Whisper n Thunder
The Whisper of Native American stories, the Thunder of stories that demand to be told.
The Life of a Chaplain
The Life of a ‘Chaplain’ as Deemed by
the State Corrections Institution
~ Joseph Strider ~
Names have been changed to protect the guilty….
I am commonly noted as Native American Spiritual Leader, or Chief, or Joe, or HEY YOU, etc… it’s NOT an easy job.
A typical day…
Arrival. Wait until the door is buzzed open… BUZZZZZZ. I place for inspection all articles that I carry including taking off my jacket to be searched,
then walking through the metal detector. Always wondering, “Did I leave anything in my pockets?” even after I’ve checked twice.
then walking through the metal detector. Always wondering, “Did I leave anything in my pockets?” even after I’ve checked twice.The Corrections Officer (C.O.) is usually cordial. “Morning, and beautiful day, and such.”
I get clocked in, then wait until they open the next heavy metal door, then a few feet to the next heavy metal door… BUZZZZZZZZ.
Next to get a set of keys and a Chapel radio, MANDATORY! I double back to the Chapel.
‘Greetings. Good morning. Hey Chaplain, could you please, when you’ve got a minute, might you open this door, that closet, this drawer, etc…? There is a lock on EVERYTHING!’
“Hey, just brewed a fresh pot of coffee,” says the Chapel worker. I like this guy.
He is always so friendly, and pretty much knows what I’m going to ask before I ask it.
Back on task. Open cabinets; get out files to see who will be on the counsel call out list, who wants to ask for a hair cut exemption.
Watch as the Catholic service attendees shuffle in, (siiippp) Good morning.
Then my counsel line starts to shuffle on in. “Please send in the next one to see me.”
They come in. I reach out my left hand to shake their own. Most are confused by the left hand. I tell them “Left hand is closest to the heart.”
SO, I ask “Why are you here to see me this morning?” Most reply, “I don’t know. Oh yeah!! Hair exemption.” I ask very simple questions at first.
“The 7 directions, what are they? When we use the Feather fan to fan the smoke, why is this and what is it called? What are the 4 sacred herbs? “9 ¾ out of 10 cannot answer these questions. Makes my decision an easy one.
I tell them about what it is that we do and make sure that they are on the call out list for the class and the circle. Give them a handbook, bid them well and… Next!
Few come for counseling, even though I invite them at every meeting of the hoop.
Most just want to keep their hair.
Here comes the Inmate Council. Normally cheerful and joking as they make their way from their designated cell blocks.
“Hey Fearless leader, sup, Yo, BRO ! JOOOEE, good to see you, morning? Hey, I really need to talk to you.”
I really care for these men. And I also feel their pain. One need only look into
their eyes to see that they are full of hurt, resentment, loss, and hope.
their eyes to see that they are full of hurt, resentment, loss, and hope.My heart breaks every morning that I see them.
They do their best to appear strong, mean, important, NOT afraid. We all wear a multitude of hats.
The rest arrive and we set up the chairs for class. There are a number of subjects that we can talk about, films about The Native struggles and triumphs. The Counsel also meets at this time to discuss matters that are important to the hoop.
LUNCH! And might I add “yuck!” But as I was told very early on, “If you leave here
hungry, it’s your own fault.”
Then, the sacred circle; this is when I all alone have the most inmates around me. Pass the stick, say a prayer…
I might begin… Thank you all for being here my brothers. I am honored. I might ask them to NOT forget, but to come to terms with the responsibility that they carry, Good, Bad, then ask them to look deep to find what they believe to be their greatest good strength, to embrace this and to nourish it as well. Then to ask them to try very, very hard to do these 4 things… To honor, love, respect, and here is the REAL toughie!!! To forgive themselves and to forgive those who have hurt them. To ask forgiveness from those whom they have hurt. BUT, to never ever FORGET! And… Pray, pray, pray.
Not all speak; some simply hang their heads. I try to acknowledge all with eye contact. But I will say this, for many this is the best time of their whole entire week. AHO !
I bare a heavy responsibility with this position as “Chaplain” here at the prison. Most nights before I go in the next day, I cannot sleep. I toss and turn in fear that I might say the wrong thing. That I might hurt them in some way that I cannot imagine. I do not fear them. I treat them as human beings, as men, as brothers. Alas, we are not equals. I have not shamed the Creator so; my Mother, my Father. I come and I go from these concrete walls lined with cameras, shinny, weary barbed wire. And still my heart bleeds for them all.
With the position as Chaplain I also have accepted other responsibilities, such as being the person who has to tell any inmate as soon as possible that one of their loved ones is very ill, or even worse that someone they love has passed on. As if I don’t feel badly enough for them being there, I really do not relish this responsibility.
I pray for a world where a place like this is unknown, unnecessary, out of the
question. I try to help them through the beginning of their grieving process. I say beginning because, my time is very limited and I am pulled in so many directions at once, and am spread quite thin. I pray for them as I write this.
question. I try to help them through the beginning of their grieving process. I say beginning because, my time is very limited and I am pulled in so many directions at once, and am spread quite thin. I pray for them as I write this.Another responsibility… There are levels of security cellblocks, and occasionally I must venture into the darkest ones. There is a sectional block where the inmates are too violent to be with the general population, a section where even inside of this mad house, they are separated due to security measures. Heavily medicated; not in touch with a society that we might consider to be the “norm.” This is a place where I cannot walk out unscathed. These shells of men are so very frightened one can smell the fear. To speak with one is to speak to madness. I put on my bravest face as I walk to the tiny room that they call home. Behind a thick wired mesh so dense that one could even not fit a pinky through, and some with a thick plate of Plexiglas as a barrier from the possibility of bodily fluids being flung out at someone in fright or out of anger.
To me, the thought of being in this place is worse than I could imagine being in hell.
Isolated, never a quiet moment. Yelling and cursing, and bragging voices coming from every direction and from nowhere. The only face that one might see is one who will stand directly in front of the door. Many do not see a face, only a shadow as security rounds are met, as a C.O. marches by.
I announce my presence “ Native American Chaplain here “! I hear… WO WO WO WO !! Hey how r ya hey how r ya ! Mocking, frightened voices calling AT me.
One asks kindly, “What’s your name?” And as I open my mouth to reply, he yells,
“IT DOESN’T MATTER, MOVE THE FUCK ON!!”
When this first happened I was so shocked and shaken, but I continued, because this too was a part of my job.
I get to the cell that I am looking for as per request, normally to find one laying down with a cloth covering their eyes. I call to them. They burst up, shaken disoriented. I tell them who I am, then… the barrage of words, questions, statements, demands. Mostly incoherent. So I have to ask them what I thought that I heard.
Times up, I’ve got to move on.
Then there’s the not quite so bad solitary, the klink, the twist, the hole. Two sides, upstairs, downstairs. Pretty much the same set up. There are windows, but one can’t see through them.
Not quite so heart wrenching, but still. Some remain there throughout their entire incarcerated sentence. I’d probably lose my mind there.
But I have to say this… There are some there that have no place in society; they are beyond repair, and they know it. The world is better because they are there. A scary thought I know. Sad but true.
Do I make a difference? A somewhat positive twist (no pun intended).
One of our brothers some time back was put in the hole for disobedience. After I heard that he was there I went to visit him. As I am only there once a week my time must be short, but I stretch myself as far as I can.
I spent three ½ hour stretches with him. We talked about things that had nothing to do with the prison. I offered him an opportunity to leave for a bit, I suppose. He told me that when he got out of the hole he would come to the circle. He did.
When the circle was over, he asked me for a minute of my time, which I was happy to oblige. He said, “No need to get mushy, but you know, I’ve spent a number of years in prison. And during that time, I’ve spent a lot of time in the hole. And fact is… No one has ever bothered to come visit with me and I just want to thank you.”
I told him that if any of the brothers from the hoop went to the hole I would visit them too. In fact I always do. As he walked out the door smiling, he was smiling and tapping his forehead saying, “I know.”
On another occasion, some time back, I received a letter from a very young man who had been sent to another prison. Basically the note read… “I just want to thank you for visiting me in the hole. For caring, and you don’t even know me, thank you.”
So another day at the ‘ol ball and chain. Some days I just don’t want to go to work. I have to force myself to get into my car to drive in. Some days I feel like just quitting. But after the day is done and I’m sitting in my car breathing and getting myself in composure to continue with my other “real” life, I am glad that I had the opportunity to help someone who is trying to come to terms with his situation. Who is learning what it means to “truly” walk the path of the RED ROAD . This is a 25/8, 366 days a year commitment. And I am sorry to say that I have met too many out here walking with us that claim to be walking this road, but their actions prove to be quite the opposite.
I will pray for them as I do for all. Whether I like them, or not. Whether they like me, or not. Because I KNOW what the path of good intent is, and to the end of my days whether you think that I am wrong, whether you feel me to be too harsh in my terrible honesty, whether you like me or not…
I will follow!
