SPIRITUAL DIRECTION INSIDE PRISON WALLS
The one-to-one spiritual direction sessions take place in the corner of a noisy day room where I attempt to create a privacy barrier from the loud clamor of voices and blaring television by wheeling a tall, metal cabinet between daily prison activity and the three plastic chairs which comprise the “guidance center.” The third chair, serving as a visual reminder of the Presence, is draped with a colorful shawl bringing beauty and warmth to transform the grim, barren space. On the seat of the draped chair is a battery operated candle placed within a miniature carving of open hands to remind each woman that her light and her story are held in the hands of God.
When I began working at the prison, my meager attempt at creating a safe, sacred space didn’t seem adequate enough in comparison to the colorful, inviting ambiance of my office. But prison is scarcity in every way. I bring only myself, my shawl and candle; nothing more. I have learned it is enough.
In the initial session, often the inmates gaze is often cast downward, shoulders slumped, voices barely audible amidst the slamming of heavy metal doors and loud commands of correction officers. Looking into each woman’s eyes and deeply listening to whatever comes, I hold and honor her story, her pain, her anguish and despair, knowing that her story could be my story had I been born into the circumstances of her life. It isn’t so much anything I do or say. I simply offer my heart and a safe place to speak the stories of her life.
We might begin by talking about the things she loves, perhaps her cat, her children, or the way she misses being able to open a window and listen to the rain. Sometimes I ask if she can remember anybody special in her childhood, someone with whom she felt seen and loved. More often than not, her head will begin to lift and a faint smile appears. Gazing out the window beyond the barbed wire, she tenderly recalls a teacher, an aunt or maybe a grandmother from whom she received affection and understanding. Slowly, light begins to shine into the darkness and illuminates those places where God has always been present.
When faces soften, bodies relax and a glimmer of light comes into despondent eyes, I know beyond knowing that even in the darkest of places, holiness wraps a mantle of Love around us, transforming us both. We all share a need to be honest, to speak to another about what is most precious – what we have done, what has been done to us, how we feel, what we hope for, and what we love. Unconditional loving presence soothes broken hearts, binds up wounds, and is the crucible in which wholeness is forged.
I am moved time and time again when I witness these brave women learning to accept responsibility for their actions, owning mistakes and the harm they have inflicted on others, and choosing integrity and right action. In so doing, they find wholeness, self forgiveness and inner freedom beyond prison walls.
The one-to-one spiritual direction sessions take place in the corner of a noisy day room where I attempt to create a privacy barrier from the loud clamor of voices and blaring television by wheeling a tall, metal cabinet between daily prison activity and the three plastic chairs which comprise the “guidance center.” The third chair, serving as a visual reminder of the Presence, is draped with a colorful shawl bringing beauty and warmth to transform the grim, barren space. On the seat of the draped chair is a battery operated candle placed within a miniature carving of open hands to remind each woman that her light and her story are held in the hands of God.
When I began working at the prison, my meager attempt at creating a safe, sacred space didn’t seem adequate enough in comparison to the colorful, inviting ambiance of my office. But prison is scarcity in every way. I bring only myself, my shawl and candle; nothing more. I have learned it is enough.
In the initial session, often the inmates gaze is often cast downward, shoulders slumped, voices barely audible amidst the slamming of heavy metal doors and loud commands of correction officers. Looking into each woman’s eyes and deeply listening to whatever comes, I hold and honor her story, her pain, her anguish and despair, knowing that her story could be my story had I been born into the circumstances of her life. It isn’t so much anything I do or say. I simply offer my heart and a safe place to speak the stories of her life.
We might begin by talking about the things she loves, perhaps her cat, her children, or the way she misses being able to open a window and listen to the rain. Sometimes I ask if she can remember anybody special in her childhood, someone with whom she felt seen and loved. More often than not, her head will begin to lift and a faint smile appears. Gazing out the window beyond the barbed wire, she tenderly recalls a teacher, an aunt or maybe a grandmother from whom she received affection and understanding. Slowly, light begins to shine into the darkness and illuminates those places where God has always been present.
When faces soften, bodies relax and a glimmer of light comes into despondent eyes, I know beyond knowing that even in the darkest of places, holiness wraps a mantle of Love around us, transforming us both. We all share a need to be honest, to speak to another about what is most precious – what we have done, what has been done to us, how we feel, what we hope for, and what we love. Unconditional loving presence soothes broken hearts, binds up wounds, and is the crucible in which wholeness is forged.
I am moved time and time again when I witness these brave women learning to accept responsibility for their actions, owning mistakes and the harm they have inflicted on others, and choosing integrity and right action. In so doing, they find wholeness, self forgiveness and inner freedom beyond prison walls.