“There are few authentic prophetic voices among us, guiding truth-seekers along the right path. Among them is Fr. Gordon MacRae, a mighty voice in the prison tradition of John the Baptist, Maximilian Kolbe, Alfred Delp, SJ, and Dietrich Bonhoeffer.”
— Deacon David Jones
The Measure By Which You Measure: Prisoners of a Captive Past
The Gospel of Luke issues a difficult challenge before Lent. The mother of a murdered young man heeded it and rose to become an advocate for her son's former enemy.
The Gospel of Luke issues a difficult challenge before Lent. The mother of a murdered young man heeded it and rose to become an advocate for her son’s former enemy.
February 16, 2022
Like most human beings, and entirely unlike Jesus, I have enemies. This needs some clarification. There were some who made themselves enemies of Jesus, but never did Jesus perceive them as such. I have as of yet been unable to rise to that Gospel challenge. That much became clear in our recent posts, “Predator Police: The New Hampshire ‘Laurie List’ Bombshell,” and its sequel, “Police Misconduct: A Crusader Cop Destroys a Catholic Priest.” That latter post, by Ryan MacDonald, took a surprising turn. Several days after it was posted, it had been shared only about 200 times on social media. Then, on Monday, January 31st, it suddenly exploded, gathering 2,300 shares on Facebook, thus placing that post before hundreds of thousands.
In recent weeks and months, there have been many assaults and other attacks on police officers. The vast majority of police are couragous and honest men and women who do their jobs heroically. The posts linked above are not at all about them. They are about a deceitful and self-righteous crusader who used sleazy and dishonest tactics to frame and entrap people, including me. Now, just weeks after those posts were published, I am confronted with a Gospel passage two weeks before Lent that I would rather not hear. But I did hear it.
Should a priest have enemies? It is not exactly a good look, but priests are human beings and most humans do not respond well to being hated or hunted, or falsely accused. The words “enemy” and “enemies” (for those who sadly have amassed more than one) occur in Sacred Scripture 526 times. What would the opposite word be to contrast it in Scripture? It isn’t “friend.” I know many people who are neither friends nor enemies to me. I even have some ex-friends who are certainly not my enemies. There is no word for an ex-enemy. But as I pondered all this, the Gospel for the Seventh Sunday in Ordinary Time smacked me:
“Jesus said to his disciples, ‘To you who hear, love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you.’”
— Luke 6:27
I started splitting hairs upon reading this. Jesus said “To you who hear,” so what if I simply pretend I didn’t hear it? I could not handle the dishonesty that would entail, but I just don’t know what to do with what I heard. I tried praying for my enemy, but my prayer became corrupted: “I pray that my enemy will one day stand in the Presence of the Lord. Sooner rather than later might be nice!”
It isn’t a good prayer. I will have to try harder. The whole passage for this coming Sunday’s Mass ends, however, on a more reachable note. It is a statement that now haunts me with a call to arms. In this case, however, I am taking up arms not against my enemy, but against myself. It seems on first reading to be a lot easier than deciding to love my enemy and pray for him. Maybe that will come some day. Not today. But this final statement of Jesus concludes the Gospel for the Seventh Sunday of Ordinary Time. Let it sink in. It's not for my enemy. It is for me:
“The measure with which you measure will in turn be measured out to you.”
— Luke 6:38
Way to go, Jesus! Please pass the Tylenol.
Divine Mercy Calls Forth Unexpected Role Models
I wrote a post back in 2012 that was one of a few that contained the photograph above. That post was “Why You Must Never Give Up Hope for Another Human Being.” It has been on our list of posts from the older version of this blog that had to be restored for you to read them anew. I asked that it be moved to the top of the list so you could read it for this post. No need to do so now. I will add a link to it at the end. It’s very important.
The young men in the photo above all graduated from high school in this prison after putting in years of hard work and even more years of struggle with themselves. The obstacles against learning the right things in this environment are very great. With the right kind of support, each one of them overcame these obstacles. The result was this triumphant photograph above. I am very proud of it, and the men who are in it — all gawking at me on the other side of the camera. With their diplomas in hand, they are victorious.
In the photo, my friend Alberto is hunched down just behind and to the right of Pornchai Moontri. For the previous two years, he had been a student of mine in a pilot program for exceptional prisoners to enroll in courses for college credit even while working on their high school diplomas. I was recruited for the program by a local community college to teach two courses in which I had earned degrees before prison in Philosophy and Behavioral Science.
Alberto was my student for four semesters, taking one course at a time. He failed both courses in the first two semesters. Alberto hinted that, with the stroke of a pen, I could rescue him with a “C.” But I did not. So he re-registered to take both courses again. He passed both the second time around with a respectable “B+.” I was very proud of him both when he failed, because he made an effort, and when he came back and excelled because he would not accept yet another defeat in life.
Alberto became a good friend to me and to Pornchai. When he wasn’t in trouble and hauled off for a stint in the hole, he lived where we lived. I mentioned him long ago in a 2010 post, “Angelic Justice: St. Michael the Archangel and the Scales of Hesed.” Alberto read a hard copy of it because he was in it, and it became a turning point in his life. I cannot take credit for that because credit is rightly owed in equal measure to Pornchai Moontri and St. Michael.
In the Absence of Fathers
Alberto was 14 years old when the gun in his hand fired severing the artery of an 19-year-old with whom he struggled. It was a vicious end to a late night drug deal gone very bad in a dark Manchester, New Hampshire alley. It happened in 1994, the same year that I was sent to prison. It seemed a flip of a coin which combatant would die that night and which would survive only to wake up in prison. At 14, Alberto had lost himself. Sentenced to a prison term of 30 years to life, he spent his first years in solitary confinement. The experience extracted from him, as it also did from Pornchai, any light in his heart, any spark of optimism or hope in his eyes.
Then, when finally age 18, Alberto was allowed to live in the prison’s general population where the art of war is honed in daily spiritual and sometimes physical battle. It is a rare week that a City of Concord Fire Department ambulance doesn’t enter these prison walls shutting down all activity while some young man is taken to a local hospital after a beating or a stabbing or a headlong flight down some concrete stairs. The catalyst for such events is the same here as it was in the alley that sent Alberto here. There is no honor in any of it. It is just about drugs and gangs and money.
Alberto’s path to prison seemed inevitable. Abandoned by a father he never met, he was raised by a single mother who lost all control over him by age 12. Drugs and money and avoiding the law were the dominant themes of his childhood. By age 14, he was a child of the streets and nowhere else, but the streets make for the worst possible parents. Alberto became a textbook example of a phenomenon that I once wrote about to much public fanfare, but little public action: “In the Absence of Fathers: A Story of Elephants and Men.”
In “Big Prison” it was discovered that there is more to Alberto than the violence of his past. He was 32 when he earned his high school diploma here. He will one day soon be released after having spent more than two-thirds of his life behind bars.
I wrote about Alberto’s life in “Why You Must Never Give Up Hope for Another Human Being.” Now I want to challenge you to go read it because at the end of it at the very top of its many comments is one by the mother of the young man Alberto killed. She read it too. In just a few short sentences, Mrs. Rose Emerson became a role model for pondering what Jesus says in the Gospel on the Seventh Sunday of Ordinary Time:
“The measure with which you measure will in turn be measured out to you.”
Luke 6:38
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Note from Father Gordon MacRae: The post that I suggested above — “Why You Must Never Give Up Hope for Another Human Being” — is now posted under the “Prison Journal” category of our BTSW Library. I would like to leave Mrs. Emerson’s comment as the final word on that post. If you wish to comment further, and I hope you will, please return here to place your comment on this post. In coming weeks or months we hope to present other powerful stories of hope and Divine Mercy encountered in prison.
Please share this post.
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Angelic Justice: Saint Michael the Archangel and the Scales of Hesed
Saint Michael the Archangel is often depicted wielding a sword and a set of scales to vanquish Satan. His scales have an ancient and surprising meaning.
Saint Michael the Archangel is often depicted wielding a sword and a set of scales to vanquish Satan. His scales have an ancient and surprising meaning.
I worked for days on a post about Saint Michael the Archangel. I finally finished it this morning, exactly one week before the Feast of the Archangels, then rushed off to work in the prison library. When I returned four hours later to print the post and get it into the mail to Charlene, my friend Joseph stopped by. You might remember Joseph from a few of my posts, notably “Disperse the Gloomy Clouds of Night” in Advent and “Forty Days and Forty Nights” in Lent.
Well, you can predict where this is going. As soon as I returned to my cell, Joseph came in to talk with me. Just as I turned on my typewriter, Joseph reached over and touched it. He wasn’t aware of the problem with static charges from walking across these concrete floors. Joseph’s unintentional spark wiped out four days of work and eight pages of text.
It’s not the first time this has happened. I wrote about it in “Descent into Lent” last year, only then I responded with an explosion of expletives. Not so this time. As much as I wanted to swear, thump my chest, and make Joseph feel just awful, I couldn’t. Not after all my research on the meaning of the scales of Saint Michael the Archangel. They very much impact the way I look at Joseph in this moment. Of course, for the 30 seconds or so after it happened, it’s just as well that he wasn’t standing within reach!
This world of concrete and steel in which we prisoners live is very plain, but far from simple. It’s a world almost entirely devoid of what Saint Michael the Archangel brings to the equation between God and us. It’s also a world devoid of evidence of self-expression. Prisoners eat the same food, wear the same uniforms, and live in cells that all look alike.
Off the Wall, And On
In these cells, the concrete walls and ceilings are white — or were at one time — the concrete floors are gray, and the concrete counter running halfway along one wall is dark green. On a section of wall for each prisoner is a two-by-four foot green rectangle for posting family photos, a calendar and religious items. The wall contains the sole evidence of self-expression in prison, and you can learn a lot about a person from what’s posted there.
My friend, Pornchai, whose section of wall is next to mine, had just a blank wall two years ago. Today, not a square inch of green shows through his artifacts of hope. There are photos of Joe and Karen Corvino, the foster parents whose patience impacted his life, and Charlene Duline and Pierre Matthews, his new Godparents. There’s also an old photo of the home in Thailand from which he was taken at age 11, photos of some of the ships described in “Come, Sail Away!” now at anchor in new homes. There’s also a rhinoceros — no clue why — and Garfield the Cat. In between are beautiful icons of the Blessed Mother, Saint Maximilian Kolbe, Saint Pio, and one of Saint Michael the Archangel that somehow migrated from my wall over to Pornchai’s.
My own wall evolved over time. The only family photos I had are long lost, and I haven’t seen my family in many years. It happens to just about every prisoner after ten years or so. In my first twelve years in prison I was moved sixteen times, and each time I had to quickly take my family photos off the wall. Like many prisoners here for a long, long time, there came a day when I took my memories down to move, then just didn’t put them back up again. A year ago, I had nothing on the wall, then a strange transformation of that small space began to take shape.
When These Stone Walls — the blog, not the concrete ones — began last year, some readers started sending me beautiful icons and holy cards. The prison allows them in mail as long as they’re not laminated in plastic. Some made their way onto my wall, and slowly over the last year it filled with color and meaning again.
It’s a mystery why, but the most frequent image sent to me by TSW readers is that of Saint Michael the Archangel. There are five distinct icons of him on the wall, plus the one that seems to prefer Pornchai’s side. These stone walls — the concrete ones, not the blog — are filled with companions now.
There’s another icon of Saint Michael on my coffee cup — the only other place prisoners always leave their mark — and yet another inside and above the cell door. That one was placed there by my friend, Alberto Ramos, who went to prison at age 14 and turned 30 last week. It appeared a few months ago. Alberto’s religious roots are in Caribbean Santeria. He said Saint Michael above the door protects this cell from evil. He said this world and this prison greatly need Saint Michael.
Who Is Like God?
The references to the Archangel Michael are few and cryptic in the canon of Hebrew and Christian Scripture. In the apocalyptic visions of the Book of Daniel, he is Michael, your Prince, “who stands beside the sons of your people.” In Daniel 12:1 he is the guardian and protector angel of Israel and its people, and the “Great Prince” in Heaven who came to the aid of the Archangel Gabriel in his contest with the Angel of Persia (Daniel 10:13, 21).
His name in Hebrew — Mikha’el — means “Who is like God?” It’s posed as a question that answers itself. No one, of course, is like God. A subsidiary meaning is, “Who bears the image of God,” and in this Michael is the archetype in Heaven of what man himself was created to be: the image and likeness of God. Some other depictions of the Archangel Michael show him with a shield bearing the image of Christ. In this sense, Michael is a personification, as we’ll see below, of the principal attribute of God throughout Scripture.
Outside of Daniel’s apocalyptic vision, the Archangel Michael appears only two more times in the canon of Sacred Scripture. In Revelation 12:7-9 he leads the army of God in a great and final battle against the army of Satan. A very curious mention in the Epistle of Saint Jude (Jude 1:9) describes Saint Michael’s dispute with Satan over the body of Moses.
This is a direct reference to an account in the Apocrypha, and demonstrates the importance and familiarity of some of the apocryphal writings in the Israelite and early Christian communities. Saint Jude writes of the account as though it is quite familiar to his readers. In the Assumption of Moses in the apocryphal Book of Enoch, Michael prevails over Satan, wins the body of Moses, and accompanies him into Heaven.
It is because of this account that Moses and Elijah appear with Jesus in the account of the Transfiguration in Matthew 11. Moses and Elijah are the two figures in the Hebrew Scriptures to hear the voice of God on Mount Sinai, and to be assumed bodily into Heaven — escorted by Saint Michael the Archangel according to the Aggadah, the collection of milennia of rabbinic lore and custom.
Saint Michael as the Divine Measure of Souls
In each of the seven images of Saint Michael the Archangel sent to me by TSW readers, he is depicted brandishing a sword in triumph over Satan subdued at his feet. In five of the icons, he also holds a set of scales above the head of Satan. A lot of people confuse the scales with those of “Lady Justice” the famous American icon. Those scales symbolize the equal application of law and justice in America. It’s a high ideal, but one that too often isn’t met in the American justice system. I cited some examples in “The Eighth Commandment.”
The scales of Saint Michael also depict justice, but of another sort. Presumably that’s why so many readers sent me his image, and I much appreciate it. However, some research uncovered a far deeper symbolic meaning for the Archangel’s scales. The primary purpose of the scales is not to measure justice, but to weigh souls. And there’s a specific factor that registers on Saint Michael’s scales. They depict his role as the measure of mercy, the highest attribute of God for which Saint Michael is the personification. The capacity for mercy is what it most means to be in the image and likeness of God. The primary role of Saint Michael the Archangel is to be the advocate of justice and mercy in perfect balance — for justice without mercy is little more than vengeance.
That’s why God limits vengeance as summary justice. In Genesis chapter 4, Lamech, a descendant of Cain, vows that “if Cain is avenged seven-fold then Lamech is avenged seventy-seven fold.” Jesus later corrects this misconception of justice by instructing Peter to forgive “seventy times seven times.”
Our English word, “Mercy” doesn’t actually capture the full meaning of what is intended in the Hebrew Scriptures as the other side of the justice equation. The word in Hebrew is ”hesed,” and it has multiple tiers of meaning. It was translated into New Testament Greek as “eleos,” and then translated into Latin as “misericordia” from which we derive the English word, “mercy.” Saint Michael’s scales measure ”hesed,” which in its most basic sense means to act with altruism for the good of another without anything of obvious value in return. It’s the exercise of mercy for its own sake, a mercy that is the highest value of Judeo-Christian faith.
Sacred Scripture is filled with examples of hesed as the chief attribute of God and what it means to be in His image. That ”the mercy of God endures forever” is the central and repeated message of the Judeo-Christian Scriptures. The references are too many to name, but as I was writing this post, I spontaneously thought of a few lines from Psalm 85:
The domino effect of hesed-mercy is demonstrated in Psalm 85. Faithfulness and truth will arise out of it, and together all three will comprise justice. In researching this, I found a single, ancient rabbinic reference attributing authorship of Psalm 85 to the only non-human instrument of any Psalm or verse of Scripture: Saint Michael the Archangel, himself. According to that legend, Psalm 85 was given by the Archangel along with the Torah to Moses on Mount Sinai.
Saint Thomas Aquinas described Saint Michael as “the breath of the Redeemer’s spirit who will, at the end of the world, combat and destroy the Anti-Christ as he did Lucifer in the beginning.” This is why St. Michael is sometimes depicted bearing a shield with the image of Christ. It is the image of Christ in His passion, imprinted upon the veil of St. Veronica. Veronica is a name that appears nowhere in Scripture, but is simply a name assigned by tradition to the unnamed woman with the veil. The name Veronica comes from the Latin “vera icon” meaning “true image.”
Saint Thomas Aquinas and many Doctors of the Church regarded Saint Michael as the angel of Exodus who, as a pillar of cloud and fire, led Israel out of slavery. Christian tradition gives to Saint Michael four offices: To fight against Satan, to measure and rescue the souls of the just at the hour of death, to attend the dying and accompany the just to judgment, and to be the Champion and Protector of the Church.
His feast day, assigned since 1970 to the three Archangels of Scripture, was originally assigned to Saint Michael alone since the sixth century dedication of a church in Rome in his honor. The feast was originally called Michaelmas meaning, “The Mass of St. Michael.” The great prayer to Saint Michael, however, is relatively new. It was penned on October 13, 1884, by Pope Leo XIII after a terrifying vision of Saint Michael’s battle with Satan:
St. Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle. Be our protection against the wickedness and snares of the devil. May God rebuke him, we humbly pray, and do thou, 0 Prince of the heavenly Host, by the power of God, cast into Hell Satan and all the evil spirits who prowl about the world seeking the ruin of souls. Amen.
It’s an important prayer for the Church, especially now. I know the enemies of the Church lurk here, too. There are some who come here not for understanding, or the truth, but for ammunition. For them the very concept of mercy, forgiveness, and inner healing is anathema to their true cause. I once scoffed at the notion that evil surrounds us, but I have seen it. I think every person falsely accused has seen it.
Donald Spinner, mentioned in “Loose Ends and Dangling Participles,” gave Pornchai a prayer that was published by the prison ministry of the Paulist National Catholic Evangelization Association. Pornchai asked me to mention it in this post. It’s a prayer that perfectly captures the meaning of Saint Michael the Archangel’s Scales of Hesed: