This evening I finally took a friend up on going to a juvenile detention/correctional facility. There, Luke -along with a fellow priest- brings together up to several dozen offenders between the ages of 12 - 18 two times a week. In a small room towards the middle of the facility he answers theological questions - questions deeper than would be expected from the minds of someone with little religious background. This night a young man in the back asked about prayers to Mary. He questioned whether a prayer to Mary was an act of worship. Luke did a fine job of relating a prayer through Mary to the respect expected of a judge in court. A comparison readily understood by everyone in the room. (with the exception of myself and the other two with us)

I take a moment here to explain my situation. I was scared s***less. I have felt many emotions these past several years, but fear has not been one of them. Like a boy afraid of a large dog, I muttered my personal mantra, calming myself lest any of the boys smelled the sweat of fear on my brow. They all did I'm sure. I was told immediately before entering one of the many doors to get in that most of these boys never have visitors - none. Today they had a visitor, but I'm not so sure I was visiting them, rather, they were visiting me. The first several to come in came right up to me and shook my hand, firm with a look in my eye, as if they were business men on the outside. "I haven't seen you before. I'm so-and-so, what's your name," they would ask.

Before praying the rosary (done every Thursday) all were asked to give an audible prayer intention. With the exception of only one, all prayed from deep within their hearts. Most of these prayers were not for themselves, but for those they loved, and perhaps even those they did not. Almost as an afterthought each prayed for themselves and their own improvement in society. Sincerity - I heard more prayerful sincerity in that room tonight than I have heard from my own heart in a very long time. I heard several pray for the four names of us who came for them. I felt ashamed to be prayed for.

I grew up in an environment very similar to many of these kids. A dusty trailer park with enough meth and coke to fill an episode of COPS. I've been offered drugs more than most - oddly it was another ten years before I would take up the offer. I sat next to Josh, who was busted for possession of a fire-arm, used for his dealing, and enough s*** in his system to knock out a horse. He was an eerie reminder of myself - what I could have become. He sat and told me about the entire juvenile justice system from the first counselor to the last door out. He showed me his notebook, his source of cutting addiction. With every craving, he would take his pencil and write a recipe, drink mix, poem... anything that would ease his mind. For all the anger he should have had, he expressed none.

It was Josh's grandfather that called the police to have him arrested, but despite this, he thanked his grandfather for, as he put it, "saving my life." His last promise to his grandfather before entering this current facility was to never get into a fight. A promise such as that is harder than one would think to keep in a place like this. On one occasion another mate punched him in the nose breaking the bone clean through. Standing up, he kept his hands by his side, waiting for help to come. I must say I envy his almost inhuman patience. I would not have done the same. These kids, many of them, put me to shame. The sound of, "... and I pray for Andrew," rings through my ears like a taunt from God. Look at this creature, he must be saying, look at how he worships me. Yes, they have murdered, yes, they have dealt drugs, yes, they committed crimes unspeakable, but even our Master sat beside wicked men. Some of them must have become founders of our faith.

Tonight I pray for the fifteen who attended our Mother's rosary. I pray for them, but also that they might pray again for me.

Posted in: on Friday, July 20, 2007 at at 12:11 AM