Upon sitting closely to them, the first thought that entered my head was, MY GOD they are so young! I believe the age range is from 13-17, but some looked as young as 10. I wondered what they had done to put themselves in this position and how some were younger than the high schoolers I serve. Fr. Greg Boyle, of Homeboy Industries was the pastor and he led the service like noone else could. It was full of la jerga (slang) and anecdotes of homeboys and homegirls that he has worked with all of his life. There was an aura about the service that we were in the midst of a living saint, yet no matter how saintly, he is so intimitely connected to the gritty and harsh realities of life that his homilies contain just as many "DAMN hombres!" and "tough shit chicos" as you'd hear on any street corner. Fr. G met the youth where they were, in all of their imperfect and tough realities.
So where did this mass leave me? Well, just sitting in the pews was such an act of solidarity that I've never experienced before. In all things, there is so much of an US vs. THEM mentality and I subconcsiously carried this with me thinking there was no way they'd let us sit among detained youth. However, there we were in the pews, and my weekly mass was being celebrated by the incarcerated youth, replete with tattoos on the arms and neck, as he read the first and second readings. I was listening to him. It was powerful to be in the pews, as a sinner and someone who is trying to do better, just like all the boys and girls there. Sure, some have done horrible things, but as Fr. G said during mass, people are more than the worst thing they've ever done. When it came time for the sign of peace, Fr. G said to just say peace to the people on the left and right of us (so as to keep order during the mass), but I couldn't resist. I turned around to the youth who were behind me to wish them peace, just as they did for me. I realized that they are just kids, and since some will be released in a few weeks, they could be just another kid waiting for the bus, essentially going from a prisoner "THEM" to a young citizen on the bus with me "US." I imagine that they crave human contact and to be normal and accepted again. Even though they got caught and justic is needed, to know that when they get out, they can put it behind them and be accepted again by a stranger must be a powerful thing to look forward to.
After the mass, I was paired with Ruben, a middle aged man who is studying to become a Deacon, to go and lead a faith sharing session on the gospel of the day. We went up to the room where about 15 boys gathered around in a circle and Ruben opened the discussion. While the theological discussion was fairly dry (the Holy Spirit is with you, just choose to do better when you get out, etc...) the most touching moments came from our discussion of Mother's Day. We had cards for the boys to write a letter to their moms, aunties, and grandmas. One of the boys opened up and said that the worst feeling in his life was seeing his mom in the courtroom when he was sent to dentention and he said he watched her heart break. He vowed to never do that to her again. Another boy announced he was going to court the next day to figure out his sentence, and he asked for all the other boys to pray for him. Here we are, a group of dentained youth all guilty of crimes including shoplifting, graffiti, assault, theft, etc. and yet they have the courage to ask for prayers.
I wondered, how can it be both ways? How can the criminal do horrible things and then a day later ask for prayers and seem close to God. I think the only way I can reconcile these two is having understand the lives of the boys I work with. Growing up in South Central LA is a life hazard. Some boys, just by being born, are already assumed to be future gang members. Their dads, uncles, brothers, and even some women are so entrenched in gang life, that an innocent youth is pulled into it. In order to be accepted by a family member or the neighborhood friends, a kid may have to do a crime. Others have parents who work 2nd and 3rd shifts, so without parental supervision or after school programs, they are sucked into a deluge of negative influences. I'm not trying to make excuses. Everyone has a choice, and yes, they mest up. But I'm trying not to judge because I don't know their reality. I never had to make the impossible decesions they do every day.
Upon leaving the prison, I was wondering how my visit was perceived that day. Did I have a goal? Was I supposed to deliver some inspirational speech to them? Would they feel like I was gawking at them as if in a zoo? Would I view them as a detached journalist or government employee? No matter how much I doubted myself, I found understanding when I thought back to the mass. This visit wasn't about me or them. It was about love. It was about sitting alongside them in mass, both praying for the same things and asking for strenght to navigate this difficult life. It was about providing an ear to listen to their thoughts and problems, just to remind them that they are still valued and listened to. We all crave redemption and acceptance for the hurts we have casued others in this life, and while I couldn't grant them that since they never wronged me, I feel just by being present, they can feel valued, understood, and can make a promise to themselves to do better.
the entrance
