“Praise the Lord, Jerusalem, (Lauda Iersualem). Praise your God, O Zion. For he has strengthened the bars of your gates….” So begins the traditional Palm Sunday hymn based on Psalm 147 that has long been a part of the church’s liturgical celebration of the beginning of this holiest week of the year. That phrase took on new meaning for me this year, as I spent Palm Sunday behind the bars of Durham Prison with another friend from the university and the institution’s chaplaincy team. Interestingly enough, Bishop Sullivan did the same half a world away at South Woods State Prison in Bridgeton.
The words I find to be the most terrifying in all of Scripture, more so than the apocalyptic scenes of utter destruction in Revelation or the moon turning to blood in the Book of Joel (there’s a Blood Moon lunar eclipse this week, but of interest to me only astronomically!), are these haunting and unambiguous sentences ascribed to the Judge on the Last Day: “Then he will say to those at his left hand, ‘You that are accursed, depart from me into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels; for I was hungry and you gave me no food, I was thirsty and you gave me no drink, I was a stranger and you did not welcome me, naked and you did not clothe me, sick and in prison and you did not visit me.'” (Mt 25:41-43).
These stern warnings serve as constant reminders of what actual tasks constitute a life of discipleship, and offer repeated challenges to live them out ever more faithfully.
Throughout his first year in office, Pope Francis has repeatedly emphasized the need to recognize the shared humanity with those on the margins of society. This includes the incarcerated. Their convictions and sentences, whether just or not, in no way diminish their participation in the human family. As made clear though the parable of the Good Samaritan, we are called to love and to serve, unconditionally. Francis’ washing the feet of young prisoners last Holy Thursday, keeping up correspondence with Argentinian inmates he knew as archbishop, and even carrying a wooden ferula, or papal pastoral staff, carved by Roman prisoners for this year’s Palm Sunday liturgy, make clear his thoughts about this unequivocal biblical teaching.
He’s also spoken to it: “No cell is so isolated that it can keep the Lord out. He is there. He cries with them, works with them, hopes with them. His paternal and maternal love arrives everywhere. [Tell the incarcerated] I pray for them, that they are in my heart, that I ask the Lord and the Blessed Mother to help them overcome this difficult period in their lives.”
Simply praying with these men – who in addition to Brits included Nigerians, Poles, Latvians, Italians, and a thickly-accented Scotsman quite movingly reading Isaiah’s prophecy about the Christ remaining silent while being beaten and having his beard plucked – was a joy and a gift. How could hearing about the release of Barabbas not take on whole new dimensions, ones that reached into the depths of my soul, while seated next to someone fiddling a palm that would end up pinned to a cell-room wall? As with everywhere else in the cosmos, bidden or not, God is present in that place.
The men were cheerful and courteous and prayerful. They particularly enjoyed when the priest welcomed us as guests by saying “We have a few Americans from the university with us to pray today. Don’t worry, I’ll speak slowly.” I know a few of the chaplains, including not only a nun and a deacon, but a Muslim imam. To a person, they consistently tell me with smiles and laughter how rewarding their ministry is. After visiting a number of times, I can see why. The “forgotten” in society are often grateful for small things the rest of us take for granted, like an hour of prayer where they feel recognized and worthy as fellow human beings with struggles and longings and (undoubtedly) regrets that few of us can fathom. No one is beyond the potential mercy of God. Praise the Lord Jerusalem.
Michael M. Canaris, Ph.D., of Collingswood, is a Research Associate at Durham University’s Centre for Catholic Studies in Northeast England.
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