I was once asked "What is the opposite of faith?" The questioner wanted to test me; the 'correct' answer is "certainty." But for me, the opposite is insecurity. Each time something has happened to me that I felt inadequate, unsure or inferior, it was a blow to my faith in myself and my maker. My secretary on Team 16 had a little cartoon from Postal Instant Press of a little black girl. The caption read, "God made me and God don't make trash." I took that cartoon to heart. Lack of self-esteem equates to lack of faith. I must have faith that God made me and he did not make trash. I am valued and valuable.
The prisoners I visited on Friday seemed to read my insecurity. Jim frequently says, "we get as much out of these visits as the inmates do." This visit I got quite a bit. I was overwhelmed by their desire to get me confident so I could do the out-of-prison half of prison ministry. By joining with them, I join their cause. Politically, to work to humanize and make rational the bureaucracy under which they live. Socially, to locate and prepare a place for them, not just an apartment, but a job, opportunity. Spiritually, to create a place of refuge and regeneration for them, which may include a church but definitely includes a community of friends trained to continue the Cephas content, including pricking inflated egos and denying rationalizations and excuses.
I don't feel up to the challenge, and they sensed that. So the session dealt with that. But where do they need support and guidance where they are? If I am going to be present for them, don't I have to focus on them, not me? Don't they?
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Contracts
My group got hijacked last night. That is a great event. I asked the question, "What happened in the last week that challenged your positive attitude?" And we began discussing the refrigerator.
It seems that one man had eaten a salad and a glass of juice from his own resources, and had gone out to have a smoke. When he got back, someone had drunk the rest of his juice and put the empty container in the cooler. When he complained, no one admitted guilt, but several complained that they, too, had lost food. My question took the lid off the simmering anger he felt, and the resentment the others felt that he was accusing them all and treating all of them as the guilty party.
I was able, before the session ended, to lead them all to an agreement that he had a legitimate gripe, lead him to apologize for taking it out on everyone, and for them all to understand that there is a contract amongst them, as part of their agreement with the House, to respect each other's property rights. They understood that the Counselor and the house manager would be convening a business meeting to decide how to enforce the rules of property.
The discussion was how people react to violations. We discussed avoidance, blindness, aggressive resistance and pro-active generosity. We discussed gluttony, disrespect and loneliness and even ignorance as motives, too. We did not solve anything, but I was flying high as I left.
On the way home, one of the comments we didn't follow through came back to me. "I feel just like the folks who moved to Webster; I want to put distance between myself and this stealing." I thought about suburban sprawl and the escapism of white flight. The media have been full of stories and opinions about the causes of the City School District's failures, of the high crime rate in the City, and so forth. I wondered about the unexplored motives of people leaving the City starting right after WWII. There was the appeal of home ownership and clean healthy suburban life, but how much avoidance of the responsibility of city citizenship was there, underneath? Finding and moving to a good school system instead of making the one you are in better? Of taking responsibility for reporting crime and making sure the legal system worked rather than fleeing the crowding and the crime? Of learning to get along with "the Other" or avoiding the possibility of having to cope with diversity on one's own block?
The halfway house/transition house system is designed to help people learn how to fit in to society as they are released from institutions. But what the heck are we teaching? I concluded once again that I can't be an activist in just one little area, I can't limit my opinions and mission to one topic. There are only a few degrees of separation between aftercare for a parolee and suburban sprawl, between a recovering addict and the no child left behind system.
It seems that one man had eaten a salad and a glass of juice from his own resources, and had gone out to have a smoke. When he got back, someone had drunk the rest of his juice and put the empty container in the cooler. When he complained, no one admitted guilt, but several complained that they, too, had lost food. My question took the lid off the simmering anger he felt, and the resentment the others felt that he was accusing them all and treating all of them as the guilty party.
I was able, before the session ended, to lead them all to an agreement that he had a legitimate gripe, lead him to apologize for taking it out on everyone, and for them all to understand that there is a contract amongst them, as part of their agreement with the House, to respect each other's property rights. They understood that the Counselor and the house manager would be convening a business meeting to decide how to enforce the rules of property.
The discussion was how people react to violations. We discussed avoidance, blindness, aggressive resistance and pro-active generosity. We discussed gluttony, disrespect and loneliness and even ignorance as motives, too. We did not solve anything, but I was flying high as I left.
On the way home, one of the comments we didn't follow through came back to me. "I feel just like the folks who moved to Webster; I want to put distance between myself and this stealing." I thought about suburban sprawl and the escapism of white flight. The media have been full of stories and opinions about the causes of the City School District's failures, of the high crime rate in the City, and so forth. I wondered about the unexplored motives of people leaving the City starting right after WWII. There was the appeal of home ownership and clean healthy suburban life, but how much avoidance of the responsibility of city citizenship was there, underneath? Finding and moving to a good school system instead of making the one you are in better? Of taking responsibility for reporting crime and making sure the legal system worked rather than fleeing the crowding and the crime? Of learning to get along with "the Other" or avoiding the possibility of having to cope with diversity on one's own block?
The halfway house/transition house system is designed to help people learn how to fit in to society as they are released from institutions. But what the heck are we teaching? I concluded once again that I can't be an activist in just one little area, I can't limit my opinions and mission to one topic. There are only a few degrees of separation between aftercare for a parolee and suburban sprawl, between a recovering addict and the no child left behind system.
Saturday, January 3, 2009
Feet of Clay?
The news about George Alexander, the Chair of the NYS State Parole Commissioners resigning over a laptop allegedly taken from his office over a year ago has finally settled down. The opinions I have heard are that he pushed too hard for reform. Many other people have sadly added him to the long list of politicos who feel they are above the law. I am troubled by both because they assume the worst. The first group are ready to believe there is a conspiracy, the second group that no one in politics is honest. Is there no middle ground?
I personally go back to my faith. I believe that we are all sinners, and that we cannot always avoid doing the wrong thing. I have a strong sense of judgmentalism, specially for myself. But how can I decide which errors of judgement are unforgivable? I sit in groups with child molesters, embezzlers, murderers, muggers, and rapists. How can I be angry at George A. (accused but not convicted of stealing a used laptop, value $500) when I am sitting next to and befriending David B. who molested a church member's 12 year old daughter? And I refuse to tell my own crimes in this public space. What does my faith say to me?
As a Christian, I believe that we are all equally sinful, that one sin is no more grievous than another in God's eyes. And I believe that God has forgiven us all equally. That does not mean there need not be punishment, atonement, vigilance, isolation, whatever. It means that the sinner still has value to add to God's creation and to the community and to me. That faith has led me to sit and befriend the men I visit, to do what I can to assist them to get parole, to find a place back among us and to help them return to "outside life."
It has led me to look at George A.'s alleged theft and subsequent resignation the way a farmer looks at an orchard destroyed by hail, a vineyard or potato field ruined by nematodes: I cry for the loss of the crop; I fret about how I will manage without the crop; I sigh for the loss of all the potential benefit. But I don't get angry, certainly not at George.
I personally go back to my faith. I believe that we are all sinners, and that we cannot always avoid doing the wrong thing. I have a strong sense of judgmentalism, specially for myself. But how can I decide which errors of judgement are unforgivable? I sit in groups with child molesters, embezzlers, murderers, muggers, and rapists. How can I be angry at George A. (accused but not convicted of stealing a used laptop, value $500) when I am sitting next to and befriending David B. who molested a church member's 12 year old daughter? And I refuse to tell my own crimes in this public space. What does my faith say to me?
As a Christian, I believe that we are all equally sinful, that one sin is no more grievous than another in God's eyes. And I believe that God has forgiven us all equally. That does not mean there need not be punishment, atonement, vigilance, isolation, whatever. It means that the sinner still has value to add to God's creation and to the community and to me. That faith has led me to sit and befriend the men I visit, to do what I can to assist them to get parole, to find a place back among us and to help them return to "outside life."
It has led me to look at George A.'s alleged theft and subsequent resignation the way a farmer looks at an orchard destroyed by hail, a vineyard or potato field ruined by nematodes: I cry for the loss of the crop; I fret about how I will manage without the crop; I sigh for the loss of all the potential benefit. But I don't get angry, certainly not at George.
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