Bitter Herbs Before the Exodus: Skooter Changes Course for Lent
. . . I received some snail mail recently from Liz Feuerborn who frequently comments on my posts at These Stone Walls. At the very end of her letter was a scribbled P.S.: "You haven't mentioned Skooter in awhile. Is he okay?" Several other readers have also asked about Skooter in their recent comments, and it's odd that his name should come up right now. It's odd because on the day I received Liz's letter, I had just spent an hour outside in the freezing cold prison yard talking with Skooter. The short answer to Liz's question is “No," Skooter is not okay, but I'm pretty sure he will be. . . .
Forty Days and Forty Nights
. . . I am not at all spared anxiety in prison, and the place where it most manifests itself is in dreams. I have very vivid dreams since I have been in prison, and they have not abated over the years. I have two recurring dreams that are haunting and clear displays of my own anxiety. They make some nights more… well … Lenten than others. I have had each of them in one form or another many, many times.In one of the dreams, I am about to celebrate Mass in a church. As I begin the Mass, the people in the congregation become hostile. They brandish newspapers and begin to shout as I start the Eucharistic Prayer. Sometimes they are just a crowd of silent, angry, condemning eyes. Sometimes they stand en masse and turn their backs on me. Every version is painful, but I must proceed with the Mass. When the time comes, no one will take the Body of Christ from my hands. . . .