New Creation

Wednesday Whispers: April 2026

Mon, 06 Apr 2026 18:46:36 GMT

“We learn from those who continue to love, even when they have been betrayed.”

Wednesday Whispers is a series of weekly reflections from the many members that make up the Precious Blood family, created thanks to the efforts of the members of the Communications Committee of the Adorers of the Blood of Christ. Click here to read other reflections published by the Precious Blood Spirituality Institute .

“Transformation does not come through condemnation. It comes through presence. Through relationship. Through the steady, faithful choice to keep showing up, even when it’s hard. (Maybe especially when it’s hard.)”

Read reflections by PBMR staff from April 2026 on scripture, spirituality, and work:

New Creation: Moments That Interrupt the Darkness

Mon, 15 Dec 2025 21:24:55 GMT

"We all know love when we see it. All the rest are labels."

Naomi Shihab Nye, a Palestinian American poet , shares a story of a woman who was at the Albuquerque airport when she heard an announcement: “ If anyone in the vicinity of Gate A-4 understands any Arabic, please come to the gate immediately. ”

Since it was her gate, she went there.

An older woman in full traditional Palestinian embroidered dress, just like her grandma wore, was crumpled to the floor, wailing loudly. The flight attendant pleaded with the young woman to talk to her. “We told her the flight was going to be late and she did this.”

The woman stooped to put her arm around the woman and spoke to her haltingly in Arabic. The minute she heard her words, the elderly woman stopped crying. She thought the flight had been cancelled entirely, and she needed to be in El Paso for a major medical treatment. The young woman assured her, “No, we’re fine, you’ll get there, just later, who is picking you up? Let’s call him.”

They called her son and the young woman spoke with him in English. She told him she would stay with his mother and would ride next to her. Then they called her other sons just for the fun of it. Then they called the young woman’s dad, and he and the elderly woman spoke for a while in Arabic and found out they had ten shared friends. This all took up about two hours.

She was laughing a lot by then, telling about her life, patting the young woman’s knee, answering questions. She had pulled a sack of homemade mamool cookies—little powdered sugar crumbly mounds stuffed with dates and nuts—out of her bag—and was offering them to all the women at the gate. Not a single woman declined one.

It was like a sacrament: the traveler from Argentina, the mom from California, the lovely woman from Laredo—they were all covered with the same powdered sugar. And smiling.

And then the airline broke out free beverages, and two little girls from their flight ran around serving them all apple juice, and they were covered with powdered sugar, too.

All around that gate of late and weary travelers, not a single person seemed to be apprehensive about any other person.

If we are alert, those are the moments that interrupt the darkness in our world. If we are mindful and observant, it happens all around us all the time.

We are living in a season of expectation – but not only for something that will happen in a week or a month or a year. It is an expectation that calls to be alert and recognize God in our midst in the here and now. And when we do, like Gate A-4, we find that we are in communion with one another.

Rondell is a young man from our community – from PBMR – who was incarcerated for almost a year in Cook County Jail, Chicago. He is only 19. He is well loved. Rondell would call regularly – really regularly – 5-6 ties a day. The phone would get passed around from person to person until the voice recording comes on, “you have one minute left.” Often, he’d call right back. Sometimes he would call and just have us on the phone as he played cards or engaged in some activity on the living deck. He needed to be connected. He needed to be in communion.

In that darkened place – in the darkened moments of our lives, joy creeps in, light bursts forth.

What we anticipate – what we have already experienced – is that intimate love of God.

God had to be born among us so that we could know the love God, that God lives among us, that we belong to one another.

Amongst Indigenous peoples – of all lands – there is no separation of the sacred and the profane.

· There is no Hindu, Christian, Jewish, Islamic way of loving.

· There is no Methodist, Baptist, Catholic way of running a soup kitchen.

· There is no Black, White, or Latin way of hoping.

We all know love when we see it. All the rest are labels.

Advent Reflection: Dawn is Already On Its Way

Wed, 10 Dec 2025 20:48:48 GMT

"As we move through this season, may we honor the truth of the darkness without being claimed by it."

Advent always begins in darkness.

It tells the truth about the world as it is—

a world where violence wounds lives and communities,

where incarceration separates families,

and where fear too often speaks louder than hope.

And yet, Advent also insists that the story does not end in darkness.

For those who live under the weight of isolation—

for survivors of violence,

for their families, for communities whose resources are stretched thin—

the promise of Advent is not a naïve denial of pain.

It is a quiet, steady flame that refuses to go out.

This season reminds us that God does not wait

for the world to be tidy or whole before drawing near.

God comes into the places where the night is longest—

into prison cells and courtrooms,

into hospital waiting rooms,

into homes where grief has taken up residence—

and whispers, “I am here.”

Advent hope is not passive.

It is the hope that allows us to take the next step,

to believe that healing is possible,

to accompany one another with tenderness and courage.

It is the hope that teaches us to look for light

before we can see it fully.

As we move through this season,

may we honor the truth of the darkness

without being claimed by it.

May we carry hope not as a fragile wish,

but as a reason to continue—

a reason to keep showing up,

to keep loving,

to keep believing that God’s dawn is already on its way.

The light shines in the darkness,

and the darkness has not overcome it.

Amen.

Reimagining Justice in Illinois: A Restorative Justice Blueprint for Illinois’ Criminal Legal System

Mon, 24 Nov 2025 21:54:55 GMT

Radical Hospitality and the Chance to Be a Child

The following text is an excerpt from an article of the same title, first published on the RJHubs website by Karlyn Boens.

Joe’s story brought these themes to life on a human scale.

“I never had a chance to be a kid,” he shared. Growing up in constant survival mode, childhood was something he had to skip to stay alive. At PBMR, he experienced something different: “I could let my hair down. I discovered I was good at talking to people.”

What Joe encountered was radical hospitality and accompaniment—restorative practices that rarely appear in legislation or policy yet quietly transform lives every day. Where systems had seen risk, PBMR saw relationship. Where institutions had offered surveillance, PBMR offered presence and belonging.

His story illustrated what it looks like when the human rights lens is made concrete: a space where connection, dignity, and possibility are not conditional, but assumed.

This conversation captures what restorative justice demands of us in Illinois. It is not about launching more programs or pilots. It is about:

A paradigm shift in how we understand safety
A culture shift in how institutions wield power
A system shift in how decisions are made, data is collected, and accountability is defined

Imagine an Illinois where:

Human rights guide decision-making
Restorative justice is the standard, not the exception
Communities lead the healing
Data includes lived experience, not just charges and convictions
Redemption is not selective
Adults are not excluded from restoration
And every child has the chance to just be a child

This panel did not hand us easy answers. Instead, it offered an invitation—a call to build the ecosystem our communities have been waiting for, one relationship, one policy, one practice at a time.

New Creation: The Shelter We Live In

Fri, 07 Nov 2025 17:22:23 GMT

"Our love for one another brings us closer to a God who is love."

I remember that as a kid, I struggled with the notion of Original Sin. I am not sure if it was the way it was taught or my simple mind, but I thought it unfair to slap a sin on a newborn child. Today, I understand it not as a personal fault or sin, but that a child is born into a wounded world. How many times have we said that our youth today have a lot more to deal than we did? Our society is wounded; it is ill, and, dare I say, sinful. That is not a Democrat or Republican thing; not right or left’ it is all us contributing to a world in which too many are suffering.

The other day, at the Cook County Juvenile Temporary Detention Center, I was talking with a young man of only 15 years old who told me he had been in over 20 different group homes and foster homes. Another young man who comes to the PBMR Center almost daily says he had been in 14 different schools before his high school years. When asked why, he responded that his mother was unable to keep up with all the bills.

“We kept being put out with nowhere to go.”

So often, the focus is on the individual faults or failings: a mother unable to care properly for her children, single parent families, and so on, but we overlook the societal sins that wreak havoc on families and communities; the fact that so many have so much, and others struggle to make do from day to day.

Pope Leo XIV has recently put out an Apostolic Exhortation ─ a Pope’s call to the faithful for virtue ─ entitled Dilexi Te , or “ I have loved you. ” It is a continuation of the Encyclical ─ a stronger call from the Pope to all bishops of the Church ─ that Pope Francis wrote, Dilexit Nos , or “ He loved us. ” In this, Pope Leo’s first exhortation, he states that the “love of the Lord, then, is one with the love of the poor.”

Explaining his choice of that name, Pope Francis related how, after his election, a Cardinal friend of his embraced him, kissed him, and told him, “Do not forget the poor.” He obviously took that to heart in choosing the name Francis after St. Francis of Assisi.

Our love for one another brings us closer to a God who is love.

Pope Leo says, “the poor are not just people to be helped, but the sacramental presence of the Lord.”

For my entire priesthood, I have worked on the South Side of Chicago, the jails, the Detention Center, and with those who suffer violence. I can say that of all education, formation and teaching, nothing has brought me closer to the love of God than those who are suffering incarceration and poverty.

Today, we hear of the plight of those who have come to this country seeking a better life. We can argue about policy; we can argue about secure borders; but we cannot deny that the gospel and all of scripture compels us to love the stranger among us. The call of the Church has been to accompany the migrant. My own congregation came to the US accompanying the German immigrants who came to this country in search of a better life.

Fr. Greg Boyle, Jesuit priest, shares in his book, “ Cherished Belonging, ” that there are two parades the day Jesus enters Jerusalem. There is Pilate and his show of military power and force, heading to Jerusalem from the west. Then, there’s Jesus, on a small donkey humbly entering the city from the east. Jesus’ trek and mission displays a way of life whose hallmarks are inclusion, nonviolence, unconditional loving, kindness, and compassionate acceptance. The parade of warhorses announces the threat of violent force, coercion, and the oppression of the poor. The “triumphant” entrance of Jesus is not an indictment, but an invitation. Village transcending tribe. Jesus doesn’t draw lines, He erases them. (Boyle, p. 87-88)

Martin Luther King’s last book was called “ Where Do We Go From Here: Chaos or Community? ” We find our way out of chaos and its dispiriting tribalism by standing against forgetting that we belong to one another. (Boyle, p. 89)

There is an Irish saying: “It is in the shelter of each other that people live.”

As Christians ─ as believers ─ we are called to be shelter for one another. We are called to believe that no one is born evil; that all are created in the image of the One who is love.

Pope Leo is calling us to be mindful of the migrant; to remember our own origin as a church and the gospel mandate to love our sisters and brothers – no exception. In his writing, Pope Leo says very clearly, “The Church has always recognized in migrants a living presence of the Lord who, on the day of judgement, will say to those on his right, ‘I was a stranger, and you welcomed me.’ (Mt 25:35)

We should not forget who we are and in whose shelter we live.

Statement of Solidarity: Choosing the Path of Healing and Reconciliation

Fri, 10 Oct 2025 20:25:28 GMT

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

Contact:

Davon Clark, Communications Manager

Precious Blood Ministry of Reconciliation

dclark@pbmr.org

At Precious Blood Ministry of Reconciliation (PBMR), we are rooted in the belief that every person is created in the image of God and deserving of dignity, safety, and belonging . In this moment of heightened fear and uncertainty following the deployment of federal agents and National Guard troops in our city, we reaffirm our steadfast commitment toward those values. Our dignity and sense of safety should never be determined by our legal status .

We know from experience that true safety does not come from the sword, but from the relationship we forge with one another. Our communities long for peace, but a peace that is built through trust, opportunity, and a sense of belonging . The increased militarization in our neighborhoods risks deepening fear and trauma among families already struggling to heal from generations of violence, poverty, and marginalization.

PBMR stands in solidarity with all who seek justice and peace through nonviolence, dialogue, and accompaniment . We will continue to open our doors to those in need and walk alongside our neighbors, especially those most marginalized.

We call upon all leaders to remember the sacred dignity of every person, to act with compassion and restraint, and to prioritize approaches that restore rather than divide. Together, we can choose a path rooted not in fear, but in unity and the wellbeing of every person .

New Creation: Together We Heal

Fri, 10 Oct 2025 15:00:20 GMT

"There is a power big enough to bring forth light from our wounds."

I used to joke that when Sr. Donna retired, she’d have one final Mother’s Circle, in which she'd move from mother to mother, laying hands and pronouncing, “healed.” And it would be so.

My time as a Precious Blood Volunteer at PBMR had ended before that bittersweet day came, so I guess I can only presume that that’s not what happened at that last gathering. But one of the things that PBMR taught me was that this vision of a quick fix does a disservice to the beauty and profundity of the healing journey. A conversation with Catherine, a mother in PBMR’s Family Forward program, played a key role in shaping that understanding.

I interviewed Catherine as a part of producing the first season of PBMR’s podcast, Together We Heal , which gave me the opportunity to interview multiple mothers involved in Family Forward. We'd originally met at PBMR’s Spare Some Love Bowl-a-Thon. We were on the same team, but amid the strobe lights and ultraviolet glow of the alley, the conversation and clamor of the surrounding lanes, and the constant rotation of turns as we played, we hadn’t talked much.

We met to record in PBMR’s music studio: a cozy space with blankets on the ceiling that help prevent echoes. I had DIY-ed a podcast set-up, placing two microphones on the small circular table that was in the room and placing foam panels between them for sound quality (and, if I’m being honest, aesthetics). When we sat down, I started recording, welcomed Catherine to the show, and asked how she became involved with Family Forward. This introductory question, meant to ease us into the conversation, plunged us into heavier topics when Catherine responded by explaining that her son had been shot (thankfully, he survived). That story, though, was paired with a recounting of the accompaniment she received from PBMR, and the themes of love and community continued throughout the interview. You can listen to our conversation here .

I tend to avoid calling things outside of the explicitly religious realm “holy” or “sacred,” but that is how our conversation felt. I prayed in the studio after Catherine left. The impact continued in the editing process, which moved me to tears more than once. Sitting with her and her words broke me open, leading not only to a flood of emotion but to a revelation.

It wasn’t just the suffering she had endured that made her story heavy; I was surprised to find that the healing she described carried its own weight. Her journey was so soaked and heavy with grace that I wasn’t sure how to carry it. I was in awe of Catherine ─ a woman who had gone through so much but sat before me and spoke of rising above shame, of a desire to help others who carry their own burdens, and of hope and of healing. The presence of God is all the more apparent when so much has been overcome, and I was taken aback by it.

What I am coming to understand is that the fruits of suffering – the healing, the growth, the community – are not merely silver linings, or peripheral comfort in our primary plotline of pain; rather, they are fundamental to the story. More difficult for me to grasp is the notion that healing isn’t necessarily a nullification of suffering. At the time of Catherine’s interview, I was reading Henri Nouwen’s Following Jesus . In it, he writes, “Jesus rewards us with joy. Not only later, but now. Not only in the happy moments but also in our sorrow. Joy is hidden in our suffering and revealed in our communal life.”

Suffering is inextricably linked to the Paschal mystery. The resurrection could not have happened without the death that preceded it. Even after Christ’s glorious triumph over death, he still bore the scars of his crucifixion; the wounds through which He reconciled the world through the shedding of His Precious Blood. I am still working to grasp this – both in the Gospel story and its manifestation in the world around me. I sometimes wish that I could take away someone’s pain with a touch. My job, though, is to accompany and love. This is a comfort: in addition to not having healing powers, I sometimes find myself at a complete loss for words of consolation when holding a story. I can entrust the work of healing to God.

That trust also allows me to honor the autonomy and pain of those I listen to.

Sometimes, as is the case in the loss of a loved one, things can never go back to the way they were before, and a miraculous erasure of the pain devalues the magnitude of the event and the love that begets the grief. Fortunately, the central mystery of the Christian life is not Jesus’ miraculous healings; it is His death and resurrection. In a world where we can never truly protect ourselves from death and grief, there is true hope to be found in the healing journey.

For me, Catherine’s story concretized and brought this hope into focus: there is a power big enough to bring forth light from our wounds; a light that becomes brighter the deeper our hurt. And it is almost too beautiful to bear.

Anna Nowalk is a former Precious Blood Volunteer, during which she hosted PBMR's Together We Heal podcast. She recently completed a Fulbright grant in El Salvador studying music written about martyrs, and is now a Masters of Theological Studies student at Notre Dame on the moral theology track.

New Creation: A Pathway Forward

Fri, 12 Sep 2025 19:08:00 GMT

"While prayers and good thoughts are important, action is needed."

In the afternoon of August 27th, after a gunman opened fire on students and staff of Annunciation Catholic School, where 2 children were killed and 18 children and 3 adults (in their 80’s) were wounded, the principal of the school took the microphone. You could feel the impact of what had just happened in his words; his voice quivered with deep emotion as he spoke. He quoted an African proverb: “when you pray, move your feet.” I am guessing in his heart were the countless individuals and communities who reached out to express their prayers and thoughts. I am guessing, too, that he chose that quote to express his deep desire that, while prayers and good thoughts are important, action is needed.

The gun debate comes up each time there is a tragedy such as the Annunciation school shooting. There are those who want to limit gun purchases with background checks and limiting access to assault weapons and the like. Others don’t feel guns are the issue at all. In fact, there are calls for more guns: arming teachers, armed security guards in schools, etc. And while this debate continues, children ready themselves with shooter drills, and administrators fortify the school. I am sure many parents have hard conversations with their children.

Amid it all, little is done. In the time since starting this reflection two more shootings have taken place at schools in Colorado and Utah. There will be another shooting, and the debate will ignite once again.

Recently, I attended a trial of two young brothers accused of killing a mother of two small children. The trial lasted four days and the family of the young woman killed heard the detailed description of the killing. The pain of losing their daughter, sister and mother was engraved on their faces. The young men sat quietly as they were portrayed as heartless killers.

In his book Cherished Belonging , Fr. Greg Boyle SJ writes, “surely we can hold something as horrible and not make monsters out of anyone.” He goes on to say that we do not make progress when we demonize.

As I sat in that courtroom, the pain of what happened filled the room. The tear-soaked faces of both the families were visible. Both families suffered. The devastation was palpable.

The young men received their sentences: 34 years for the young brother who was not convicted of the shooting and 60 years for the older brother. The courtroom emptied in silence. Both families left to deal on their own with the devastation of losing their loved ones.

Precious Blood spirituality calls us to stand amid such pain, tension and conflict and not give in to hurling stones at one another. The power of the spirituality of the Precious Blood is that we can hold that pain without inflicting more pain. When we are willing to hold the pain or the conflict and treat one another with respect – even while we strongly disagree – there is a possibility of positive action. Answers may not come easily, but a pathway forward becomes more visible. It may take longer than we are comfortable with, but if we tend to the relationships and not just hold on to our side of the issue, ways forward become possible.

Nathaniel Samuel reminds us in his book, “When Stories Wound,” that we have always had strong disagreements. There has always been polarization in society, but what has changed is the narratives we create around the ones we disagree with. Today, more than ever it seems, we dehumanize the other side, thus making it easier to do them harm. Stereotypes deny the complex story that each one of us carries. Samuel reminds us that deep narratives make their appeal not just to our minds, but more importantly to our emotions. He says that strong feelings like anger, suspicion, denial and hate emerge.

Precious Blood spirituality is a spirituality of interconnectedness. When one suffers, we all suffer. It calls us to seek first understanding and relationship and then, and only then, break open the pathway forward.

Fr. David Kelly, C.PP.S.

Executive Director, Precious Blood Ministry of Reconciliation

Kids in Detention: Ministering to Our Abandoned Adolescents

Tue, 06 May 2025 19:07:58 GMT

by Fr. Denny Kinderman, C.PP.S.

Recently Father Denny returned from a retreat given by Fr. Ben Berinti, CPPS and he found himself wanting to continue to reflect on the presentation: “Mary STOOD by the Cross of Jesus”.

As he shared some of his thoughts, my mind went to our PBMR Mothers standing by their son or daughter, blood pouring out onto the ground, standing by caskets, standing alone in their grief.

On March 8th, we celebrated International Women’s Day (IWD) by standing together wearing our IWD shirts created by one of our young women. We offered a safe place for women to share their stories and challenge one another to “Accelerate Action.” We carried this spirit throughout the month of March (Women’s History Month) by providing a morning Café for our neighbors, numerous circles, and concluding with an evening of intergenerational conversations around how we stand together for equality and inclusion!

As I continue my Lenten 2025 journey, I ask myself: Where shall I stand? For what shall I stand? With whom shall I stand? I remember one of dear PBMR friends who stood by her suffering husband for 14 months and poured out her love day after day always longing for just one more day in his presence.

The other day a young woman who had spent 31 years incarcerated for a crime she committed at 14, came to our “Women’s Chat Room”. She very freely shared her story expressing her regret for the harm she caused and yearning for forgiveness from her victim’s family. She stands waiting. In the meantime, she has reached out to the young man who killed her own brother – just two months after her release. She stands by him and offers him her forgiveness hoping that someday that grace will be given to her.

Today as our world, our churches, and even our families seem more and more divided, we remember that we are called to stand by the suffering in our world. We are called to stand for reconciliation, for forgiveness, and for unity. Our Precious Blood Spirituality calls us to bring “those far off close.” We are each called to stand by the homeless, the imprisoned, the hungry, the refugee, the marginalized, the blind and all our sisters and brothers who feel “other,” unwanted and outside the circle of love and community.

I will conclude with several verses from a poem written by Kelly Gissendaner, a woman on death row in Georgia who stood in shame for her crime and stood in solidarity with the imprisoned, the outcast, the homeless until her execution in 2015. She writes from her prison cell:

"A strong woman works out every day to keep her body in shape, but a woman of strength kneels in prayer to keep her soul in shape.

A strong woman has faith that she is strong enough for the journey, but a woman of strength has faith that it is in the journey of surrender to God that she will become strong."

Mary STOOD by the cross of Jesus. Where do you stand, with whom, why?

About the Author:

Sr. Donna Liette, C.PP.S. is in full-time ministry at the Precious Blood Ministry of Reconciliation serving on the Family Forward and Healing Teams. Sr. Donna stands with mothers and grandmothers who have lost children to violence and incarceration.

New Creation: Standing in Solidarity

Tue, 06 May 2025 18:53:50 GMT

Standing in Solidarity

by Sr. Donna Liette, C.PP.S.

Recently Father Denny returned from a retreat given by Fr. Ben Berinti, CPPS and he found himself wanting to continue to reflect on the presentation: “Mary STOOD by the Cross of Jesus”.

"A strong woman works out every day to keep her body in shape, but a woman of strength kneels in prayer to keep her soul in shape.

A strong woman has faith that she is strong enough for the journey, but a woman of strength has faith that it is in the journey of surrender to God that she will become strong."

Mary STOOD by the cross of Jesus. Where do you stand, with whom, why?

About the Author:

PBMR Statement | Remembering Pope Francis

Mon, 21 Apr 2025 21:30:55 GMT

Remembering Pope Francis (1936 - 2025)

Along with many others around the world, PBMR is saddened by the death of Pope Francis. His example and unwavering love and support of the poor and marginalized of the world will remain with all of us as an example of faithful living. Especially close to his heart were incarcerated men, women and children. While we will miss his tireless advocacy of the marginalized, his example should be a call to all of us to stand for those who are most vulnerable.

PBMR | Statement of Solidarity with Immigrant Community

183:778223575 (David Kelly) — Sat, 25 Jan 2025 00:50:18 GMT

PBMR | Statement of Solidarity with Immigrant Community

Recognizing the inherent dignity of each person, The Precious Blood Ministry of Reconciliation (PBMR) stands with all people advocating for the rights of immigrants and asylum seekers.

We believe in the humanity and goodness of all people and continue to work to build a greater understanding and stronger relationships between people and the community.

I recall the words of Cardinal Blasé Cupich who reminds us that many of, if not most of, the residents of Chicago were once immigrants. He writes,

“We are proud of our legacy of immigration that continues in our day to renew the city we love. This is a moment to be honest about who we are. There is not a person in Chicago, save the Indigenous people, who has not benefited from this legacy.”

We call on all those in positions of power and all of us to act with compassion and recognize humanity in each other. We ask policy makers and government officials to remember their call to protect the most vulnerable in our community including immigrants and their families. We pray for all those who are scared, lonely, and afraid that they find comfort and hope.

Together let us work toward a more beloved community. Together let us take a step closer to the Kingdom of God, where all are welcome.

Fr. David Kelly, C.PP.S.

Executive Director

Further Reading:

Demonizing Keeps Us From Solutions

Mon, 20 Jan 2025 16:35:33 GMT

Demonizing Keeps Us From Solutions!

Surely, we can all agree that we live in a divided nation and, unfortunately, an often times divided Church. No matter what side of the fence you are on, you can feel the stress and strain of a world at odds – divided. Truthfully, I have stopped watching much national news because there seems to be a market for bickering and name calling. We have always had diƯering opinions and beliefs, but it seems the language, which so often leads to action, has become more violent.

I write these words on the day in which we celebrate the legacy and teachings of Martin Luther King Jr. King didn’t just teach a strategy of peacemaking and nonviolence, his life demonstrated the power of, and a commitment to, the principle of nonviolence – a spirituality of peacemaking . His life reflected the African principle of “ubuntu” – I am what I am because of who we all are.”

I am reading Fr. Greg Boyle’s new book, Cherished Belonging, the Healing Power of Love in Divided Times. In it he says that there are two principles that undergird his work: 1) Everybody is unshakably good (no exceptions) and 2) We belong to each other (no exceptions.) He says that these two principles help us to roll up our sleeves and get things done.

I have had the privilege of working in both the Cook County Juvenile Detention Center and jail here in Chicago for well over 40 years. In that time, I have sat with many individuals who have committed horrible acts of violence. I have also regularly sat with families and persons who have experienced great harm, horrible acts of violence against them. Many never recover from the trauma. When I go to court, I have a front row seat of a system that embraces an adversarial stance and sees the world as black and white: good - bad, right - wrong, winner - looser. And when all is said and done and the courts have had their say, those impacted are left find their own way through the pain and trauma . You can see it as they leave the courtroom.

I have also had the privilege of being in spaces where those harmed sit with those who did the harm – from simple property cases to homicide. I have seen what can happen when there is an emphasis on relationship and wholeness verses punishment and isolation. When we see one another as God sees us – son/daughter, sister/brother, we begin to make our way toward healing and understanding.

Fr. Greg Boyle says, “Surely we can’t we hold something as horrible and still not make monsters out of anyone.” “Demonizing”, he says, “keeps us from solutions”.iii

It seems that during these times, both in our nation and in our world, we need to reflect upon the notion that we belong to one another. That a harm to one is a harm to all of us. We need to stop demonizing one another and come up with solutions.

Last night I was in the Juvenile Detention Center and, as I often do, asked a young man what community he came from? He hesitated, so I asked again thinking he didn’t hear me. Again, he hesitated and then shared with me that he was homeless and so bounced from one place to another, house to house whoever would allow him to sleep on a couch or on the floor – until, of course, they grew tired of him. The answer to my question was that he came from no community.

This is what happens when we are so busy placing blame and demonizing one another. This can only happen when fail to each person as unshakably good; it can only happen when we fail to believe that we belong to one another.

We enter the Jubilee Year of “Pilgrims of Hope”. As a people, as community, as a congregation, let it be more than a slogan. Let it be our commitment. No exceptions.

New Beginnings: Eric's Story

Tue, 24 Dec 2024 18:54:18 GMT

New Beginnings: Eric's Story

Written By: Jameonne Morris

Twenty months after his release, Eric Anderson is working on his new beginning. Each year, thousands of individuals come home after incarceration, working to rebuild their lives and make positive contributions to their communities. They often face difficult barriers related to employment, housing, and healthcare, which causes more harm.

Sentenced as an adult before his 16th birthday, Eric faced the prospect of life in prison. His resilience and commitment to self-improvement paved the way for his future pathways to reintegrate into society. Eric openly talks about his life in prison and gives us a raw, yet vivid description of life behind bars.

“Not too long ago, I thought I was going to die in prison. I am incredibly grateful to wake up and engage in this work,” he stated. “I was raised in prison,” he continued.

Eric’s newfound freedom has instilled hope in those around him. His dedication to fostering a restorative community resonates in every conversation he holds. When speaking about the mindset of incarcerated individuals, he shares that that a common struggle is that people feel hopeless when in prison. While this feeling resonated with him, Eric was determined to be the best version of himself, regardless of the circumstances.

“Restorative Justice showed me that I can live a life with purpose after being told I never could,” he says. “I was able to build community in the Illinois prison system with other former juvenile lifers,” he added.

Twenty months after Eric's release, he is back in prison, but in a different capacity. Eric works alongside Sister Janet Ryan, PBMR Restorative Justice Training, building peace within prison. Using circles, and drawing on his lived experiences, Eric helps incarcerated individuals learn to build deeper connections and gain skills to improve their conditions. Eric’s ability to relate and educate individuals is bringing hope to those who are a part of these prison programs.

Outside of prison, Eric continues to build relationships in hopes of establishing stronger connections between PBMR and community partners. His love for people and restorative justice allows him to motivate those who need it and disrupt systems of oppression.

Society often overlooks those who are incarcerated. Their voices are silenced, their stories are hidden, and their freedom is revoked. PBMR’s commitment to relentless engagement inspires us to confront systems and mass incarceration. We stand with all those who are incarcerated and their families recognizing humanity in all.

Eric is not the first to return home to PBMR, nor will he be the last. But thanks to his work more people currently incarcerated are learning about restorative justice and finding new pathways to reconciliation.

A Letter of Healing

Tue, 26 Nov 2024 20:14:00 GMT

"Our Precious Blood spirituality call and challenges us to be instruments of healing in our fractured world."

Written By: Sister Donna Liette, CPPS

Parker Palmer, in his book *On the Brink of Everything*, writes: “Violence happens when we do not know what else to do with our suffering.” Is it not apparent that our world is suffering from division, animosity, disregard for human rights, abuse, and loss of hope?

People are hurting, crying out for life, for compassion, for community, for God to hear. The grief is deep, hearts are broken, and energy is drained. We become paralyzed so we isolate and become victims.

At Precious Blood Ministry of Reconciliation, we feel the grief within ourselves and our community, our youth, our families. However, our spirituality challenges us to step up, speak out and become a voice for the voiceless . It challenges us to offer sacred spaces for facing the pain, sharing the grief, weeping, feeling compassion, and to uphold God’s abundance of love through the community.

Our Front Porch (Community Healing Center) has been alive with a plethora of activities . Biweekly we invite our community, particularly the elder members, to a morning of coffee and treats made by Ronnie, one of our youths. Several weeks ago, during our “Café on May” we had an acupuncturist spend the day with us offering our community, staff and youth the opportunity to experience healing through the 5-needle protocol. Many participated and spoke of the peace they experienced, of much better sleeping nights, and of the healing from stress and grief.

Recently, Old Town School of Music offered our youth and staff an evening of Capoeira art combining dance, music, drumming and spirituality . The room was alive with laugher and the youth was engaged while experiencing fun with drumming and connecting.

On October 30th, we celebrated Dia de los Muertos by decorating an altar of remembrance with pictures of our loved ones, especially our young women and men who have lost their lives through gun violence. It was a beautiful time of gathering young and old of diverse racial and ethnic backgrounds, sharing stories, praying, crying, eating and laughing!

Several weekends, we have had the opportunity, thanks to our supportive friends, to escape the city for “Mother’s Healing Retreat” days or weekends. These retreats provide mothers who have lost loved ones to gun violence or the violence of incarceration with a chance to share their experiences, be pampered, and engage in healing activities such as sound therapy, art therapy, yoga, meditation, and restorative sleep.

Our Precious Blood spirituality call and challenges us to be instruments of healing in our fractured world. Our hope is that through these individual and community activities, our hurting selves and our community can emerge with a large compassionate heart to help feed a world that's hungry of healing.

With Gaspar, we will say, “We cannot, we must not and will not” become paralyzed, bitter or victims- because there is power in a healing community and in the Precious Bood of Jesus!”

A New Way of Addressing Harm

Mon, 08 Jan 2024 22:19:59 GMT

What can we learn from Germany's Juvenile Justice System?

People who are not steeped in restorative justice – who have only a cursory understanding of the philosophy – believe that restorative justice is short on accountability. Even some of the staff of PBMR, which I like to think of as a restorative justice organization, struggle with accountability. Kazu Haga, in his book, Healing Resistance, said that in holding someone accountable, we need to put the emphasis on holding. Meaning that we should put the emphasis on relationship. What is needed and what does the one who has caused harm need to do to put the “us” back into right relationship?

Here's the thing about accountability, the starting place has to be that the people are good – that we are each of us created in the image of God. The harm done is a deviation from that goodness that we possess. Now we must work to repair the harm.

“ Forgiveness and compassion are always linked : how we hold people accountable for wrongdoing and yet at the same time remain in touch with their humanity enough to believe in their capacity to be transformed.” (Bell Hooks)

Recently, two of our staff, Joe Montgomery and Fred Weatherspoon, accompanied a group sponsored by Juvenile Justice Initiative (JJI) to Hamburg, Germany. The trip’s intention was to learn about and tour juvenile prisons in Germany. The gourp consisted of members of JJI, state of Illinois representatives, and Fred and Joe—both who are system impacted from their youth. Their perspective is powerful and telling as they share their reactions to Germany’s juvenile justice system over and against their own experience in the U.S.

I sat down with Joe and ask him about his experience. I encourage you to spend some time with his responses.

Kelly: Besides being in a different country, what really stood out to you about the trip?

Joe: The biggest thing is that they trust their kids . They’re put in a place, a detention center, where they don’t have to fend for themselves – survive on their own. In Germany, the kids have what they need. That’s the thing, from day one, the staff are working to get the kids what they need to get back home in good way. Education is big. You don’t have to be an A grade to go to school – everybody goes to school. Here, in our country, you have to be on a cetrain level to get into school. And even then, there are so few spots for education, that it may take years to get into school or a program. [If at all]

It’s crazy to me how they value education. Even the correctional officers (CO’s) have an education. They have to have a college degree and they take continuing education classes.

But the biggest thing was that they treat those kids with dignity . They work to ensure that they succede. Here, we expect failure from our kids and so we don’t put anything in to preparing people to come home.

Kelly: You had some state officials with you, do you hope they took from the trip?

Joe: I hope they learned from what they saw, and make changes —like the requirements for someone to go to school. Here in our correctional facilities, we don’t do anything to help people make the changes they need to go home successfully.

I think it is an attitude, too. To see the kids as trustworthy. I was shocked to see that in Germany, they could cook with pots and pans on a stove. They had utensils – real utensils! They trusted them. Their thinking is that we trust that you will make the right choice.

Kelly: What else really sticks out for you?

Joe: In Germany the district attorney doesn’t look to get the harshest penalty for you. They aren’t trying to send you to prison. That’s unbelievable! I couldn’t imagine someone here doing that for one of ours.

Another thing: in Germany the people who make the laws are one the same page as those who enforce the laws. What I mean is that the laws that are made come from what is happening on the ground. When we heard the lawmakers, that’s what we saw in the detention center and on the streets and how the police worked. Here in the US, the law might say one thing, but that is not our experience in the community. Like you have to have probable cause to search someone’s car. But the reality is that police stop people all the time and just search the car hoping they find something.

This exerpt is just a short snap shot of the reflections and wisdom from Joe and Fred’s time in Germany. Stay tuned for more from them, as we continue to explore the possibilities and potential of when we hold one another accountable by holding each person as sacred, precious, and worthy of restoration and healing.

A Mural of HOPE!

Wed, 12 Jul 2023 19:25:05 GMT

The Front Porch has a New Mural of HOPE!

Fr. Kelly once wrote:

“We must create communities of hope where we recognize that our lives are intertwined with one other and that what affects one, affects us all. This ethos— the interconnectedness of all —is at the heart of our spirituality that calls us to be ambassadors of Reconciliation.”

As you know our Front Porch Community Healing Center opened this past November, and it has brought many curious neighbors inside to see how the old community grocery/liquor store has been transformed. The first few months were wonderful welcoming new friends inside, but something was missing . The space is beautiful, but those white cinder block walls were stark and colorless! So we called on our artist instructor, Alberto Alaniz, and a youth artist, Kathleen, the “granddaughter” of Father Kelly and creative energies emerged!

A mural team of youth and staff gathered sharing ideas and sketches and began designing the layout. Alberto reflects on the initial brainstorming process, “ Love, Hospitality, Hope, Healing, and a strong sense of Community were important expressions of what the team felt PBMR stood for in this community and what our mural should give voice and challenge to in these dire times.”

And Janell, PBMR youth, writes: “ Art is something that makes you breathe with a different kind of happiness ”. She was there at the beginning, saw the value of keeping together with the project and can now celebrate the success of the masterpiece!

So we invite you to come visit our Front Porch and find your hidden words, reflect on this masterpiece and share your stories of pain, forgiveness, connectedness, love, healing and hope. Carrying the message of this mural into your spaces creating communities of hope and healing wherever you are.

PBMR has taken HEALING as the theme of 2023 and as Kathleen so beautifully expressed, “Art is a way for me to heal” It is our hope that our mural will bring healing to this community and to yours and beyond.

So as just as Fr. Kelly wrote, we are working together to create a community of hope and healing! Our lives are intricately intertwined with one another --in all of our joy, sorrow, love, heartbreak, and healing. We are all interconnected, restored, and united through the precious blood.New Paragraph

Little Graces

Fri, 02 Jun 2023 20:57:54 GMT

Reflections on grace in the little moments

It is just as important as ever to attend to the little graces by which the dignity of our lives is maintained and sustained.

-Howard Thurman

I came back from a funeral I presided over for a friend’s mother, and all I could share was paraphrasing that you needed to have been there. Undoubtedly, you’ve heard someone say you had to be there! I call it an awakening , a deeper realization that unexpectedly catches me in a holy moment; the little graces by which the dignity of our lives is maintained and sustained to borrow a phrase from Howard Thurman. And too often my words fail to convey the depth or excitement of that little grace. There are those who can come close with a picture, a song, or a poem; but I believe nothing really beats being there.

Fernando, our neighbor across the street, called me over the other day to show me two bullet shells lying in the alley. He poured out a heartfelt lament of concerns for the safety of our community and the misfortune of all the violence in our society today. Then, as he kissed the crucifix hanging around his neck, it was as if his faith kicked in and he began speaking words of hope and gratitude mentioning improvements and changes for the better he’s seen happening over the years. He blesses God for this, and attributes a lot of it to the presence and work of PBMR.

His words graced my heart with a deep realization of a new relationship with the man who first came to us to work off some court ordered community service hours for a traffic violation. My words can’t describe the awakening of that little graced moment.

Attending the funeral that I mentioned above were men and women whom I had not been in touch with over the past 15 or more years. Back then they were youth in our neighborhood, in our programs at PBMR, in the juvenile detention center, in courtrooms – now productive adults in their 30’s. They wanted to assure me how much they appreciated my role in their survival by not allowing the evil around them to enter into them; and they made it through. I found myself touched with little graces, as stories were told how the welcome, accompaniment and safety at PBMR had seen them through. And I knew it had to be through the Blood of Christ they were brought near.

And we were all brought together by the woman who had brought us together in the first place years before. Painfully accepting her passing, we came to celebrate in many stories the legacy of truth-telling in the life Precious Renee Talley shared with us.

She had been a Christmas present to her loving parents born on December 26th in 1956. Maybe that’s why they named her Precious. And yet to all who came to know her, she truly was precious with little energy for futility. With many mourners I too thank God for the gift of Precious in my life. Her down-to-earth approach brought her much respect. For Precious life was not only a gift but also an obligation. Her obituary read she could be as sweet as cotton candy but at the same time tough as nails.

The home-going had many witnessing that she knew Christ who knew suffering . She lived her life familiar with sorrow, pain and woe. Hers was a dignity no one could take from her even as aging would bend her down low enough to lean comfortably on her walker, but spiritually standing tall ; a woman whose education was limited but not her wisdom. And her truthful unfiltered, blunt, and holding-nothing-back ways to speak truth were invitations for her hearers to be about truthful ways in their living.

Awakenings, these little graces, play a significant role for me in living Precious Blood Spirituality in our ministry at PMBR. Caught up in the lives of our neighbors, our youth, our mothers and all our ministry I am surrounded with evidence of the power of redemptive suffering through the blood-stained cross of Christ present in our day.

And I’m sure in your life as well, in our Precious Blood family, there’s no lack of little graces by which the dignity of our lives is maintained and sustained as we study the book of the cross. I am so glad that somewhere in my life, there must have been a moment when I said, “Here I am, send me” . My life has been filled with countless little graces during 20+ years at PBMR, and all I can say is you had to be there.

Se Quedo

Mon, 06 Mar 2023 16:57:51 GMT

Seen not judged.

There is an African proverb that says, “when a child is rejected by the village, he will burn the village down just to feel the warmth .”

I was asked to give a talk to the Center of Social Concerns at Notre Dame about the work of PBMR and Restorative Justice. They asked, too, if I would talk to a Restorative Justice class the following day, so I decided to make a trip out of it and bring along a couple young people. I can tell stories, but the real impact is to hear first-hand from those who live it each day.

We got an early start so we could walk around campus. Of course, the Notre Dame stadium and “touch-down” Jesus was what they wanted to see. It was a beautiful day and the energy was high as the students moved quickly on foot and on the scooters. As we walked across campus, I suggested we take a peek inside the Basilica, which is a beautiful church. As we entered, they were taken aback by the number of students in church praying – no doubt making a quick visit before or after class. “They just come in here a sit?” one asked me. I told them that often people just need a quiet and safe place to be for a while. That they understood, but it is rare in their lives. One of them asked about the Stations of the Cross that lined the walls of the basilica and, so, I took the opportunity to talk about story of Jesus’ passion. As I pointed out each station, I got a nod of approval from an older gentleman in the pew.

As we got to the building where we would talk, I could sense that both were nervous. I assured them that they would do fine and that they just needed to be themselves. I spoke for a while and then introduced them to the group. Their nerves gave way as they began to tell their story. They were honest and spoke from their heart. They shared what it was like being an African American “kid” growing up on the south side of Chicago. Of course, they spoke of the violence and their experience of being locked up, but they also talked about PBMR and all the good that was happening in their neighborhood. “Some people”, they said, “think we are all just criminals - bad people, but there is a lot of good in the neighborhood, too.” While they weren’t polished speakers, their story was theirs and they were authentic. As we closed the night, the students continued to engage with them – asking questions and thanking them for coming the campus. I could see both beaming with pride as they were the center of attention.

On the ride home I asked them how they felt it went? They both said in so many words that it made them feel good – like they were somebody , instead of a nobody. It was one time when they weren’t defined by someone else.

At the very heart of our work, is breaking down walls of judgement so that we can discover the dignity in one another. In the case of the two youth that accompanied me, they need people and society to see them, not judge them, and embrace them for who they really are. How many times have they been called a menace to society? Told that they are the problem? As we talked more, I think they were slowly beginning to believe that they were worthy of being respected and loved.

A couple of days later, I went to court with another young man who I have known for most of his life. He was now 30 years old. He had endured a great deal…having had his bumps and bruises along the way. I got one of those early morning calls that he had been arrested . I worked to get him out of jail, and now accompanied him to court. As he stood before the judge, the state’s attorney called him a violent felon…even though he had not yet been convicted. There he was with his white dress shirt and black slacks and hair neatly tied back – another black man with dreads labeled as a felon.

As I sat there, I wanted to cry out “you don’t even know him!” They knew nothing of all that he had overcome - obstacle after obstacle. They didn’t know that he's in a strenuous program to become a lineman for the power company and just the day before sent me a picture of him on a pole with his white helmet…. a sign that he had graduated to the next level. They didn’t know that he had three beautiful children and a beautiful wife. They didn’t know that he was one of the most respectful young people I know.

As I saw him stand there for all to see, dressed as he thought they wanted him to dress, I knew he felt as though he was seen as violent felon – guilty because if his blackness. I felt sick; I felt anger, I felt powerless. But I also felt the love for a young man who deserved to be loved.

I believe that our spirituality is to stand there at the foot of the cross , with all our powerlessness, but, also, with all our love and devotion.

There is a story of older woman who had a deep devotion to Our Lady of Guadalupe. A visitor to her home asked her why she had such a deep devotion to Our Lady. The older woman responded in her language, “porque se quedo'” – because she stayed.

Gathering on "The Front Porch"

Thu, 16 Feb 2023 18:49:13 GMT

Gathering on “The Front Porch”

As a little girl growing up in North Star, OH, I remember sitting on our front porch and waving to all the people who passed by on Rt.127! Being farmers, we would run to our porch swing on a rainy day and watch the rain watering our fields. On weekends and evenings, neighbors would gather on our porch to tell stories and have some ice cream and warm pie that Mother just baked.

Last week when the temperatures reached almost 50 degrees here in Chicago , I sat with one of our mothers on her porch as she told of her granddaughter’s murder and the pain of going to the court hearings month after month and rehearing the horror of the night. She cries, “Will the pain ever leave; will I ever find healing?”

I leave her porch thinking of the differences in our porch conversations.

Today on 51st St. in the Back of the Yards, PBMR has opened a “Front Porch” , a warm, open space for neighbors, staff, and participants to gather, share stories, connect, and be fed physically and spiritually, to heal pain and celebrate friendship.

After 5+ years of vacancy, many were waiting with great expectation for those doors to open...Neighbors were stopping and asking, “Is this going to be a Church, an art center?” “Will you be selling liquor?”

Then on November the 8th, the doors did open and we celebrated the birthing of the radical transformation of a once neighborhood “Grocery/Liquor store“ into a no-steps, 2- room gathering place to lift spirits , not sell them!

The place hosts circles of all kinds – Mother’s healing circles, Youth circles, RJ leadership circles, Support circles for men and women returning from prison, Staff circles, Drumming circles, Community Mass circle, Planning circles - all for the purpose of healing harm and building relationships.

While precious blood continues to pour out on the streets we walk and the porches on which we stand, we invite the community into a safe place, a comfortable corner to share with others their suffering, their confusion, their hopes and know that they are not alone.

Everyday I’m at the “Front Porch” someone new stops by – someone in need of healing longing for a place of peace, a mother with 2 young children asking for prayer, a young father walking home from work...young, old, rich, poor, neighbors curious to see if this is a place for them. “Need some water, coffee, chips, some cookies, a hug? Come inside. You are welcome here! ”

For those who saw the chaos and smelled the stench when the doors first opened in late July, the transformation has been amazing. Rats had their way, and quickly learned that they had lost their home! Neighbors, funders, board members, attorneys, friends of PBMR have been welcomed into this new creation and they stand with mouths open in amazement- sometime even to the point of tears.

Mothers were especially excited as they could not believe there was such a place in their community – a place to find peace, to experience a “Spa Love Day”, a place where pain and disappointments can be shared, where reconciliation can happen among women/men/youth; a place to drum out frustrations and clear one’s brain!

Summer will offer all kinds of activities and “Front Porch” experiences as we set up easels outside and the community comes together to paint and chat, to barbecue and know they are safe to come off their porches and get to know their neighbors and the community in a new way!

PBMR continues to hear the voices of the community and respond as best we can to that call – it is the call of our spirituality – to build a community where all are welcome, all are seen as IN the circle, where all offered radical hospitality, hope and healing, where those who feel “far off” will be brought on to “the Front Porch” (close) through the Blood of Christ.

We invite all of you to come , especially this summer, sit on "The Front Porch” to see and engage in our building a community of LOVE!!

Donna Liette, CPPS

Healing the Heart in Community

Wed, 25 Jan 2023 22:58:13 GMT

One by one, people walked to the front of the room, carrying wooden crosses with the names of their loved ones written on the front and sides. Holding their Mothers, Fathers, children, sisters, brothers, friends in their hands, each person spoke the name of their loved one aloud for all to hear and carefully placed their cross on the Wall of Remembrance .

I watched as a young girl, whom I have come to know quite well these past few years, walked up, and spoke name after name into the microphone. She took her time, didn’t rush, and made sure to read every name carefully and with intention. Not yet 18 years old, and this little girl read upwards of 15 names. Hot tears streamed down my face.

One of my greatest joys of being at PBMR is working with the youth—particularly the young women. They are brilliant, strong, creative, wise individuals who never cease to amaze me day after day. But in moments like these, I am reminded of the invisible unbelievably heavy burden of trauma and pain that these young people carry. Because of the neighborhoods they’re born into, the dangers they face, and the color of their skin they are burdened with a level of grief and loss that I will never fully understand.

These kinds of wounds live beneath the surface —no one can see the trauma that another person carries—and yet our wounds are crying out for someone to see, touch, and heal the broken pieces of our hearts. But where, when, and by whom can we let ourselves truly be seen? Is there anywhere or anyone safe enough to let our walls down and share our sorrow?

One mother spoke about how before leaving the house she puts on a full face of make-up in hopes of covering up the pain and depression that she battles daily. Here in this room, her tears wiped away this protective mask, and she shared how losing her husband, sister, and son, coupled with the stress of struggling to take care of her family often feels like too much to bear. Folks in the front and back of the room nodded in understanding communicating that they too feel what she feels. By sharing our wounds with one another, we didn’t sink from grief, but found community and solidarity which kept us afloat.

There is a deep need and hunger for sharing our wounds in the context of community—to let down walls and unpack the hurt. I also believe that spaces safe enough for this type of healing are few and far between, especially for folks in our neighborhood. People have been hurt time after time, from such young ages. While safety is a basic human need, our youth, parents, and families often lack safety of any kind—whether it be psychological, emotional, physical, or spiritual. Nowhere and no one feels safe, and so people stay bottled up, wounded, and alone, unable to heal or move forward.

And we wonder why things aren’t getting better.

This year, PBMR is focused on healing —on creating more spaces and places where people can be vulnerable and allow love to touch their wounds. If we want to bring healing to the visible exterior in our community, we have to begin with the invisible interior. We have to begin with seeing, hearing, and holding the hearts of those we love, and becoming vessels of love and care for one another .

As the young woman placed her cross on the wall of remembrance, we began to see that all the crosses organically were forming the shape of a heart . The pain of loss and grief of our hearts was momentarily flooded with love , and for a second, we gained a glimpse of the yoke being easer and the burden light.

Restorative Justice

Mon, 09 Jan 2023 16:37:36 GMT

Originally published in Kewanee Horizons, Volume 19

Greetings to all of my fellow incarcerated community members and also to anyone reading this from the other side of the fences. Though you may not be aware of it, you are also part of our community . Incarcerated people affect and are affected by almost every segment of U.S. society and culture. From the people who are directly locked up, their immediate and extended families and friends, to the people who have been directly harmed by those who are incarcerated, and their immediate and extended families and friends (two groups that overlap more often than you might think). If we only included those two groups, what do think the number would be? On any given day in the U.S., there are over 2 million people incarcerated; if each of those incarcerated persons has 10 people that love them, that is 22 million people directly affected. What about those who were harmed? If each of those persons has 10 people who love them, that’s probably at least another 22 million people directly affected.... How many police officers are there in the U.S.? Correctional officers? Their family members would bring the total to what number of people directly affected by the incarcerated community? Lawyers, judges, and their family members.... The numbers get large, quickly.... My point is just that our society, our American Culture, is deeply intertwined with the lives of the incarcerated community.

We as the incarcerated tend to view ourselves as separate and distinctly isolated from the non-incarcerated. This is a valid way to view ourselves—on its face, the point of incarceration is to keep us isolated and segregated from society in almost every way. We are all well aware of the downsides of the system of incarceration as it exists in our lives; the detrimental impacts incarceration has on us, as well as on our loved ones; the negative views of who we are, as well as the negative views of those who love us. I submit that those negative outcomes and views reach further into American Culture than people realize. In many ways, incarceration is the antithesis of Restorative Justic e . Those issues are not the focus of this writing. The focus of this writing is how we can come to understand and internalize the ideals and principles of Restorative Justice and Restorative Practices. In no way am I trying to assert that I am an authority or that I have all the answers when it comes to Restorative Justice. I feel my experiences have given me some insights, and my mission is to engage in Restorative Justice Practices in ways that I feel can impact the lives of my immediate community and my more extended community. I owe. It is as simple as that for me: I owe. The list of people I am indebted to in my life is extensive and grows longer every day. I am a former Juvenile Lifer, meaning I was sentenced as an adult to Life Without Parole for a crime I committed when I was 15 years old. My debt begins and ends with the lives of the two people I took from their families. I can never pay down that debt. I know that. The only thing left for me with that understanding is to do everything I can, at every opportunity, to ensure that what I did never happens to another family. That is an insurmountable task, it is commensurate with my debt. I can never reach that goal. What I can do is use my experience to improve outcomes for others’ experiences—I can use what I have done, the life I have lived, the things that have happened to me, to say that I have an idea for how we can do better. I can get my message out there. My message is that we can do better. We can do better for ourselves as an incarcerated population, we can do better as a community, we can do better than the bare minimum of isolation, degradation, punishment, and the perpetuation of the cycles of violence that tear down our lives on such a daily basis. We can heal. Healing ourselves is the single most fundamental effective tool we have in the quest to stop the cancer that is violence. Just as it is true that “hurt people hurt people”, it is also true that “healed people heal people”, and that is hopeful.

I am a stakeholder. I am a person who has caused harm as well as a person who has been harmed —both of these things are true at the same time. Contrary to the traditional narrative of the criminal legal system, these two true things about me do not cancel each other out; they are mutually exclusive facts about me, both equally true, and both equally valid. This is also a truth of every person I have ever met and interacted with in any kind of meaningful way in the Illinois prison system. I have never interacted with anyone (that I know of) who is incarcerated and who is not also a survivor of violence. 27 years of incarceration has given me the confidence to say that I feel I have a pretty good insight as to who is incarcerated. I have spent the vast majority of my incarceration in maximum security settings, so almost everyone I have spent serious amounts of time with are incarcerated for violent acts— they are all also survivors of violent acts. Maybe there is an unmet population of incarcerated peoples who have not had experiences with personal violence,. If there is, I haven’t heard about it.

A point I would emphasize is: Just because these facts are mutually exclusive and do not cancel each other out does not mean that there is not a direct relationship between these facts. More educated people than myself have conducted study after study that show unequivocally that there is a direct causal relationship between being a person who is a survivor of violence and a person who has committed violence. Hurting someone does not undermine the fact that you have been hurt. It also needs to be stated bluntly that being hurt does not ever excuse hurting someone. Both of those things are wrong, humans do not deserve to be hurt, there is no excuse for inflicting unnecessary pain on someone. It is equally true that it is never okay for someone to inflict pain on you.

My experience tells me that the people who make up my community have an imperative need to come to terms with this truth: It is never okay for someone to hurt you. Period. People have a need to justify the things that happen in their lives, good and bad, positive and negative, healthy and unhealthy. It is a characteristic we share as humans. We like to make statements like “she earned it,” or “he deserves that.” Sometimes that is true—she did earn it, when it comes to things like paychecks or certificates or college degrees. One thing she never earned: being punched. Sometimes he does deserve it: a hug, a promotion at work, or an A in class. Something he never deserved: getting stabbed. Saying things to justify physically inflicting pain on another person is implying that it is okay to do harm to others. It is not. The justification of violence is an especially potent problem for two reasons: 1) it excuses the harm; and 2) it normalizes violence which helps to perpetuate the cycle. The thinking goes, “If I normalize the violence and harms I have experienced in my life, I am more likely to pay that violence and harm forward because I view it as no big deal and okay.”

Recognition of this immediate and underlying truth is the first step in Restorative Justice. I’d like to make a short analogy to further illustrate my point about who deserves or has earned what. Imagine you come home from work, walk into your house, are greeted happily and excitedly by your dog, walk into the kitchen and find a pile of dog sh*t on the floor. In my mind you would obviously be upset. You look at your beautiful friend, wind up and punch him in the ribs! He yelps and scurries away. Did he deserve that? Did he earn it? No, he didn’t and [he says] you are an asshole for reacting like that. Did he learn his lesson? Probably not. Can you tell yourself a story to justify your actions? Sure, but that doesn’t make it right on any level.

Now the trick, did you deserve to be called an asshole there? No, you didn’t. Why not? For the same reason your dog didn’t deserve to get kicked: because it doesn’t serve any purpose except an immediate, unsatisfactory expulsion of anger. Now you have to deal with guilt and all other kinds of complex emotions. And honestly, that is just a dog. I love dogs, they are awesome. They are not humans. Humans deserve to be treated with more dignity and more regard than animals (don’t hurt animals either, by the way).

The point is that the infliction of pain (or punishment, to use the more popular terminology) does not evoke or invoke “personal accountability”, which is the stock and trade of Restorative Justice and Restorative Practices. The reason that personal accountability is so important in this process is that only through personal internalized self-accountability can we, as people who have caused harm, start to do the work toward restoration, our part of the work at least. Only through owning what we have done can we begin to work through the emotions of what we have done, of what has happened and how it has affected another person. A person who did not deserve whatever act was perpetrated on them. It also has to be acknowledged that doing harm to another also does harm to ourselves.

There is hope though, even though we can never undo the harm we have caused, Restorative Justice is not about undoing something, it is about doing something. It is about doing something positive, healthy, and healing. This is the crux of Restorative Justice, this is what makes it so tough to partake in, the fact that it does not allow us to take a victim stance and excuse our actions by making statements about what happened to us or what is happening to us. We resolve to examine our actions based not on the motivations that may have driven us, but based on how they have affected someone else. We won’t dismiss the things that have happened to us, we have to deal with those things also. We won’t be able to fully heal if we don’t come to terms with the total, cumulative effects of the things that happened in our lives, both to us and by us. We have to deal with all the different facets of our shared histories.

The narrative we have been sold consists of a group of ideas presented as facts, even though they are fundamentally wrong. The main ideas that drive this false narrative are that inflicting pain on another person will somehow lessen our own pain— it doesn’t; that incarceration as an answer to violent crime is effective—it isn’t; that our American ideal of prison as a deterrent has ever actually worked—it hasn’t. Period. Those are just the facts; there is no argument against these facts. The closest anyone ever comes to justifying prison goes something like, “Whatta ya gonna do? Let everybody outta da joints tomorrow?!” That is not an argument for prisons, at least not a cogent one. Prison is not an effective tool for dealing with crime. If it were even half as effective as it is purported to be, the United States of America would be, by far, the safest developed country in the entire world to live in. There are many paths to follow away from the purpose of this writing at this point; I am not interested in making those points, yet. The thing I’d like to focus on is: If prison isn’t the answer as a response to crime, especially violent crimes involving personal harm, what is a valid, purposeful response? One answer is Restorative Justice Practices . I will leave alone the facts here that surround the issues that are systemic in our culture and are leading causes and effects of violence, because I’d like to stay focused on what actions we can engage in that are forms of Restorative Practices and are healing in nature so that we can move forward in our lives to live with real purpose and intention. I will touch on those systemic issues briefly here and there because, as stated above, nothing in our society exists in isolation, everything and everyone is connected , often more closely than we might initially imagine. The main aspect I would like to keep in the forefront here is the concept of personal accountability.

Personal accountability, as I have come to understand it, in- volves 5 key components:

1) Acknowledging our responsibility for our actions;

2) Acknowledging our actions’ impacts on another or others;

3) Understanding that impact and expressing genuine remorse for those actions;

4) Taking restorative actions or making reparations to the degree possible; and

5) Making sure that we live a life that ensures that we never repeat those actions or actions similar to those that will cause harm.

Another way to talk about personal accountability is to say “taking responsibility.” I have heard this phrase misused as often as any other in my life as a prisoner. This misuse has to be attributed to the deep cultural acceptance of the misconception that uses punishment and accountability as interchangeable terms. I have had many conversations with my peers about the nature of taking responsibility. I maintain that taking responsibility involves much more than admitting guilt. Admitting guilt can be thought of as taking responsibility because it is a fundamental aspect of that process, but that is truly only the beginning. Add to that the nature of criminal court proceedings that are interested in “holding people accountable” for their actions in ways that are simplistic and superficial at best, especially pertinent here is the nature of a sentencing proceeding after guilt has been assigned. When a sentencing judge asks the convicted criminal if they have anything to say before a sentence issued that is known as an allocution. Allocutions are ostensibly utilized to give us an opportunity to “take responsibility” for our actions, that is often the way allocutions are referred to and talked about. Our lawyers, the prosecutors, the judge, even our family and friends tell us that this is our opportunity to engage in this part of the criminal process directly and “be accountable” or “take responsibility,” but it doesn’t equate to actually being accountable or taking responsibility. The work comes into play when we talk about the next steps; i.e., if I have taken a step down the road of responsibility by admitting my guilt, what does that admission now require of me? How do I continue down that road to healing and reconciliation?

The next step in the process involves recognizing the harms that we have caused to another human being. As I stated above, there is no justifying hurting another person. Once we internalize that understanding we can begin the process of working through a true recognition of how we have hurt someone and the effect that has had and continues to have on those persons. In an ideal situation this reckoning would take place with the participation of the people who have been harmed. We are not in an ideal situation. The IDOC and the State of Illinois do not recognize the promise of Restorative Justice Practices as evidenced by the fact that they have no mechanism in place for people to engage in reconciliation and recognition of harms caused. Every Restorative Justice program I have ever heard of is instigated and run by private groups. That is the situation as it exists for us. That increases the degree of difficulty when it comes to assessing and recognizing the true effects of the harms we have inflicted upon others, but it does not make it impossible or any less important to honestly engage in this step. It is imperative that we recognize what we have done —without that recognition there can be no chance of true accountability and any kind of restoration put forth is rendered hollow by its lack of veracity.

Expressing remorse is another part of the process that has to be acted upon in an unconventional way. Without the ability to directly apologize to the survivors of our actions, we must put some thought into what we can do to express our remorse. There is an important point to highlight here—the fact is that expressing remorse for actions we know were unacceptable is an important step to forgiving ourselves for what we have done to ourselves. Please remember that doing violence to another is also doing violence to the self. This is critical. I am aware that this statement can come across as minimizing the harm done to others, but this is untrue; it is another aspect that the myth of prison’s effectiveness causes to become accepted, that there is no room for a comparison of harms experienced by one person or another. Every person’s experience is just as true, valid, and important as every other person’s. Going down the rabbit hole of whose experience is more important implies a zero sum scenario for pain and hurt; the human capacity for suffering is almost infinite, and causing pain to another can never relieve the pain you feel. In fact, all it does is perpetuate and increase the suffering and cycle of violence . “Hurt people hurt people is both inherently true and the most concise definition of why we have to learn to forgive each other and ourselves for our past harms. Without engaging in healing practices for our self-inflicted hurts we will never be able to dent the progression of the violence cycle.

No single step in the process of personal accountability is any more important than any other, however, step 4, taking restorative actions or making reparations, can offer one a feeling of truly engaging in the process in a tangible way. It can involve some of the most important fore-thought in that it requires us to look into the avenues available to us as incarcerated people to try to find the ones that allow us to most effectively invest ourselves toward making reparations. I have found that many times, men I have known have had to literally invent new ways to work toward paying down the debts we have incurred by our past actions. I have also encountered many men who have started down this path without even realizing what they were doing or why— they just felt compelled to do something positive in their lives. I was such a person. I began doing what I thought of as “good things” just because, not for a specific cause or thought, literally just because. In my mind this is illustrative of the simple and obvious truth that we are all more than just our worst decision or act. We are human; we are all capable of astounding amounts of love and kindness in ways that are not recognized by the court system, the IDOC, prosecutors, the news, or the traditional American Culture narrative that has brought us to this point in our individual lives. For many people I have known, this is where the rubber truly meets the road because it can have tangible measurable results. This is unlike step 3, expressing remorse—because no one can know how another person truly feels. On the inside, people sometimes struggle even with their internal dialogue as to whether the remorse they are expressing is heartfelt or just mouthed words to effectuate a lessening of guilty feelings. Plus, if you are engaging in positive actions, with positive intentions you will often see positive results . This is what living with a true sense of purpose and intention feels like.

Finally, step 5: making sure that we live a life resolved to never repeat actions that result in the harms being committed again. This is the culmination of the process of personal accountability, not because it forces us to endure over and over the traumas that perpetuate the cycle of violence, but because this is the opportunity that frees us from that terrible existence. Living with intention is what allows us to be healed and to extend that healing to others, first to those we love and then outward to the other people we come into contact with in our lives and finally to the rest of the members of our communities and society as a whole.

I call out to all of you, let’s be better. Let’s be better than the worst we can do to each other, let’s be better than doing the bare minimum to survive as a culture. Better yet, let’s do our best —we can do more every day, we can extend the hand of care and friendship, and most importantly, we can extend the recognition of value and humanity that every person is entitled to under the banner of basic human dignity . This is the underlying tenet that has been missing in our lives as prisoners: basic human dignity. We can’t wait for someone to hand it to us because we are already entitled to it. It just has not been recognized. Instead, we need to choose to embrace every day with intention and positivity while also embracing our shared humanity and inherent dignity.

I am not saying that if you embrace these steps there will be an instantaneous change in the ways that we are treated and treat each other. We are trying to overcome centuries of a story being told to us, a story that violence is an acceptable answer, that prison works as a deterrent, or that our hurts don’t matter because we should be tougher than that. I am saying that acting on these principles is a dignified way to live. That doesn’t imply an easy way to live. I would never presume to say that your life will be easy, I only say that you, as a human, are entitled to dignity and safety, and that embracing Restorative Justice Practices is a way to live that.

I want to give acknowledgement and thanks to authors Victoria Law (Prison By Any Other Name, Prisons Keep Us Safe and 20 Other Myths of Mass Incarceration), Danielle Sered (Until We Reckon). Their books on U.S. incarceration and its historical genesis, its current state, and new ways of looking at violence in our communities has served as inspirational and clarifying for my own positions on our community.

Eric grew up on the Southwest Side of Chicago, in 1995 at the age of 15 he was convicted of a double homicide and sentenced to Life Without the Possibility of Parole. In 2017 because of a US Supreme Court Decision (Miller v Alabama) Eric was sentenced to 60 years, with good time the sentence would be 30 years. Eric is a self taught artist who has donated many paintings to various non profits in an effort to give back in the only way he could. Since being resentenced Eric was able to be transferred to Kewanee Life Skills Reentry Center in April of 2021. He has dedicated himself to be as active as possible while at Kewanee. Eric writes and edits the Kewanee Horizon, a weekly newsletter dedicated to restorative justice and bringing positive news to those inside. The Illinois Department of Corrections, publishes the KH on their website as well as distributing the newsletter to all 28,000 incarcerated people in Illinois Prisons, through their tablets and kiosks. Currently Eric is working on a new program CMM - Credible Messengers Mentorship Program, in collaboration with Illinois Department ofJuvenile Justice (IDJJ) The program will focus on direct and engagement with those incarcerated in Kewanee and young people in the IDJJ. The goal is to use their life experience in a way that can provide insight and inspiration to the young people in IDJJ. Eric has participate in the creation organization and implementation of the program as well as being a peer mentor. Eric hopes upon his release in May of 2023 he will be able to continue the program from the outside.

You're in the Right Place

183:778223575 (David Kelly) — Wed, 14 Dec 2022 23:33:47 GMT

“You’re in the right place if you work for peace…”

Fr. Greg Boyle, SJ, in his latest book, “Forgive Everyone Everything”, writes that scripture scholars contend that the original language of the Beatitudes should not be “Blessed are the single hearted” or “Blessed are the peace workers” or “Blessed are those who struggle for justice”. A better translation would be “You’re in the right place if you are single hearted” or “ You’re in the right place if you work for peace…”

In 2000 as we began to dream and plan for PBMR, there were a couple things that were non-negotiable. One, was that we had to be in a neighborhood/community that knew first-hand the pains of violence and incarceration. It would have to be a community that allowed us to be proximate to those we served/accompanied. And so, in 2002, when the doors of PBMR opened, we moved into the Back-of-the-Yards community on the south side of Chicago. Beginning in a small janitor’s apartment at St. Michael the Archangel parish, the four of us (Joe Nassal, Bill Nordenbrock, Denny KInderman and myself) began our work. Little did we know what exactly would lie ahead. But with the commitment to the spirituality of the Precious Blood and the gift of the ministry of Reconciliation, we set forth to try to be witness of God’s presence and love amidst the trauma of incarceration and violence. In addition, we sought to be a resource of renewal for the church.

In 2004, we had the opportunity to move into the second floor of a converted school building that once was the St. John of God Parish. The parish closed in the mid 90’s and after was used as a residence for youth in the care of the state. Today, while more in number – both staff and community members - we still seek to be that presence of God’s overwhelming and healing love. We have opened several houses that serve as a home for men and women who are coming home from prison and families who have unstable housing situations.

Early in November of this year, we opened a small center about a block from PBMR’s main building. It had been a well-known neighborhood market – food and liquor – for many years, but in the years since it has stood abandoned—a sign of the devastation our neighborhood faces. Because of generous benefactors and supporters, we were able to obtain the building and in a community effort – supporters, staff and young people – it has been completely rehabbed and restored. We’ve dedicated this space to become a healing center where families and young people can experience the love and care that is at the heart of the spirituality of the Precious Blood. In this center (yet to be named) we will focus solely on healing: individual, family, and community. It will become a space (and already has) where people can build, renew, and repair relationships.

The very first gathering, even before the building was fully complete, Sr. Donna held a circle for mothers who had lost their sons or daughters to homicide in the past year. It was a powerful circle where families could finally speak of their loss and pain amidst people who were willing to listen without judgement . Since that first circle, several gatherings have been held in this new space: young people coming home from jail and detention, men and women previously incarcerated who work to support those returning home, and PBMR staff who rely on strong community relationships to do the work we do.

Sr. Elaine Roulette, the founder of My Mother’s House in New York, was asked, “How do you work with the poor?” She answered, “You don’t. You share your life with the poor.” As we have found so often, it can be as easy as crying together, laughing together, sharing time with one another.

I remember the very first conversations that we had regarding the creation of a ministry of reconciliation. We asked one another, “what if there was a place in the community where people could experience care and support, a place where we could concentrate on healing and transformation. The “old May street store” has become such a place. It is solely dedicated to healing and transformation. Perhaps that should be the name – PBMR’s “Center for Healing and Transformation”

I am often asked how I have been able to do this work for as long as I have. “All the heartache and disappointment, how do you keep yourself going?” I truly believe that it is because I am in the right place. I am where I should be and when you are where God wants you to be, incredible things happen.

As we close out this 20th Anniversary of PBMR, know of my deep gratitude for all the encouragement, care, and support for the hospitality, hope, and healing for our youth and families here in Back of the Yards throughout these 20 years.

December New Creation Column written by Fr. David Kelly, CPPS.

Something I Can’t Not Do

Tue, 15 Nov 2022 17:21:26 GMT

the names are fictitious, the stories true...

“When I was seven my auntie adopted me. As my stepmom she changed my name to Henry. At age eleven she put me out, later admitting she never did like me. I came into her life as a package deal with my little brother whom she really loved.” I listened to Johnathan (his birth name) for about fifteen minutes as his story unfolded eventually landing him now in Cook County’s Temporary Juvenile Detention Center (JTDC) at age seventeen. He thought his story not out of the ordinary, sleeping in abandoned cars or on the floor of a friend’s home. “I look at my life, and I love it. I feel better telling you about it.”

It’s been twenty-some years of listening to stories of the disarray of young lives. Yet God, like a shepherd, is there leading JTDC kids , struggling, resisting, and longing to be led. Parker Palmer reflects: “violence is what happens when we don’t know what to do with our suffering.” While the courts focus on the violence, I sit and listen to the suffering.

“I love my birth mother, but,” Alfred confides in me, “she’s an addict.” “Do you have any sisters or brothers?” I always ask that, then wait as they calculate how many on their father’s or their mother’s side. He counts on his fingers including as his siblings the children of a caring women who he calls “mother.” On his sixth finger he looks at me and says, “these six died in a fire two months ago; all children of my stepmom.”

“Come close, I don’t want anyone to hear. My mother is homeless and is in a wheelchair. Can you help her? ”

“Do you think I did the right thing? Think I can plea self-defense?” Thomas tells me what happened on the train – the one I take whenever going downtown, and the one that is too often in the news reporting stabbings, shootings, and robberies. His was a detailed story that now has him going to the adult court for attempted murder.

“I go to court every Wednesday hoping DCFS will find a placement for me.” The lives of some incarcerated kids are overseen by the Department of Children and Family Services (DCFS). Often these kids spend months incarcerated, just waiting for placement in a group home or with a family . Raymond seems resigned to this fate while telling me about his dream to someday be a chef and own his own restaurant. I’m touched by his untiring hope.

“I fell on my knees and cried out really loud, ‘God forgive me!’” There had been months of nightmares and torturous feelings of guilt. To escape his depression, Hernandez told me of his attempt to shoot himself, while making a video of it. The gun jammed! “You have to be serious,” Hernandez instructed me, “You have to really get into it!” And I remembered Thomas Merton’s reflection that the deepest level of communication is not communication but communion. “After screaming to God I feel good again.”

“I’m writing a book about my life to help kids not make the same mistakes I’ve made.” Jakwon lives in a neighborhood he claims is the worst in Chicago. “I became streetwise and did a lot of bad things.” He wants to help others by telling his story, like I hear from many other JTDC youth in their creative reflections on life as it really is in the hood – rapping realities of shattered lives.

“Say a prayer for all of us,” I hear from a table where four kids are playing cards. They all bow their heads while we lift our voices to the God who knit them together in their mother’s womb, to God who calls them beloved sons, to God who has plans for their lives, as they ask the One who alone is their Judge for freedom, protection for their families (especially moms and grandmoms) and help for bettering their lives. Occasionally, tears are wiped away.

Through it all, I am balancing ministry with a tinge of guilt as if volunteering as a chaplain in JTDC I am agreeing with a faulty criminal justice system – like guilt by association. Advocating for change is another battle ground. Here in JTDC I enter a healing ground where I find the Good Shepherd going after the stray to put them on his shoulder and tell them: “your faith has saved you.” Every Tuesday and Thursday evening finds me in JTDC doing something I can’t not do.

Fr. Denny is a founder and continuous Spiritual elder for the PBMR community. He visits youth in JTDC every Tuesday and Thursday evening without fail to listen to the stories of the youth and offer presence, prayer, and accompaniment.

Reunited in Freedom

183:778223575 (David Kelly) — Mon, 10 Oct 2022 15:48:34 GMT

"Did you hear about the rose that grew from a crack in the concrete?"

Recently, a group of the PBMR staff and partners attended a conference in Washington DC. This gathering marked the ten-year anniversary of the 2012 Miller vs Alabama case, which overturned mandatory life sentences for juveniles.

Since hard-on-crime legislation, over 2,500 kids in our country received automatic sentences to die in prison— mandatory life without the possibility of parole . But after years without hope, the tides began to turn. In 2012 the US Supreme Court decision in Miller vs. Alabama deemed this type of sentence unconstitutional, and gave these now adults the hope of a resentencing. Since that decision, 950 men and women out of the 2500 have come home—a number of PBMR staff and community members being among them.

The gathering was sponsored by the Incarcerated Children Advocacy Network (ICAN) , as a way to gather and celebrate the resilience and contribution that this community of formerly incarcerated men and women are making in the world today. PBMR’s Fred Weatherspoon and Harold "Mac" Hagerman were among those who traveled to Washington for this celebration. When asked about the experience, Fred shared, “I was choosing to take part due to my sentence of natural life that I received at the age of seventeen, as well as my work at PBMR as program manager for youth-based programs.” According to Fred, this was the first time an event such as this has happened in the US. Fred was struck by how life-giving and moving it was to be in the company of so many who had similar sentences as he did. Everyone understood each other. “Being with community” he said, “with so many that have shared your journey, will be forever planted in my soul.”

It’s because of people like Fred, Mac, and countless others, that PBMR has become a gathering place – a safe place - for men and women who are returning home after spending time in prison. After spending decades in prison, it's amazing to see so many men and women come home, create a support system for one another, and carry such vigor to give of themselves to their communities and to today’s youth. We are beyond blessed to have so many as a part of our PBMR family, and see how they make a difference in the lives of today’s youth and advocate for systems change.

These healers are all around us . This month, PBMR held its first healing circle for formerly incarcerated women—many having been inside for decades. Pamela, our restorative justice advocate and trainer, and Teresa Davenport, our Family Forward Housing Coordinator, helped create an incredibly welcoming and healing space for these women. Many not having seen each other since their days in prison, one could hear both laughter and tears as they shared their stories with one another.

Our spirituality calls us to remain hopeful in the midst of struggle and trauma . It is not the “Polyanna” type of hope – meant to sooth and gloss over – but the hope that slowly emerges deep within the stories of pain and trauma. The hope that resides even in the face of death, and allows us to move through our sorrow, with the promise that this is not the end, and we are not alone.

Thomas Merton maintains that conflict will always be a part of this human experience, but that beyond that suffering lives hope in the promise of transformation and healing. He remarks that we can allow God’s grace to seep into the crevices of our lives and make us into a new creation.

Let me close with, perhaps, an unlikely author - Tupac (Shakur):

Did you hear about the rose that grew

from a crack in the concrete?

Proving nature’s law is wrong it

learned to walk with out having feet.

Funny is seems, but by keeping its dreams,

It learned to breathe fresh air.

Long live the rose that grew from concrete

when no one else ever cared.

At the end of the day, as I reflect on the many difficult stories and realities, I am strengthened knowing that there are those who, in the midst of their own stories of pain, offer themselves to the world, and in allowing abundant grace to seep into their cracks, bring so much light and goodness into the world.

The Power of One Caring Adult

183:778223575 (David Kelly) — Mon, 13 Jun 2022 22:12:35 GMT

The Power of One Caring Adult

During this month of June, we celebrate and honor all those who are fathers, grandfathers, and all men who take on the responsibility of being a caring adult in someone’s life . In a community where too many fathers are unable to provide for their children, we especially honor the men - young and old - who are shining examples of commitment and care for their children and their community.

Having been raised by a strong and loving father, I know the impact of having a strong male who is always there to care for and love his children without question. Children should not have to earn love; but simply be loved and cared for. They need an unconditional love—even and especially when they mess up. And as someone who has “raised” several young people myself, I know that authentic fatherly love is not always easy. It has been one of the hardest things I have ever done, but certainly one of the most rewarding .

I see this unconditional care and support in our men of PBMR. Our mentors spend countless hours building and strengthening relationships with our youth. This type of accompaniment is the cornerstone of our work. In these mentor-mentee relationships, I see the relentless love of authentic fatherhood, an unfailing caring presence even amidst life’s bumps and bruises. They are there for the youth unquestioningly: from cheering on a Saturday night basketball game, to hospital visits, to drop offs and picks ups, to ensuring kids get to school in the morning.

I think of Mac, our Youth Mentor Coordinator. Mac works with other mentors to ensure every youth has a caring adult in his or her corner (You can never have enough!). This winter, three of our youth were shot on their walk home after a day helping out at a neighborhood church. All three survived, but the youngest was shot three times in his legs shattering his femur bone. The hospital patched him up and returned him home to heal, but ordered no physical therapy or follow up. Before the shooting, he was one of the best players on the basketball court, and months after he was limping in pain, much less running on the court. Mac recognized the toll it took on him – not just physically, but emotionally and spiritually as well. Basketball was more than just a pastime; it was something that kept him focused and resilient to trauma of growing up on the south side of Chicago. After seeking help from the hospital, Mac proposed that PBMR help him get access to the physical therapy he needed. When we proposed this plan to the youth, his face lit up. Just the prospect that he might regain some of the movement that the bullets took from him gave him hope . And so, for the past 6 weeks, the two have been religiously attending sessions together. And his body is responding, his condition is improving, and his spirits are lifting.

A caring adult makes all the difference.

I am sure that every staff would say that our youth are our treasure . And so, there was no missing the excitement when 5 of our mentors and 5 of our youth were invited to attend a Black-tie event for black men of all ages. For weeks leading up the event, they were preparing - getting measured for their suits, picking out their ties and wondering what’s up with these shoes—To their dismay, formal wear doesn’t include Nike shoes! A few days before the big day, a group of mentors were with their youth teaching them how to tie a necktie. This had all the aura of a serious endeavor. It took a minute – one time the tie was too long, another, too short. It was a rather comical display of patience. What touched me though was the intimacy and care demonstrated by the mentors for the youth around such a special moment.

The day came with a luncheon and a tour of the Northern Illinois University (NIU). They then got ready for the evening’s festivities, which included a very formal dinner. Even though the pictures don’t show their smiles, there was no hiding their enthusiasm as they told me about the evening – showing me picture after picture of the event.

Too often the narrative of Chicago’s south side is one of violence. But there is another story as well. And it is a story of care and tenderness and love . I am struck by how available staff are to those we are privileged to walk with. It is not easy; there can be some really tough moments, but there are laughs and joy as well. And ain’t that life.

In the end, our youth want what every young person wants, is to be loved and to feel as though they matter. I wish we had the ability to ensure that every young person had a Mac or Fred or Joe in their life. I wish every young person knew that they were loved for who they are , not for what they could do.

Fathers’ Day is about unconditional love – no strings attached . As we celebrate the 20th anniversary of PBMR, we are committed more now than ever to ensure our young people have that caring adult in their lives.

Many blessings to all fathers, grandfathers, uncles and all who live as guardians to our youth.

*Fr. David Kelly, CPPS, is one of the founders and the current Executive Director of PBMR and celebrates his 40th year this year as a Missionary of the Precious Blood.

Explosions of Grace

Wed, 18 May 2022 16:54:04 GMT

Have you ever experienced an explosion of grace?

Just a week ago, a woman who had been incarcerated since she was a child and had expected to die in prison, was released after 30 years of living within prison walls. As I saw her walking out into her freedom , I felt an explosion of grace as God met years of suffering with healing liberation and this promise of a new beginning.

Have you ever experienced an explosion of grace ? Recently I read this expression and began to reflect on how many times I have been given this gift – unexpected grace that always overwhelms my heart and moves me closer to God and those around me.

I thought of how many times I have experienced that explosion of grace within the women that we accompany at PBMR! It’s impossible to count! Every day is full of explosions of grace in the joys and sorrows of walking together on this journey of life and love.

Just today we had our monthly Mother’s Healing Circle and I heard again from the hearts of these women, broken and bruised, their sons and daughters blood poured out on our streets through violent acts, yet powerful witnesses of how God dwells amongst the most in need and explodes grace and beauty among us.

One Mother, who has been traumatized in so many ways, shared how it was at her adult baptism that she felt an overwhelming abundance of grace. She said she found purpose in all her suffering, and a calm came about her that she had never experienced – all she could do was go home, cry and give thanks !

Another Mother shared how after her son had committed suicide, she ran out into the middle of a busy street here in Chicago and was just crying out for help! She says that God answered her prayer that day by sending her angels and friends to lift her up, and a job that she’s had for years now—a job that she loves and gives her purpose. “I saw light in my darkness.” She said, “and I was amazed! I have been moving forward ever since that day of God’s attention!”

One of our grandmothers shared how back when she hit rock bottom, and she got down on her knees and didn’t stop praying until God heard her cry. Inside she felt this overwhelming movement and she knew then that she had been heard and was being healed . She has since been in recovery and is moving forward toward her goals!

A mother who lost her two sons - murdered in their own home, is struggling with living. Darkness surrounds her, but yesterday she texted me and said that while she was walking and crying, she spotted two beautiful yellow daffodils and suddenly she felt a strong feeling of hope (an explosion of grace!) Then she asked if I could teach her to meditate and learn of God’s love for her.

Another mother comes to mind, who has overcome obstacle after obstacle since her youth, but keeps walking in faith and grace through these obstacles. Today, she has completed law school, passed her bar exam, and held tight to her business card that now reads: Attorney of Law! She now offers advice and support to other women/mothers who are facing legal issues. She understands their fear of the unknown and accompanies them through this unjust system with the hope of a more restorative way of being.

When I think of an explosion of grace, I think of the Mothers who have forgiven the persons who killed their sons or daughters and have actually asked that the perpetrator receive the lesser sentence!

I feel God’s grace alive in all the women who come to us who have “hit rock bottom”, who have lost everything yet are still holding on , still seeking strength, something to eat, detergent to wash the few clothes they still have, to care for their children and grandchildren as best they can. They come, they want to live, they want to heal, they want to know there is hope for them. Grace creates space for the unexpected, for these women to let go and let God’s grace show them what is possible for them and what is yet to come as they rise up!

Our Mothers are crying out for the Mothers and children in the Ukraine! They know the pain of violence, of living in fear, of being evicted from their homes, of being without and yet they see that their pain is nothing compared to these women and children -they want to help- they pray.... they cry in solidarity .

We often hear that “hurt people, hurt people” but I see, as well, in our PBMR women that “healing people, heal people.” Each of the women we accompany have experienced so much trauma from violence, racism, poverty, and rejection, but as they find healing and hope, they are eager to pass on these gifts and graces to other women in the circle and beyond.

So, we at PBMR are blessed to help create those spaces where women, youth, neighborhood friends, myself included can experience explosions of grace, spaces of hospitality, hope and healing; where there can be new ways of being together, new relationships can be formed, and new energy for building the beloved grace-impacted community!

May we all be aware of those explosions of grace and be amazed and give thanks !

Sr. Donna Liette CPPS is the Director of the Family Forward Program and walks with over 100 Mothers who have lost children to violence and incarceration. The Mother's Healing Circle happens monthly where PBMR women come together to heal in community and find hope in sharing our stories with one another. To learn more or get connected contact donnacpps@pbmr.org

Accompaniment

Wed, 13 Apr 2022 15:20:21 GMT

Last year, I was meditating on Christ’s Passion. Christ’s sacrifice and suffering were a focal point for all my emotions surrounding the injustices I witnessed in the world around me. Nothing else evoked the same emotion for me. However, when I became a Precious Blood Volunteer , I witnessed human suffering on a scale like never before.

In August of last year, I moved to Chicago’s Back of the Yards neighborhood to begin volunteering at the Precious Blood Ministry of Reconciliation (PBMR). Within a few hours of landing, I met and heard the stories of those wrongfully convicted and/or formerly incarcerated, the victims of gun violence, the medically underserved, and generally marginalized people with whom I would be spending my year as a Precious Blood Volunteer. I thought I knew what I was getting into, but even on day one I was surprised at the reality our PBMR community was facing.

Death and loss are in constant competition against the backdrop of hope we try to maintain at PBMR. In the forefront were the daily struggles. I went to the woodshop and worked with guys trying to make enough to get by while learning what it takes to maintain a job; showing up and staying on task often prove to be a struggle for our participants. Early on I was enlightened by the question, “How can you meet basic expectations when your basic needs are lacking?”

“I don’t have a bed. My family is taking in people all the time and I gave mine up for my brother. He’s in high school, playing sports, so I want him to have the best shot at success.” One of our participants shared this with me while talking about his own journey to a career as an athlete. This young man is willing to make sacrifices, despite the drain on his own potential, for someone else to get a leg up he never had. Something as simple as a good night’s sleep should never be taken for granted.

For some, the threat of violence keeps them up at night; most are experiencing perpetual trauma which would make anyone restless. Just trying to get by, living each day on high alert, and/or self-medicating are enough cause for them to fall behind. Every day at PBMR I have seen elements of this cycle in people’s lives.

I am reflecting on my life before August and how the time since then has impacted and will continue to impact me going forward. Before graduating last May, I had no image more viscerally compelling to meditate on than the Passion. Now, while I walk the streets of Back of the Yards on my way to PBMR, I feel an intense emotion being evoked.

As I take the bus to my meetings and appointments, or towards my leisure activities and outings, the reality of human suffering is present and inescapable . I realize now my life was sheltered from this pain; my vision—even though imagining the Passion was important—was limited to this far-off concept of despair. Having been drawn near to my heart through my experience, the people of the PBMR community have shown me how I must go forth in spirit to my future.

When I go to the EdLab, our room for tutoring those trying to go back and get their high school diploma, I prepare myself to encounter the students wherever their minds are. Some days I know there is nothing I can do to help someone in or out of the classroom. On others, I feel the slightest gift makes a big difference. The common factor, though, is showing up and accompanying.

When I was told that the core of this program was to walk with those who suffer, I merely drew upon my experience sitting with people in pain. Now, even though I do often sit next to students to tutor, being seated speaks nothing to the difficulty of the walk we take. The walk they must take every day and to which I merely opt-in.

One student tested my proverbial ability to walk. I often hear incoherent stories of their life and I witness their unstable condition, both physically and mentally. They often challenge my ability to respond with compassion . Accompaniment, I learned, can mean frequent stopping for breaks and reminding someone to take a breather while you keep watch for them.

One day in the EdLab, I was grading papers and supervising students while they studied. A student was talking to themselves and getting louder. I asked if they were okay which they promptly brushed off. Thankfully, one of the religious sisters had reflected on these situations for years and helped me respond. “Hey, you’re doing some great work today. I can tell you have a lot on your mind, so how about we take a break and get some water? Let me know if you want to talk, okay?”

I learned through moments like this: the little bit of discomfort I would have during an interaction with someone during bouts of schizophrenia could be pivotal to their educational progress and more importantly, demonstrate compassionately how they are a part of our community not to be neglected.

I want to keep sharing my skills with my community. Someone once said, if you want to change the world, go home and love your family. From there, serve your community, and keep carrying that out across the global community we all share. For now, my roommates and I take care of our home together and share our experiences at PBMR while supporting, reaffirming, and imparting wisdom to each other. I’m grateful to Missionaries of the Precious Blood, who support me during this year of service, the people looking out for me and my fellow volunteers, and the PBMR community, who appreciate the gifts and talents I bring.

The liberty of our communities at large is bound to the liberty of each community. Wherever I go, no matter what I do, I now know my liberty is bound to my neighbors and we can work together. Marginalized, far-off, and/or rejected, you carry within you the same Precious Blood we all share.

Vincent Tedford is a full-time Precious Blood Volunteer from West Texas. He works with the Social Enterprises team in the Woodshop, as a teacher in the Education Lab, and spending time with the young men at PBMR. He openly shares his talents with the entire PBMR community in every way that he can, including on the basketball and tennis courts, working on the CNC machine, and by sharing delicious baked goods.

One Messy Human Family

183:778223575 (David Kelly) — Mon, 14 Mar 2022 22:33:42 GMT

In honor of celebrating our 20th Year of PBMR, we have been going through old photographs from over the years. Some of those pictures bring back memories of pivotal moments – moments which capture the heart of who we are at PBMR. Reflecting on how far we have come and how we have grown, I believe that a good deal of that is because from the very beginning we embraced the attitude and value of being a learning community . I believe we were able to grow by being open to new ideas without losing sight of our call – to be ambassadors of Reconciliation.

My work in Cook County Juvenile Temporary Detention Center has been a constant commitment throughout the years. It has been a cornerstone of learning for me, and for what I am able to bring to PBMR. In fact, it was through the young voices in Cook County Juvenile Detention where Sr. Donna was first called to reach more deeply to the mothers of children who are incarcerated and whose life was taken by violence.

Last Sunday, as I entered the intake unit of Juvenile Detention (where new kids to the facility are housed) I heard my name being called from behind one of the cell doors. As I approached, I recognized the young man immediately. He had been there a few times before. He had gotten into a bit of trouble, so they had him behind a closed door - confinement. If I was to visit, it had to be through the door. He had look on his face that demonstrated that he was disappointed in himself for not staying out of detention. As we spoke, we began talking about why he came back. His is a litany of trauma : shot twice, locked up four or five times, mother not in his life – at least not in a good way, and lacking any real male role model. He told me stories of abuse and neglect that made me wonder how he made it as far as he did. He was open and revealing about his life, but soon the words gave way to tears— tears from hurting, tears from being hurt.

I have been thinking of him a lot since that moment. His story is so familiar; a story I hear too frequently.

The following day, I had a meeting with someone who worked for the State of Illinois. She was working on legislation to combat the carjacking and gun violence. There is a strong push to transfer children into adult court – it is the call to “get tough on crime”. As she spoke of her desire to understand what was behind the increase in carjackings and gun violence, I told the story of this young man. After hearing his story, she began to tell her own story of her child who needed mental health services. She told of how she did everything in her power to get her child the help he needed. Thankfully, she had the resources and relationships to ensure her son had what he needed. “I cannot imagine mothers who don’t have the resources that I have and how they are able to get the help they need?”

So often, what happens when you sit in these spaces – whether it be around a kitchen table or behind the locked door of a cell – is that we begin to get a glimpse of the complexities of things. We begin to learn and understand that the person is much more than an issue to be tackled. We begin to see our shared humanity in one another.

And what is it to be human? I believe it is to be a part of a family—one that is imperfect, yet so capable of love. All of us have been both victim and offender in this human family , yet neither our wrongdoings nor our wounds can define us. I cannot put on the mantel of being a victim as though that is who I am now—I do not deny my suffering and hurt, but I am more than my pain and loss. Equally, I cannot allow any singular act to define who I am as a person. One who steals is not a thief, one who kills is not a murderer. It doesn’t discount the harm done; it demands accountability, but in the end, are we not still members of this family?

Our Christian theology gives us the language and imagery we need to hold this tension. In Genesis (1:26), we hear that we were all created in the image of God, an identity that remains even after the fall of creation. No matter how bruised we get or how far we stray, God never stops calling us beloved children. In the New Testament, Paul writes (Romans 3:23)“… all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.”—none of us are above the need for mercy, healing, and forgiveness. None of us is above or below the other—we are equals—sinners and saints alike. One messy human family deeply loved by God.

We are not as different from one another as we so often think. Wherever we are, whatever we are carrying, we can learn to see a bit of ourselves in one another, and remember that we belong to each other. And slowly but surely, we can recognize the goodness in one another and offer the mercy, forgiveness, and healing that we all require.

Receiving Welcome

Thu, 03 Feb 2022 01:47:07 GMT

One sunny Sunday in December, I found myself in the PBMR hallway watching my friend Essie teach the niece of one of the moms in our Families Forward program how to play a clapping game. It was similar to many of the patty-cake-like games I played as a little kid, but wasn’t one I had seen before, so I soon turned to Sr. Carolyn, and we tried to clap along with Essie and our new friend. After many rounds of trying and failing, I ended up playing with the young girl. We had both improved just a little, so soon enough, we were shouting together, “Right! Left! 1 Right! Left! 1 2 Right! Left! 1 2 3!” and clapping faster and faster, and when we finally made it to 5 – which was a major feat, let me tell you – we jumped up and down and cheered. It was then that I remember watching out of the side of my eye as Fr. Kelly walked past us, narrowly avoiding contact with our flailing, clapping limbs, and I realized just how ridiculous I looked at that moment. Not only did I have reindeer antlers on my head, but I had been bent over playing patty cake with a little girl, laughing, shouting, raucous, and happy, in the middle of the hallway on a Sunday. It took me a while after that to realize that, actually, it wasn’t ridiculous at all – not for PBMR. Because that’s what we do here.

Only a month before that, I had been asking Sr. Donna if I could come to the first in-person mothers’ circle since covid had rendered them virtual. And when I found out that my parents would be visiting that weekend, I asked if my own Mom could come, too. Of course, she said, “Oh yeah, that would be great!” So that Sunday morning, I sent my Dad with my brother to explore the city, and my Mom and I went to PBMR. We were one of the first ones there, and still we looked at Sr. Donna and said, “Are you sure that it’s okay if we’re here?” We were feeling the discomfort. As two white women, strangers to gun violence and the grief of having lost a child, we were hyper-aware of entering a space that did not belong to us… and yet we were invited in . So we made our name tags, pretended like we were comfortable, and we sat next to each other as the rest of the circle filled with beautiful women from around the neighborhood.

I didn’t expect to have much to share. Here at PBMR, we sit in circle for staff meetings each week, and by that point, I had a pattern. Even coming here, I knew that as a white woman, I had so much I needed to learn. So I had decided early on that my primary role was to listen . Which isn’t something I’ve often told myself–to be humbled and value others’ voices over my own.

But in the mothers’ circle that day, when the talking piece got to me, I told a story. About losing my Grandmother, and the beauty that I got to witness in her final days among my family. How important that was to me. Looking around the circle as I was speaking and teary-eyed, and then as my Mom spoke after me, the other women were nodding. They looked at us with faces that knew loss deeply –including the loss that we had felt, losing my Grandma, my Mom losing her Mom. That stood out to me. They didn’t have to let some white girl walk into their circle and try to say something about grief, but they did. Not only that, but they listened and encouraged me, and I felt so welcome and loved in a space I didn’t know could be my own.

Jacquelyn Grant, a womanist theologian, makes the case that God is a Black woman and, in fact, manifested “in the community of Black women.”* In the experience of ancestral Black women, she writes, “They identified with Jesus because they believed that Jesus identified with them . As Jesus was persecuted and made to suffer undeservedly, so were they.”* I read these passages years ago, but only now, witnessing the power of the community of Black women who gather at PBMR, so I understand them more clearly. These women incarnate God’s love, strength, and pain in our community, as they’ve done for me.

So our women – our community – are the ones who really decide that hospitality is what we do at PBMR . I know it might have been the founders thinking it over in the beginning, but the mothers sitting in circle that day were the ones to tell me, no, you’re welcome here. Come into this circle, sit with us, be with us. We know your pain, and we can share ours, and the burden can be a bit lighter. We can share healing, too, and laughter, and breakfast, and we can play patty cake and laugh raucously in the middle of the hallway together.

*Jacquelyn Grant, The Challenge of the Darker Sister .

Raechel Keisel is a Full Time Precious Blood Volunteer from Southern Indiana. She supports Mission Advancement, Communications, Youth Programming, and Career Development. In her spare time she is seen teaching youth various things like riding bikes and playing piano, and brings joy to all she meets.

The Power of Human Connection Reaching Beyond Time, Space, and Covid

Thu, 06 Jan 2022 16:25:03 GMT

A reflection on finding hope in a digital Mother's Circle Spring 2020.

In March of 2020, as the world was shutting down due to Covid-19, I received a call from Sr. Donna. We had met 4 years earlier when I had sought her out on a trip to Chicago. So many of the mothers I had met doing gun violence prevention work had talked about her as being the person who changed everything for them after losing a child to a gun or the prison system . We hadn’t spoken in a while so, when the phone flashed her name, I answered excitedly.

Sr. Donna, however, was not excited. She was heart heavy and concerned . How would she be able to support the mothers, grandmothers, and other women when everyone was shut up at home? How would they weather this frightening time without the help and resources that their Mother’s Healing Circles provide?

Healing circles, for this community, are a lifeline. Many who sit within them refer to them as “therapy I don’t have to pay for.” For sixty minutes, the circle creates a space wherein everyone is radically welcome, exactly as they are, to offer what they have and take what they need from a group of others who can uniquely understand their struggles. These places required, however, physical presence and shared space. Two things that the pandemic rendered unavailable.

As Donna shared stories about the women I’d met in circle a few years earlier, I began to imagine what their experience during quarantine might be like. Cramped quarters with children and grandchildren now confined to home all day. Loss of access to social services and places like PBMR that provided them with emotional and physical support. My heart, knit to Donna’s, felt heavy. As we bore witness to the reality of these women, it became imperative that we find a way to offer them space within their precious circles.

Zoom became our answer. Would it work, we wondered? Could we create a safe and emotionally powerful space in a digital platform? Would the lack of reliable internet and digital devices make it too difficult for people to join, adding discouragement to injury? We weren’t sure but we decided to try .

Our first circle was so powerful that the women asked for weekly circles, and every single time we were gob-smacked by the synergy and love that found us . Sometimes it took people half the time just to get into the Zoom session but, even then, they would cheer at having “made it.”

Early on a mother shared through angry clenched teeth and sad guttural sobs that her incarcerated son had died, of Covid, in prison. Other weeks women spoke of the reality of being front line workers in a world where not everyone respected them, wore masks, or offered kindness. Over time, people made their way into the calls with no help at all and the bonds became thick and the circle wide . Some women dressed up every week, donning incredible hats, lipstick, and showing off home done manicures. Others called in from bed. Everyone was welcome, just as they were, and we became a sisterhood sitting together through an unbelievable time. These women became my teachers, their wisdom and tenacity are astounding.

Eventually we dropped to meeting every other week, then every month, but we continued meeting all the way through the pandemic. As the world began to open up in the summer of 2021 I told the group, as soon as it is safe to travel, my first trip (from my home in Portland, OR) would be to the first in person circle in Chicago. I longed to meet these important teachers of mine in person. Then last October, it finally happened.

As the mothers trickled into the space, my heart began to pound. When the mother who had lost her son to Covid early on, arrived my tears began to flow. While we had never been together in person, I had felt her agony over her son’s death and the resulting rift in her family with real intensity for months. We hugged, stepped back and looked at each other, then hugged some more. She told me she’s found healing in the last few months, how she became a circle keeper herself, and how she sees ways in which her family was in danger of horrifically falling out after her son’s death. She shared that she had, as a result of the training and ensuing insights, worked diligently and intentionally to address these wounds and make efforts to bring her family back together . She shared that they’d be having their first Thanksgiving together in years then told me all the details of who was bringing what. We shared like we’d known each other for a thousand years and shared recipes regularly.

The power of human connection cannot be taken for granted. When image bearers (and who isn’t one?!) come together intending to support and care for each other, not even thousands of miles or undependable internet can keep it from happening. While the costs of the pandemic were many, the mothers from PBMR found silver linings every week…then offered them to each other as they relished in the goodness of giving love, hope, peace, and, every so often, an incredible gospel song to the sisters they found in a checkerboard of faces on screens of all sizes.

Doreen lives and works as a Clinical Therapist in Portland, OR. She is a committed friend and supporter of PBMR.

Oh, Freedom

Mon, 13 Dec 2021 23:57:35 GMT

“Happy Birthday Father Denny” asserts a greeting card, designed and handmade in prison, comparable to anything Hallmark could create. Handwritten inside: It’s been ten years or so since Shobha introduced us. I’m glad she did because a complete stranger turned into a complete honest friend whom I’m glad to know. I wish you B-day Blessings and many more for many years. Love, James E. Walker

It was a typical August day, eleven years ago now, when I made my first trip to the prison in Pontiac, Illinois to meet James E. Walker. The hour and forty-five-minute drive south of Chicago found me praying that I would be able to connect with a 44-year-old man who at age 17 was convicted of murder and sentenced to life in prison without any chance of parole – sentenced to die in prison.

Once in Pontiac, I found the gatehouse, the passageway for visitors to enter the prison. “You don’t have a lawyer’s license or number,” I was told.

Let me explain. Attorney Shobha Mahedev, asked if I would be willing to join her team of lawyers at Northwestern Pritzker School of Law in Chicago. She was searching for a person who would visit a prisoner who had been sentenced as a juvenile to Life Without Parole (a JLWOP) to get his life story. After prayerful reflection (I always pray when I don’t know what I might be getting into asking “what would Gaspar do?”) I said “yes”! How do I explain all that at the gatehouse?

Eventually cleared, I was patted down, told to take off my shoes and answer all the necessary or unnecessary questions. Later I found out that James had to go through a strip search to come visit me and also another strip search after the visit even though our visit was in a booth with a heavy glass window between us; so my pat-down was nothing!

This goes on for 91 visits (would have been more if not for a Covid-19 hiatus for visits). The gatehouse folks have caught on that I am a rare bird and are more congenial, sometimes, they let me in without all the routines - not so with James!

That first visit hooked me on James!. “I am James Walker,” he said. “And I want everyone to know that I am not the same person I was back then.” He was reading Robin Casarjian’s “Houses of Healing” and continues to read many, many self-help and spiritual books. With a glimmer in his eye, he recommends this or that book for the youth he has come to know that I am mentoring. James earned a GED, as well as awards and certificates for a variety of programs and workshops he attended and completed.

The route from Chicago to Pontiac goes right past Joliet, his hometown. I’ve stopped in to visit with his parents, and Teddy their dog, any number of times. James always wants me to bring pictures of them. His father has arthritis, and his mother is legally blind. James always expresses his longing to be able to help take care of his parents. One time I brought them with me to visit James – a very special time for all of us.

Though not a churchgoer, James shares scriptures and TV evangelist T.D. Jakes’ teachings lighting up the booth like there was no glass between us. I can’t figure out his religion other than Christian, however, it doesn’t stop us from praying together.

The 2012 U.S. Supreme Court finding that a mandated sentencing of a juvenile to life without parole is “cruel and unusual punishment” meant that many JLWOP’s were now eligible for resentencing. But those protesting James’s appeal in 2014 didn’t care. The local Joliet news printed hateful comments from the victim’s family and friends. I was at the hearing when Will County Judge Robert Livas ruled that Walker will continue to serve a life without parole – resentenced to die in prison.

When the Illinois Court of Appeals heard his case, I was there observing the three sitting judges and knew that James’ appeal was ill-fated. No one knows the rehabilitated James like I do, but no judge asked me. An appeal to the Illinois Supreme Court is on hold for legal reasons I don’t comprehend. The only option left now is to seek clemency from Illinois governor J.D. Pritzker.

I was scheduled for my next visit with James Wednesday, October 27th at 10:00 a.m. when I receive a phone call Saturday morning the 23rd from his father, Charles. He tells me that the warden just called him telling him that at noon James had passed away in the prison hospital. Later that day I received an email from the prison stating: “Good morning! I’m writing to cancel Dennis Kinderman’s visit with James Walker for Mr. Walker passed away. Thank you.”

The day after his passing, the family had plans in place for a 75th Birthday party for James’ Mother, Barneta, It turned out to be a blessing as the family came (looked like about 50 people) to surround her and her husband with love and laughter. James had always said that he so wanted to stay in touch with his siblings, but it was not a mutual longing. Growing up with five step sisters and four other siblings, he always felt unwanted and said he couldn’t remember ever being hugged.

James was a 55-year-old man who had spent all but three years of his adult life in maximum security prisons. His final three years of incarceration were outside the wall in Pontiac’s medium security unit (MSU). There he was thrilled to have a toilet with a seat and a room with a door left open during the day, and visits could be in person not behind glass.

But his final months were in the prison hospital where I visited him, not knowing it was our final visit. I’ve seen better hospitals in third world countries. I’ve seen homeless men on the streets who appeared healthier and more cared for than James.

James Emmanuel Walker N42753 is a name I will never forget and the person who brought so much depth to my life through our many visits. What a hard life. What a sad life. He told of more than one time the “Orange Cush” (a team of men dressed in orange outfits) came through throwing everything in their cell on the floor. They took his typewriter. There were times when he didn’t get his meds; many times he was denied a doctor’s visit despite filling out the required request form. At his home-going I told how, “I saw expressions of tolerance as he shared what life was like lived incarcerated! Yet he was living his life fully, not letting his years be wasted, but years in which he was growing deeper into his relationship with God and closer to becoming the man God had designed him to be.” His was a spiritual journey lived in relationship with a God who was with him through it all.

I felt so sure that his day of freedom was in the offing, that we would overcome each setback, that he would be with us at PBMR with the other returning citizens, that his life journey in prison was schooling him to be a mentor to our youth. I hadn’t expected that his freedom would only come beyond this life. Yet I’m thankful that God brought our lives together and I can say James Emmanuel Walker, “honest friend,” shout out “Oh freedom” at last!

Turning to One Another

Wed, 13 Oct 2021 21:03:59 GMT

New Creation

September 2021

It was a Saturday afternoon and I just finished doing some lawn work around PBMR. As I was walking from the Center to the Mother Brunner Home, I noticed Michael sitting alone on one of the benches near the basketball court. His phone was by his side, book bag on the floor, and head buried in his hands. I could sense that something was bothering him and, so, I walked over to see if he was ok.

Michael is a real quiet kid – tall and thin, around 15 years old and loves basketball. Even while he wasn’t quick to share much, I did get a little something out of him. When I asked about who he lived with, he told me his 23-year-old brother. I asked about his mother, he said he didn’t know where she was. She left some time ago. We talked some more, and he said that he wanted more hours – meaning he wanted to earn more money. He is part of one of our programs and earns a little money, but, apparently, not enough for his needs.

It would be easy to fall into judgement or condemnation—What kind of mother could leave her child? But of course, the underlying reality is much more complicated, and the only way to know the answers is to sit and listen to the child, to listen to the mother, and to seek to understand. I have found that when you begin to untangle the story, when you hear people’s experiences of homelessness, trauma, poverty, etc., those initial judgements are quieted, and understanding begins to set in. Judgement always impedes my ability to understand.

There is a poem that has helped us in these uncertain times. It is by Margaret Wheatley, entitled, “Turning to One Another”. Here is just a bit of it:

There is no power greater than a community

discovering what it cares about.

Ask “What’s possible?” not “What’s wrong?”

Keep asking.

Talk to people you know.

Talk to people you don’t know.

Talk to people you never talk to.

Be intrigued by the differences you hear….

Remember, you don’t fear people whose story you know.

The poem, for me, calls us to not fixate or simply cast judgement on the problems we see in others, but to seek solutions, paths of healing for their flourishing. Michael doesn’t need people judging him or his mother; he needs a world that cares. He needs people to hear his story without judgement, to listen with understanding, and to accompany him toward solutions that meet his and his family’s needs.

Both in the church and in society we have become so polarized; we have become a society of judgement and exclusion. Richard Rohr says, Jesus was never about exclusion or expelling or isolating people. Quite the opposite, for him that was the problem. Jesus was about transforming and integrating. He was always sending the lepers and those healed back into the city, back to the priests. (Rohr, Hope Against Darkness).

PBMR was founded almost 20 years ago because we were confronted by a system that only knew punishment. There was no healing or transformation for people experiencing brokenness, only punishment and expulsion. And so, we set out on a journey to focus on healing, reconciliation, and understanding.

Isn’t that what the world needs? To be listened to? To listen? I dream of a world where more people are willing to listen to those they know, those they don’t know, those they never talk to...and rather than being offended by or afraid of the differences we hear, to be intrigued and compelled. I long for a time where instead of casting judgement about “What’s wrong”, we can come together in relationship and begin to ask, “what’s possible?”

Now, because of that short conversation with Michael, when I see him in the parking lot or in the neighborhood, he stops, reaches out to shake my hand, and say hello. “Creative solutions come from new connections” –(Margaret Wheatley).

Precious Records: Arts & Accompaniment

Fri, 03 Sep 2021 21:07:03 GMT

A reflection on the Art of Accompaniment

In our last staff meeting, Holly, our circle keeper, prompted us to reflect on accompaniment. She asked: what does it mean to accompany someone, and when have we been accompanied in our past? As we passed the talking piece, I heard an hour’s worth of stories detailing how PBMR staff have either walked alongside participants through the dark and lonely passages of life, or how friends and family have accompanied staff when they have struggled to find the strength to move forward.

There was a common theme in each story shared in our discussion of accompaniment: meeting another person where they are, without judgment, regardless of their past.

I came to PBMR through the Precious Blood Volunteers program for a year of service. I had no particular vision for how I would spend my days, other than mulling over vague romanticisms of “radical kinship” and “accompaniment.” Those imaginations quickly gave way to the harsh realities of relationship building, and the particular challenges that come with accompanying high schoolers growing up amidst gun violence, drug abuse, and the specter of structural racism on the south side of Chicago.

Last week was the final week of One Summer Chicago, an initiative that provides Chicago youth with summer-long employment and enrichment opportunities. Alongside PBMR’s other employment programming, the Precious Records Studio hosted 3 young men as “production assistants.” Participants learned how the Precious Records Studio operates, how to record, mix, and master polished hip hop tracks, and how to make beats for local rappers and artists.

When we started Precious Records, we were making amateur demos in a corner of the Education Lab. After clearing out an unused bathroom, removing the toilets and stalls, putting down “sound treatment” (moving blankets and comforters from Goodwill), and installing air conditioning, the Precious Records Studio now produces rap music that trends toward professional sound quality while training youth in production practices and techniques. We started with one participant. Now, we have more clients than we can handle.

It hadn’t occurred to me until staff meeting that the studio has grown the way that it has precisely because it is a vehicle for accompaniment: we meet the youth where they are. The genre of rap/hip hop is a staple of youth culture at the Center. We listen to rap in the car, we talk about rap over lunch, participants watch music videos while waiting for the bus. After a year of daily companionship with the PBMR youth population, I would say that, for the majority of PBMR youth, rap is a foundational element of their identities.

Why this is the case could be the sole subject of another article. My point is that our youth need a space to express themselves through rap, and to facilitate each other’s expression through hip hop culture. Providing such a space is a mandate of Catholic accompaniment; we are commanded to walk alongside our siblings in Christ, to become like those that are suffering so that they might know they are not in isolation, but always in deep relationship with another.

* * *

What are the fruits of accompaniment? It’s not a simply answered question. (It seems to me that just about nothing is simply answered in restorative justice.) I might as well ask, “What is the result of deep relationship?” It could be anything. It might be momentary respite from a circumstance which makes life seem like a curse rather than a gift. It might be nothing. But it also might be trust, the kind that begets confidence in one’s own abilities to create. It might be the needed affirmation to be oneself.

When De’Savoyay, the inaugural Precious Records participant, walks into the studio, he knows that he belongs. He knows that he can walk over to the computer, turn on one of his songs, dance around, and that his peers will rap the words along with him. He knows that the Precious Records producers are eagerly awaiting the next “Des Da Realest” track. Esperdell, who has logged by far the most hours in production class, takes pride in knowing more production techniques than any other participant in the program. Jeremiah, our youngest producer at just 14, is already scheduling appointments with a few clients to work as their recording engineer. These boys are creating with holy joy because they know that they are welcomed in the Precious Records space, that their voices matter, and that what they create truly reflects their experience.

I don’t know much about accompaniment. Anything I have learned over the last year comes through the grace and blessing of my peers and participants. That being said, watching my participants come alive in a space that they create is changing the way I approach my relationships outside PBMR. Instead of thinking, “What can I do for you?” I’m shifting toward: “How can I create space for you to flourish?

Lament—Healing Together

Fri, 20 Aug 2021 16:47:15 GMT

Sr. Donna Reflects on a Mother's Healing Circle

As I sit here on retreat in the quiet of this simple hermitage in Fond du Lac Wisconsin, watching deer pass my window, birds flirting from limb to limb singing in the rain, I pause and remember the many faces of our PBMR youth looking for hope, wanting to belong, to be welcomed, to be valued….I see the faces of the Mothers, the grandmothers who come to PBMR pouring out their pain at the shock of losing their son or daughter to homicide. Tears flow…. I ask God, “Why?” .

As the rain and tears begins to pour down heavily, I can hear the sobbing of Grandmother Judy who has lost 3 of her grandchildren to the horrors of gun violence. She along with 12 other women (ages 16-76) gathered in a circle several Saturdays ago in the backyard of our Mother Brunner Family Center. All 13 had lost a loved one to the violence of Chicago streets. There they sat shoulder to shoulder in the sun as one after another checked in telling the heartbreaking story of how they lost their son, their daughter, their brother, their uncle, their grandchild, and how they carry this indescribable pain every day since they received that dreaded call. All around the circle, there were eye glances saying, “I feel you…. I love you”.

Alma (76) with her adult daughter by her side, spoke of Nate, whom she and her husband adopted when he was 2 months old; in between sobs she shares how she misses his singing, his humor, his love of family and his daily greeting, “Mama, what’s to eat?” . How can she stand to think of him lying in the alley bleeding to death alone? Her pain was held sacred by the young 16-year-old across the circle from her who lost her uncle, nearly a brother being just a few years older than she – she weeps for the loss that she and her family feel day after day with Jammie not at the table. Cinthya tells of the loss of her brother 20 years ago. She wept as she tells how he was her protector holding her hand as they walked to school, and how at 14 he was beaten to death with boards. She has been haunted for 20 years at how she could not save him or protect him from that dreadful night. She shares, “The pain just does not go away – there is always a void.”

As the talking piece circled around and these stories were told, all those gathered with their individual pain were brought together into this communal lamentation.

Tears. Questions. Cries. Silence…...

At the closing ritual the women were asked to stand and pick up a prepared “banner” from the center circle that held a large picture of their of their loved one, then one by one they spoke her or his name while the support community cried out, “MAMA” …..followed by a remembering silence….13 banners, 13 names, 13 cries for MAMA…… representing only a few of the many countless mothers, fathers, siblings who grieve the loss, the void, of the ones they love.

As the sobbing lessened, the women were invited into a communal prayer of thanksgiving, of praise, of petition, of lament…. soon the cries to God became louder and louder then like one voice they diminished.

And just when we thought the circle was complete, another amazing thing happened—a voice from the support community asked to speak. A man incarcerated for over 30 years had listened to and felt the pain of these women. He stood and told them how he was once a young boy on the streets and how their cries brought him to the realization that those whom he had harmed had Mothers and that 30 years ago they were the women sobbing because of HIS actions. He said, I cannot apologize to those Mothers, but I want to ask your forgiveness in the hope that it can extend to them somehow. He said, “You have moved me deeply and I am a better man today because of you.”

I, too, am a better woman, a better Sister of the Precious Blood, because of these women and the community here at PBMR that open their wounds and let us touch their reality.

The rain lightens and the sun peeks out…

Donna Liette, CPPS

"For" means "With"

Mon, 01 Feb 2021 21:11:21 GMT

I’m getting better at this. Summarizing, synthesizing, selecting particularly poignant moments laden with “spiritual significance.” My parents ask me to do this when I visit home. We sit around the kitchen table fidgeting our coffee mugs and they, God bless them, ask me questions as if I’m returning from overseas. My friends on the north side hush their voices when they ask me about my work day, like we are passing notes in the back row of middle school algebra. I hope Ms. Hopewell doesn’t catch us! Or, put on the individual level, it’s like a child flipping through the pages of forbidden fiction beneath the bedsheets, flashlight in a vice grip between incisors. The (mostly white) circle into which I was born is undeniably fascinated with my work, just a minute fraction of the labor Precious Blood clergy, lay workers, and companions devote toward the ultimate renewal of the world. Needless to say, I am gladdened by their fascination. Many are even fascinated enough to offer generous donations, and by this, of course, I am delighted.

And yet, there’s a nagging dissatisfaction when the evening ends and I am alone. At the end of it all, I do not want your money: I want your allegiance.

The most outspokenly Catholic kid in my class at college proudly toted a MAGA hat around campus. His sweaters were Burberry, his shoes Sperrys, his parka made from goose feathers. I believe he is now discerning the priesthood. After the shooting in Kenosha, another young lady from my college made sure to let me know that Jacob Blake was a rapist, and that BLM’s founders were Marxists not to be trusted. She later invited me to mass the following evening.

Last month, I was walking downtown with a few of the boys from the Center. They wanted to drive down to Millennium Park to see the Christmas lights. There was an old man, homeless, sitting on the sidewalk, his back curled up against the concrete retaining wall that runs the length of the park on Michigan Avenue. The man was singing, wailing, head tilted up into the yellow street lights, colored intermittently with the red beams of brake lights. He jingled the coins in his Big Gulp like a tambourine.

One of the young men races ahead of the group and dropped half of what he had in his pocket into the man’s cup. Another of the young men drops in a few bucks as we pass. They tell him to stay safe and we walk on toward the Christmas tree. “Man, I just hate to see people like that,” one of them says to me. “If I make it to college, I’m going to open a homeless shelter. I hate to see people like that.”

I am dumbstruck by the unbridled Catholicism of these young men, neither of whom are religious. Both boys would be considered “poor” as we commonly understand the label. Yet, here they are, giving away their few and precious resources to a man they have never met before. I see a mixture of the Good Samaritan and Mary Magdalene, anointing Jesus’ feet with her precious perfume.

Jesus was for the poor; this much is obvious. What I find to be often forgotten is that Jesus was poor. “It is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for someone rich to enter the Kingdom of God.” Jesus tells those of us with two tunics to give one away to those who have none. As if this weren’t not explicit enough, he says to do the same with food. Fundamentally, Jesus means that to be for the poor is to walk with the poor. It means giving beyond what makes us comfortable. It means giving $10 to a homeless man on Michigan Ave when you have $20 in your pocket. I ask myself daily what it means for me, and I ask the same of you.

To give a sizable amount of cash can change lives. It ferries resources into resource-scare areas. It opens doors which were formerly closed. But the real act of service stems from the realization of equivalence: just as Christ “emptied himself” and took on the flesh of us sinners, we too may recognize our kinship with the beaten, hungry, weary, and alienated. Though we are not Christ, together we might become like Christ through allegiance to one another. This is the call of Christ, not toward judgment, skepticism, and cowardice, but toward radical hope, healing, and hospitality. I pray that we, stirred by courage and humility, may sift through the distractions and delusions which obscure the substance of the Gospel: “Anyone who wants to save his life will lose it; but anyone who loses his life for my sake will find it.”

----

Thomas Weiss is a year-long Precious Blood Volunteer. He founded and manages that PBMR music and media lab, where he coaches dozens of youth on how to write, mix, and record their own music. He enjoys growing in relationship with the young men and women at the center, and accompanying them in both good and bad days. He is originally from St. Louis, and enjoys creative writing, reading, and playing the drums in his spare time.

Statement from Fr. Kelly - June 1, 2020

183:778223575 (David Kelly) — Mon, 01 Jun 2020 17:15:06 GMT

Toward a More Beloved Community

Dedicated to reconciliation and working through a restorative justice lens, Precious Blood Ministry of Reconciliation laments the death and destruction of COVID-19 and the violence in the streets of our nation.

We believe in the humanity and goodness of all people and continue to work to build a greater understanding and stronger relationship between peoples and community. Only through an understanding that we are all interconnected, can we overcome the racism and individualism that supports violence and the rampant killing of COVID-19.

There are fundamental inequities in our society; there is a history of racism that continues to this day and has been made even more evident in these past months. The disproportionate number of black and brown people impacted by COVID-19 only illuminated the inequities in our healthcare system and in our society.

While there is no excuse for the violence and harm done on our streets and in our homes, we can understand the drivers of that violence: trauma, shame and the generational poverty that people have suffered for centuries. How do we look at these wounds and move toward understanding, healing and reconciliation? It is our call.

One of our youth told me that he wanted to sit with others who do not understand what it is like to grow up black in America. He just wanted them to know him; and he wanted to come to know them.

Let us continue to pray for one another and remember George Floyd, Ahmaud Arbery, Breonna Taylor, Michael Brown, Eric Garner, Sandra Bland and Trayvon Martin and all lives lost through violence and Covid-19.

Together let us work toward building a more beloved community. Let us see one another as kinfolk.

Fr. David Kelly, C.PP.S.

PBMR Executive Director

From Thieves and Thugs to Sisters and Brothers

183:778223575 (David Kelly) — Mon, 21 Oct 2019 17:51:55 GMT

Whoopi Goldberg, famed comedian and actress, was being interviewed by a magazine reporter. The reporter asked Whoopi “Who, alive today, would you most like to meet?” She responded, “Pope Francis. Cause he’s going with the original program.”

The original program is loving God and loving our neighbor with all our being; it is about separating the sin from the sinner, the demons from the one who carries unspeakable pain. It is about moving from judgement to understanding; punishment to healing.

Throughout scripture we see Jesus confronting demons and illnesses. It always ends the same: the expulsion of the demons and curing those who suffer. Jesus separates the sin from the sinner. Jesus focuses not on judgement or condemnation, but on expelling the demons; setting us free from that which holds us captive.

Fred, our mentor coordinator, works tirelessly to motivate and steer young people in a positive direction. He did hard time, over 25 years in prison. He had been given life but was resentenced when the US Supreme Court ruled that mandatory life sentences for juveniles were unconstitutional. Fred, who once was deemed unredeemable, today works to save lives.

Fred speaks with a gentle voice and wears an incredible smile. He speaks slowly and with great thought as he shares his story. Like others at PBMR who have spent time in prison, Fred’s presence overwhelms, overcomes the many stereotypes of those who have been in prison. Today, Fred and others here at PBMR are accompanying those who are returning to our community hoping to find their place and be part of the solution.

Judgement gets in the way of understanding. It takes the oxygen out of the room.

A while back, a young man was shot and killed in the neighborhood. We knew him well. He was kind and about as polite as a kid could be. When the story was carried in the paper, it concluded with the condemnation, “He was gang involved.”

Our judgement blinds our ability to understand the complexity of a situation. We seek easy answers to something that is far more complicated and complex than what appears on the surface.

God wants to be liberated, not confined in the tiny compartments of judgement. God wants to burst forth in the lives of those he has created and be made flesh in us!

Jesus sees the soul that bears the image and likeness of God. Of that, there are no exceptions.

Yet, for us, sometimes it is hard to see.

There is a story told by Richard Rohr that is attributed to St. Francis of Assisi about a wolf that was terrorizing the townspeople by preying on their livestock. The townspeople gathered with clubs and sticks to go out to kill the wolf. St. Francis intervened and said that he would go out to meet the wolf armed only with love. The townspeople were sure the wolf would eat Francis. But Francis simply considered the needs both of the wolf and the community. He discerned that the wolf was too old to hunt wild animals and just needed to eat, while the people needed safety for themselves and their animals. Francis proposed that the wolf be given food each day, and the wolf agreed to leave their sheep and chickens alone.

What happened was not so much that the wolf grew tame, but that the people themselves changed and went out to meet the wolf not with knives and hatchets but with food and drink.

When we make room for one another’s stories and let go of judgments and stereotyping, we discover that we are the ones that begin to change. The labels of thieves and thugs become sisters and brothers and we get on with the original program.

A Culture of Hope

Thu, 19 Sep 2019 17:56:47 GMT

A Culture of Hope

New Creation – September 2019

A Culture of Hope

By Father David Kelly

I drove back to Chicago after spending a weekend in Ohio for a family reunion of my mother’s side of the family. We gathered in a small church, St. Patrick’s, in Glynwood, Ohio where my family settled generations ago. We began with mass and ended with a potluck lunch in the old one-room schoolhouse. A few of my distant cousins had researched our family and gave us the history of relatives from generations ago. It was a truly a family celebration of storytelling and renewing our family ties.

No sooner had gotten back to Chicago, pulling in the parking lot of PBMR, when I got word of a shooting that took place just a few blocks away. A young 18-year-old girl, Treja Kelley, was killed. That night and the following days were spent listening to stories, reaching out to Treja’s family, and holding a prayer vigil.

As we assist with the funeral arrangements, I am reminded of the stark difference between these two worlds – one in which we celebrate resilience and lives lived to their fullest, and the other of a young life cut short.

Danielle Sered tells in her book, “Until We Reckon”, the story of young man she knew. She says, “I think all the time about Victor, a survivor of a serious assault. He was beaten terribly, stripped of all his clothes down to his boxers, and left in the middle of the street in the heart of winter lying in his own blood. When he told me of the story, he concluded it by saying, “I was almost a victim.”

Sered goes on to say that what he meant was that he almost died that night. He didn’t see himself as a victim because he survived - a victim is a dead body. Anything short of death was just more or less a normal part of life.

PBMR is part of a community where too many young people grow up feeling that violence is a part of life. Violence has a taken on a sense of normalcy – that is just the way it is. And it is more than guns, or young people who have no respect for life. It is more complicated than that.

The normalcy of violence can only survive where people feel as their lives have little value.

We can talk about violence prevention strategies, re-imagining the criminal justice system, and the many ways to confront the inequities in our nation, but at the very core has to be a culture of kinship – a culture of hope.

Ours is a ministry of reconciliation as given to us by Christ himself: “But now in Christ Jesus you who formerly were far off have been brought near by the blood of Christ. For He Himself is our peace, who made both groups into one and broke down the barrier of the dividing wall.” (Ephesians 2: 13-14).

SOMETHING’S CHANGING, OR IS IT?

Fri, 06 Sep 2019 01:45:04 GMT

Let there be peace on earth and let it begin with us!

Yesterday I was gifted with the opportunity of seeing the play, Come From Away, based on the true story of the 9/11 attacks and the effect of an immediate shutdown of US airspace. Suddenly 38 planes (9000 people) are diverted and grounded in the little town of Gander, Newfoundland. The “plane people” are confused and frightened, and the townsfolk are unequipped for 9000 strangers, but they spring into action and soon there are cots, food, clothing, and the offering of incredible hospitality! Barriers of race, nationality, and sexual orientation are broken down and Jews, Muslims, Christians, and Hindus are worshipping together as the cast sings, “Let there be peace on earth…where there is hatred, let us sow Love”. Lives were changed forever.

Eighteen years later we are still experiencing violence: El Paso, Dayton, Chicago…Blood SCREAMING out! Last weekend two young Mothers who worked as Peacemakers in Chicago’s South Side were gunned down and left to die on the very street that they worked to keep safe. Their colleagues’ hearts were broken when they heard that two of their very own Mothers (Mothers Against Senseless Killings – MASK) lost their lives senselessly. However, spirits are strong and they continue to stand with courage on that sacred corner in honor of Chantell and Andrea, refusing to allow fear to overcome them.

The “Chicago Catholic Nuns” pray at one of the sights of violence on the last Saturday of each month. In August they will stand at that same corner in solidarity with the MASK group and the community whose lives have been changed forever through the love that was poured out at the time of this tragedy.

Here at our Precious Blood Ministry, we daily meet our youth, our mothers, and sometimes staff in their darkest moments. They seek comfort, support; they feel disconnected and alone. At those moments we are called to be present, to offer them our best selves. It is living in that Paschal Mystery where we experience the dying and risings of human lives.

We must recall that each of us, as Richard Rohr says, there is an “uncreated spark in the soul” that can lift suffering humanity out of the chaos of hurt and loss, of grief and brokenness to being transformed.

Wherever we are, in Gander, New York, Kansas City, Dayton, or Chicago…we walk among those who feel lost and disconnected. Our spirituality, our faith calls us to build bridges, to bring those “far off” into the community. Our Circles of Healing, of Reconciliation, of Celebration are such powerful instruments in restoring relationships, of healing the hurts,

of connecting those on the edge.

This month the women of our community will come together, some for the first time, others who have been coming for years; some have lost children to gun violence, some to the prison system, some have lost their health, their marriage, their friendships. They laugh, they cry, they embrace. They are all hurting women looking to one another for hope and the strength to move forward.

As summer begins to move toward autumn, let us reach out to one another in prayer and love, helping to dispel the fears and hate within our families, neighborhoods, churches and the streets…Let there be peace on earth and let it begin with us!