Corporal Work of Mercy #6: visiting those in prison

If you don't know that the corporal works of mercy are, you weren't raised Catholic. If you don't know what they ARE, or mean, you are in the majority, regardless of faith-based upbringing.

Here's the list:
1. Feed the Hungry.
2. Give drink to the thirsty.
3. Shelter the homeless.
4. Clothe the naked.
5. Visit the sick.
6. Visit the imprisoned.
7. Bury the dead.

I always found it intriging that the level of discomfort seems to rise as one goes down the list: Feed the hungry, Give drink to the thirsty. These seem innocuous enough. Shelter the homeless. A little more challenging, but sure, that seems like something we should do. Clothe the naked. Well, hey, for us First Worlders, that isn't so bad, because we are definitely talking one of two things: (1) cleaning out our closets/dressers and sending our cast-off clothes to someplace, like Goodwill or Salvation Army or the like, where our used clothes can be recycled into outfits for poor folks, or (2) sending money to a registered charity to help out the poor orphans in a third world country.

Visit the sick. That seems to be the transitional point, for many of us, anyway. Hopitals are so depressing after all, not to mention hospices. But, as long as we think Aunt Martha is leaving us the silver tea set or the Jag, well, we can manage.

Visit those in prison. There's a concept for you, and one foreign to most middle class Americans. No wonder lots of us just gloss over that little directive on our way down the list.

Bury the dead. Ooops. Isn't it more politically correct to cremate them these days? Still, death comes to us all, and it wouldn't be civilized to just let Uncle Felix rot there in the living room. Of course we take care of him. Distasteful? In our insulated, disinfected world, yes, but still something most of us know we will have to do, in one form or another, during the course of our lives.

Which brings us back to work of mercy #6: visiting those in prison. I would venture to guess that most North Americans believe that they can go their whole lives without ever visiting someone who is in prison, and for the most part, they would be right.

As an attorney whose work involves a lot of contact with the criminal justice system, I see the inside of a lot of jails. I have friends who have seen the inside of more jails than I, who put their bodies on the line for peace, for justice, to protest the deliberate indifference to human suffering that seems so pervasive in our time. Sometimes, I have occasion to visit these friends, too.

Why, when Jesus was talking about the last judgment (its toward the end of Matthew 25 for you Bible referencing folks) did he include visiting those in prison as a way to do something for "the least of these" and therefore for him?

I think that there are several reasons, but two come to mind most readily.
First, Jesus gave this discourse in the days leading up to his own arrest and brief imprisonment. If we are going to be followers of Jesus, and not just admirers of Jesus, we must go down into the dungeons of Jerusalem with him. Walking this difficult, painful, frightening part of Christ's passion is not a place most Christians want to go, but some are able to do it.
Second, it is in prison that humans are reduced to their most basic existence: they have no liberty, and very limited capacity to exercise their free will. Many are in prison because they have made poor choices, many of these are there because their ability to make good choices has been impaired by mental illness or substance abuse. We are not talking about the cream of the crop here, we are talking about the gleanings. So if we are going to be good, upright Christians, how can these addicts and bad decision makers offer us anything we would go through the hassle of a prison visit to find out about?

It turns out that I have learned a lot from men and women in prison over the years. I re-learned to play chess visiting a young man facing a capital murder charge in Kansas in the mid 1990's. I learned about gracious victory from the woman who knitted through her trial and after a favorable verdict, sent me roses. I learned about grace in defeat from many clients who have sent me hand-drawn cards over the years. I have shared the ups and downs of incarceration with many who will not ever really understand why a big chunk of their life was stolen, and yet find a way to remain human in the face of inhuman suffering.
I also am privileged to have friends who have chosen to walk with the prisoners because they were compelled to acts of civil disobedience in an effort to bring our society's attention to injustices great and small.
Each person I have met within prisons or jails throughout the United States has given me something, an insight, a laugh, a reason for outrage, whatever. But to see them in orange or black and white stripes, or some other unflattering ensemble, is to see Christ. Because no matter why they are in jail, and no matter what they have done, none of them is as bad as their worst act. And they are all human beings, created in the image and likeness of God. So I can't very well let them sit there and rot, with no human contact, now, can I?

I am one of the humans charged with the duty to tell the stories of the imprisoned; I am obliged to work to show others that these are not caged animals, these are people. They may fight demons you and I will never meet; they forfeit things we take for granted: basic everyday things, like being able to choose whether to go for a walk around the block, or what they will wear or what and when they will eat, even when they can sleep or shower. But they, like us, are human beings with the needs and wants of humans in our society. I have been honored to call many of those who have lived parts of their lives behind bars my friends.

Maybe for some, I hope that friendship will help them stay out of prison when their time is up. For others, especially those who feel called to jail themselves for justice, I hope they will let me know their visiting schedule.

Peace and all good things,
Ruth