Se Quedo
David Kelly • March 6, 2023
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.
“When we are willing to step outside our comfortable circles, we discover that God has been waiting for us there all along.”
“ It is difficult to hate someone whose story you know. ”
In an age marked by polarization, suspicion, and division, the greatest need in our world is not simply better arguments but deeper relationships.
“ A nation becomes stronger, not weaker, when it is willing to examine itself honestly. ”
“The first message of Jesus is that of compassion. Mission will follow.”
“We’re all doing the same work. We all have the same issues, but we all have our own approaches to the work, right? But turns out, it's one fight. This is one united front.”
“If we truly want safer communities and a more just society, then we must be willing to imagine and invest in a better way for everyone.”
“We learn from those who continue to love, even when they have been betrayed.”
"We all know love when we see it. All the rest are labels."
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
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.
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.
