dedalus_1947 | Learning to Pray

And it came to pass,
that as he was praying in a certain place,
when he ceased, one of his disciples said,
Lord, teach us to pray,
as John also taught his disciples.
(Luke 11:1)

“Someone will be down to escort you,” the woman deputy said in a muffled voice, behind the thick glass barrier. “Just wait there by the sally port”.
I attached the Escorted Guest lanyard to my coat pocket and waited inside the security chamber between the lobby entrance and the jail. The room had the appearance of an air lock, a decompression chamber made of steel and concrete, between the outside world of freedom and the Phantom Zone of incarceration. Soon, the tanned, smiling face of Gavin, the Prison Chaplain appeared in the sally port window, and the metal door began sliding open.
“Welcome, Antonio” he exclaimed when I stepped into the hallway. “I see you survived the training class,” he added, shaking my hand. “I’m not sure who is coming tonight, but I trust that God will provide a full crew and we’ll have you doing something worthwhile.” Walking through the echoing corridor, his soft Spanish intonations gave the words a confident, lilting sound. I had no idea what to expect today, but I trusted Gavin’s assurances. As he reached out to unlock the door to the Chaplain’s Office, he gave me a long sideways glance. When we entered and sat down, he again gave me the same look.
“Antonio,” he finally said, “I hope you will take my next comment in the positive way that it is meant”.
“Sure,” I replied, filling his momentary pause with a soft, curious laugh. “I think I can handle that.”
“You dress very professionally,” he began. “In any normal setting your blazer, shirt, and slacks would be very proper and appropriate, but in a jail it only separates you from the men. We are in a prison environment where the inmates wear smocks and slippers, and the jailers wear belts and uniforms. Our civilian dress identifies us as outsiders, but the type of clothes we choose send signals of how we want to be perceived. Prison administrators and police detectives wear coats and ties. We want to be accepted by both the inmates and the deputies, and our dress should not get in the way of trust. I hope you understand that these remarks are not meant to be critical, or disapproving. I want you to be accepted by the men.”
“Thanks for telling me,” I replied. “In my former job as a principal, an open collar was considered casual wear,” I joked, “but I get your point. I’m not offended, and I appreciate the information. I have no trouble leaving the coat here.”

With my sartorial in-service complete, Gavin handed me a pile of “kites” he scooped up from his desk. He explained that a “kite” was prison slang for a message sent through the bars or over the walls of a prison. The guards frowned on the term and preferred the more correct use of “request forms”. There were about 25 of these messages sent by inmates or their relatives over the weekend, and Gavin asked me to sort them. I divided the notes into the services they requested, and by the number of the dorm (cell block). They contained appeals for bibles in English and Spanish, prayer books, marriage packets, and requests for advice, the Sacrament of Reconciliation (confession), and prayers. I’d say that prayers accounted for over 50% of the requests from inmates or their relatives. As we double-checked the current locations of the inmates on the computer, more assistant chaplains and volunteers began arriving, followed by Father Charles, a priest from a nearby parish. Soon we had a full complement and Gavin began assigning duties. Father Charles and Enrique would handle confessions, Abby and Diane would conduct a group session in one dorm, Justin and Esperanza would take the Spanish-speaking group in another dorm, and I would accompany Rafael, when he arrived, with “one-on-one” deliveries of requested items or help. After the teams left, Rick, the assistant chaplain who recruited me, arrived and began inputting data into the computer and compiling the reports that were due. As he typed in the information, he looked over and gave me a long, rueful look.
“You may want to lose that coat before you talk to the inmates,” he said crisply.
I couldn’t help laughing at Rick’s wry Project Runway suggestion, and his concern for my success with inmates, but I quickly took off my blazer.

Leaving Rick to wait for Rafael’s arrival, Gavin took me on a walk to another section of the jail to deliver a revised and expanded list of inmates requesting confessions to Enrique and Father Charles.
“Have you done “one-on-one’s” before?” Gavin asked as we walked along the long, cement corridor.
“No,” I replied. “Rick described the process of going to the bars and talking to the inmates, but I haven’t done it yet. I’m a little anxious about it, because I’m not a counselor or a minister”.
“It’s really quite simple,” Gavin reassured me. “There are just a few things you need to remember. First of all, we only approach the bars when we have a written request for assistance or advice. We don’t go to the dorms or approach the bars to evangelize or solicit converts.”
“So unless our presence is requested,” I repeated. “We don’t contact the inmates?”
“That’s right,” Gavin reiterated. “We only go to provide specific services and to follow-up on their requests. However, once you give them the bible or packet, take a moment and ask them some simple, open-ended questions. The important part of a “one-on-one” encounter is to give inmates a chance to speak. Many times the “kite” is an excuse to meet us. They may have a problem, a worry, or something else they want to talk about. We are there to listen and hear what is on their minds. There is one thing to remember, though. When inmates start sharing their legal problems or asking for legal advice and assistance, try redirecting the conversation back to what THEY can do. Don’t get involved in their court cases or make promises to help. Many times they will ask you to pray for them. If they ask for prayers about an upcoming court appearance or sentencing, stay clear of asking God for a specific decision. Asking God for a favorable plea bargain or a reduced sentence casts Him in the role of a judge. Pray for God’s help and mercy, not his decision on their cases. Also, remember not to make promises! If you don’t have an answer, or you’re not sure, tell them you don’t know, but you’ll check. Don’t give false hope by promising.”
Of all these tips and bits of information, the inmate’s requests for prayers and advice made me the most nervous. Delivering bibles and prayer books was simple, but I had no training or experience with legal or personal counseling, or leading people in prayer. “What if…” scenarios kept popping into my head. What if he asks me about the courts, the law, or practical questions about jailhouse procedures?
“Cálmate, Tony,” Gavin reassured me. “You’ll do fine. None of us are experts here; we just do the best we can. We promise to check when we don’t know, and we get back to them. We are there simply to listen and try to help. Our main job is to show up. If we don’t come here, to this place, no one will. We are all that the prisoners have.”
We turned the corner into the dorm bay and through a glass wall I saw the tall, dark-skinned features of Enrique standing on one side of the room with two men. In the far corner, the short and grey-haired, Father Charles was sitting with another inmate, hearing his confession.
“How are things going, Enrique?” Gavin asked, patting him on his broad shoulder.
“Bien,” replied Enrique. “There was a total of 5 men who requested confessions,” he said, glancing at the guard desk, “but the deputy would only release 3 at a time”.
“That’s fine,” Gavin said. “As long as he releases them, we’re in good shape”. Watching the two waiting inmates shifting from side to side as they waited their turn to sit with Father, he whispered to Enrique. “Don’t have them standing around like that. Help them examine their conscience while waiting for confession. Ask them to think about one or two areas of growth. What strengths do they need to work on and develop? Reconciliation shouldn’t only be about confessing ones sins; it should be about progressing and becoming stronger. Have them look beyond prison.”
Enrique nodded and returned to the men as Gavin and I approached the deputy behind the dorm bay desk. Very casually and amiably, he introduced himself to the guard and thanked him for his help and cooperation. As we returned to the Chaplain’s Office, Gavin turned to me and said, “Remember to engage the deputies in conversation whenever you can. The more they get to know us as people, the more they accept what we do. Their world is strictly divided by dress and function – the deputies in their uniforms and the inmates in their prison garb. When we enter their world we are immediately conspicuous. We are the outsiders and intruders whose motives for coming confuse them. The more the deputies get to know us and trust us, the more human we become to them.”

Rafael arrived at the office while we were gone. Gavin introduced him to me, as he was busily collecting the material we were to deliver. He found an empty box and filled it with bibles, prayer books, and wedding packets. Rafael was a long-time Assistant Chaplain, returning after a leave of three months during tax season. He had a ready smile and moved with the confidence of many years of experience. We would be going to three hexagonal dormitory bays, on different levels of the prison. Each bay was divided into three separate cellblocks. Following standard protocol, we would first request permission from the duty sergeant in charge of the section and then check-in with the dorm bay deputy to have our materials inspected. Each deputy acted differently with us, some were friendly and some gruff, but all were accommodating. As we approached the bars of the cells, I always saw a group of men clustered around the 2 or 3 telephones on the side of a wall, and the rest scattered throughout the bay. There were usually 2 or 3 men standing close to the bars, loitering or observing – I couldn’t tell. Gavin told me that the inmates were always watching what went on outside the bars, keeping their eyes on the deputies who guarded them. Most of the contacts we made that night were transactional. We would make a “radio call” to the dorm, asking for attention, and then call out the name of the man or men we were looking for. “Is Jaime Sanchez here?” we would ask, loudly. Then when he appeared at the bars, we’d give him the item he requested, following up with a question or two to see if there was anything he wanted to talk about. Of the men we encountered that evening, three of them stood out.

The youngest inmate we met looked like he was 16 or 17. As he approached the bars, I thought he looked like a nervous high school student walking up to the desk of the attendance office after being truant for a couple of days. We were delivering a bible to him.
“Are you Oscar?” I asked. “Your sister sent us a note requesting a bible for you.”
He took the book and studied us for a moment. “Thanks,” he said and then hesitated.
“Did your sister tell you of this request?” I said, filling the moment with another question, in case there was something else on his mind. When he nodded, I tried again. “Is there anything else you need, or is there anything you want to talk about?”
He looked at us longingly, and then shook his head. “No,” he replied instead. “I’m fine”.
As we stepped away from the bars, and watched him disappear into the glaring light of the dorm, I felt a twinge of sadness.
“Do you think he wanted to say more?” I asked Rafael.
“Yes he did,” Rafael said grimly, rearranging the items in his box, “but he wasn’t ready”.

There were two requests for marriage packets in the “kites” I had organized in the office. When I first heard the term “marriage packets” I almost laughed out loud. What did imprisoned men need with a marriage packet? The question seemed so obvious I hesitated asking it aloud, but I grew increasingly curious to observe our first transaction with this delivery. When Rafael approached the bars to make a radio call, an inmate was standing on the other side, watching his every step.
“Who do you need?” asked the vigilant inmate.
“Bermudez, Enrique,” Rafael replied.
“That’s me,” the man said quickly. “Is it the marriage packet?”
He looked like a hardcore cholo gangster, tattooed from head to fingertips – literally. There was a large LA imprinted on the right side of his shaved head, a CP on his left cheek, and an assortment of other letters, words, and designs decorating his neck, arms, and fingers. As I stared in fascination at his intimidating artwork, he excitedly peppered Rafael with questions.
“Can we schedule the ceremony here, or does it have to be outside? You see, I’m Catholic and so is my girlfriend. She really wants to get married, and so we want a priest. How soon can we have one?”
His earnestness and simplicity belied the aggressive tattoos. Occasionally a smile would breakout, showing his widely spaced teeth, as he eagerly described his desire to make his girlfriend happy.
“You know Enrique,” Rafael said gently, when the inmate paused for a breath. “Your girlfriend is really supposed to complete this packet on the outside. You can’t do much about it from jail. Has she talked to a priest yet?”
“No,” replied Enrique, “she doesn’t have a pastor. She gets nervous around priests, but she wants one to bless our union. I thought maybe we could have a priest come by during one of her visits and have him say a few words over us”.
His naïveté was both disarming and alarming, but I didn’t know enough about jailhouse marriages to respond. Cautiously, I let Rafael handle this transaction.
“Enrique,” he explained slowly, “if you’re looking for a Catholic marriage ceremony, it can’t happen during a prison visit. Catholic marriages require interviews, documents, and training. Now your fiancé can probably find a civil minister or a judge to perform the ceremony, but a Catholic wedding takes a lot of preparations”.
“Well, you see chaplain, the truth is we already have a kid, you know. My girl wants him brought up Catholic. She thought maybe a priest could bless him too”.
“Do you mean a baptism, during a wedding?” Rafael asked, taken aback by this new complication in an already convoluted plot. “You know, Enrique”, he said firmly, “your fiancé really needs to talk to a priest about all this. The things you want really should be handled in a parish”.

The last one-on-one interaction we had was a request for advice, and it was the most bizarre. When Rafael and I approached the bars and called out for “Jackson, Henry,” we saw a tall, skinny African-American come forward. We identified ourselves and asked what he wished to talk about.
“Can we speak privately?” he said in a hushed tone, looking around nervously.
“Sure,” replied Rafael, “let me set it up with the deputy”.
After a quick word with the deputy, and a 5-minute wait for a trustee inmate to set up three chairs in an adjoining hallway, Henry was released from the cell.
“What would you like to talk about?” I asked, once we were seated.
“You’re chaplains right?” he began. “Well, I’ve been doing research into religion and I’m interested in monotheism. It says here that the three main religions all believe in monotheism – Judaism, Islam, and Christianity. Here let me read it to you”.
He took out a gallon sized Ziploc bag from his shirt pocket. It was jammed with folded, lined paper filled with penciled writing. He unfolded one wad and began reading aloud how Mohammed fled Medina and how Jews and Christians were “people of the book”.
“So, what is it you’re asking us?” Rafael said, interrupting Henry from his meandering readings.
“Well,” Henry continued, “I was brought up Christian, you see, but I didn’t really practice it. I thought Christian churches were hypocritical. Telling us not to do things, but doing them anyway. They just disgusted me. So I’ve been researching religions to find the one for me, and I’ve decided I want to be monotheistic!”
“Henry,” I said, finally venturing into this discussion. “Monotheism isn’t a religion. It’s a doctrine that expresses the belief in only one God. The word comes from the Greek, ‘mono’ meaning single, and ‘theism’ meaning God. The three religions you mentioned are all monotheistic. They are ways of learning how to know and connect with God. Each religion identifies a set of practices and beliefs that it hopes will help men and women know, love, and serve God. These religions are based on books that tell stories of particular men who found connections with God – Abraham and Moses, Jesus Christ, and Mohammed. These men believed that human happiness and personal satisfaction could only be achieved through an intimate relationship with God. Religions evolved from the sayings and teachings of these men. These teachings, stories, and commandments are found in the Torah, the Bible, and the Koran. These books provide us with a guide, or a road map, to God. Look Henry,” I explained, “believing in monotheism doesn’t get you to God. You still need to find a path that works for you.” My lecture didn’t appear to help much, because Henry gave me puzzled look and then turned to Rafael.
“Let me ask you a question,” he continued. “What would you do if you went to your home and found someone else living there? They were in your house, using your bedroom, kitchen, and living room, and telling you to go away. What would you do?”
Now I was really confused. What did this question have to do with what we were talking about? I watched Rafael’s reaction and wondered how he would handle this non sequitur question.
“Before trying to answer your question,” Rafael said, picking his words carefully. “Can we go back to why you gave up on Christianity?”
“I’m looking for a religion that’s not hypocritical,” Henry said impatiently. “Christianity says you shouldn’t fornicate, drink, or steal, but Christians do all these things and still call themselves Christians. I’m looking for a religion where people are good, and they’re not going to be condemned for drinking, fornicating, or stealing.”
“Okay, I think I get that,” Rafael continued. “Now what did you mean about people moving into your house?”
“It was my house,” Henry insisted. “I own lots of properties. I went to one of my houses and the people living there said they owned it and they called the police on me. The police and the judge wouldn’t listen to my side, so they locked me away here.”
“That sounds pretty complicated,” Rafael concluded. “You probably need a lawyer to help you with this problem.”
“Yeah I know,” Henry said. “But I can’t get access to my money. I was arrested on two counts of burglary and I can’t reach someone to post my bail. Does the Chaplain’s Office let you make phone calls? Can I use their phone, or can someone call for me?”
From that point, Henry lost interest in his pursuit of monotheism and concentrated on his legal problems. He sought our opinion on the ownership and rental of property, his court case, and ways of making bail or contacting a lawyer. Rafael listened very sympathetically to his appeals, but stayed clear of giving advice on these matters, or agreeing to make phone calls or pass messages. After listening for a while, he interjected that roll call time was approaching and we had to leave. As Henry inhaled as if to speak again, Rafael asked him if he would join us in a prayer.
“Sure,” Henry said, exhaling. He cupped his hands together and lowered his head.
“Dear Father,” Rafael began, “we come to you, praying and asking your help for our brother Henry. Bring him peace of mind and comfort in his times of trial and difficulty. Enlighten and guide him on his search, so that he will find his way to you. This we ask through Jesus Christ your Son, Amen”.
“Amen," Henry said.

When we returned to the Chaplain’s Office for a de-briefing meeting before ending the evening, we found Gavin and the other Assistant Chaplains and volunteers waiting for us.
“Good,” Gavin exclaimed seeing us enter, “Rafael and Tony are here, so we can begin”. He passed out the prayer requests from inmates and relatives that had been piled together earlier that evening. “I want to try something new tonight,” he announced. “I’m always uncertain about the best way to respond to these requests. Usually I read them to myself, say a silent prayer, and throw them away. But I always feel a lingering regret that it wasn’t enough. So tonight I want to involve you all in the process. You each have one or two prayer requests. Let’s read them aloud to each other, and then pray silently together – then we can commend them to God and toss them”.
One by one, we read the prayer requests in English and Spanish. They came from inmates, friends, and relatives, and they asked for God’s help, his compassion, and his guidance, and to not being forgotten. As we prayed silently for the imprisoned men at the end of the readings, I looked around at our tiny circle of chaplains and volunteers. Why do we come to this place week after week, I wondered? Why do inmates ask for us? What did we accomplish tonight? Was it to distribute bibles, to impart wisdom and advice, or to visit and pray with them? Could the answer be as obvious as the act of encountering them? In the gentle silence of our circle, it occurred to me that we served a simple purpose by coming here. We came to this jail to make contact, human contact with these men - and the love that contact communicated. Our religion, or ministry, was merely a vehicle for interacting with them – both prisoners and guards. We didn’t come to convert or evangelize; we visited these men to talk, listen, and perhaps help. The men who asked for things, like bibles, packets, and advice, were really the same as the men asking for prayers – they were all asking for God’s love and compassion. Our visits were simply manifestations of it.