed the Divine Office together. The Catholic brotherhood rummaged up a hand-me-down copy of Christian Prayer, a spare Rosary, and a beautifully illustrated copy of Rosary Warfare, published by Angelus Press. He is one of us and will be equipped, encouraged and accompanied along his journey.
ROSARY WARFARE x
A beautifully illustrated copy of Rosary Warfare, published by Angelus Press
rosary warfare pagine x
A beautifully illustrated copy of Rosary Warfare, published by Angelus Press
All of this on the tab of the Good Samaritan who, for a season, has placed him in our care.
*Marcellus Allen Roberts is a 40-year-old Prison Oblate of St. Benedict’s Abbey, Atchison, Kansas. He is serving a 25-year penance in the state of Texas.
