My Secret Thirteen Years in Prison

Silver Creek

Recently my wife, Peggy, and I listened with rapt attention to a CD recording of the John Grisham novel, The Racketeer.  The 2012 Doubleday publication was a page turner from the very start. It caused us to miss a turn on the highway on our way to our Michigan lake house.

The Racketeer is the story of an African-American attorney, Malcolm Bannister, unjustly disbarred and jailed for an alleged and complicated money laundering scheme. It’s about his escape from a federal prison near Frostburg Maryland by means of an equally complicated and fascinating scheme of his own.

Such an interesting novel deserves a separate review. My point here however is different. It’s autobiographical and theological. It’s about the reflections on my own life and on God that The Racketeer stimulated.

You see, Malcolm Bannister’s life in his prison reminded me of my own time served in a similar institution under an infinitely worse warden. It caused me to remember my own escape and the way I finally told the warden off.

From the age of 14 to 27, my life featured the same restrictions as Bannister’s. There was the same dull prison food, interactions with a self-absorbed overseer and redeeming friendships with fellow prisoners. Only, since I was so young, life in prison meant minimal contact with women – nothing at all romantic, much less sexual. The warden had this weird attitude towards sex.  He didn’t care for it at all, and didn’t want us to either.

Like my own, Malcolm Bannister’s prison was minimum security. It had no walls or razor wire. There were no gun towers or barred prison cells. Inmates lived large dormitories or in single rooms with a cot, desk, chair and window. Everyone wore the same uniform. But prisoners were free to roam about the paths winding across the institution’s wooded acres. Escape would be easy, but few “walked off,” because capture would bring reassignment to a real hell-hole. That was my experience too.

The similarities between Bannister’s warden, Robert Earl Wade, and my own were uncanny. As mentioned, both were self-absorbed. But mine was far crueller – the most sadistic person I’ve ever met.

Offending the warden in my prison wouldn’t merely bring reprimands, punitive labor assignments or restrictions on free time. Ultimately, it would result in real torture that was almost unspeakable. We quaked in the warden’s presence. And, no more than children ourselves (at least at the beginning), we had to mouth his praises unceasingly. He was to be our first thought on waking in the morning, and the last before retiring at night.

The warden thought he was God; and so did we. He had ways of knowing everything. We were convinced he could read our minds. And just in case he couldn’t, we were forced to declare forbidden thoughts and deeds to him once a week. (That’s where the warden’s sexual hang-ups played a central part. Yes, we were required to fess up to entertaining sexual thoughts.) As a result, we prisoners were entirely self-regulated in an extremely repressive way.

Almost nothing we did (apart from the prison’s compulsory athletic events) displayed the freedom and spontaneity of the children we were and the young men we became.  For those not athletically inclined, even the requisite “play” was torturous, I’m sure.

As for me (apart from the sports), what saved it all were friendships with fellow internees. That was Bannister’s experience in Frostburg as well. The inmates I lived with were uniformly smart and unusually witty. As a result, they lightened the sameness of our daily life with unrelenting humor – mostly of the inside gallows variety.

Finally, I had enough. I did the forbidden thing. I just walked off. But before leaving, I told the warden what I thought of him.  Who did he think he was . . . God? “You’re not God,” I told him. “You have nothing to do with God. You’re just a projection of a system of absolute control that keeps young people from growing up. It keeps us all children! And once those you have ‘schooled’ in your prison are released, they inflict your hang-ups on others. That’s a big reason our world is in such a mess.”

_____

Of course, the system I’ve been describing is the one that trained priests for the Roman Catholic Church. It’s the seminary I experienced from my early teens till ordination at the age of 27. And its warden (the one we thought was God) is a fraud. Unfortunately, he’s still at work in the world – still torturing people.

No, I don’t regret the time I spent in the seminary. Moreover, I’m sure others would see life on the inside much more positively than I’m expressing here. Sometimes I do too. After all, life there gave me discipline and some valuable academic training – absolutely free through my doctoral studies. Without those gifts, my subsequent life as a professor of Peace and Social Justice Studies would have been impossible. For all of that, I’m eternally grateful. Who wouldn’t be?

And I haven’t lost faith. It’s just that my idea of God has changed radically.  No more Prison Warden. Only the Supreme Self in whom we live and move and have our being. Only the God of love. Only the God embodied in his prophet, Yeshua. Yeshua’s God breaks down separation walls of all types. That’s the one who liberated me from prison.

I just wouldn’t want to experience that jail time again. It was the dullest, most restrictive and spiritually wounding period of my life – formative years that (apart from the goodness of my fellow inmates) were little different from Malcolm Bannister’s prison camp. (The picture at the top of this post shows the high school seminary I attended in Silver Creek, New York from 1954 through 1958.)

Those dark years [and (ironically) the academic legacy they gave me] have always stimulated my resolve to help others escape from the confines erected by the false idea of God-as-prison-warden.

That’s been the thrust of my life as a college teacher. It’s what I’m attempting to do on this blog site.

School-Is-Prison-63787456510

 

Why I Left the Priesthood (Pt. 5, Conclusion)

A couple of years ago I took part in a wonderful reunion of my Columban brothers in Boston. It was invigorating to see everyone again, to recall “old times,” and especially to spend time with professors like Eamonn O’Doherty who as our scripture professor marked so many of us in positive ways that only God can know. The meeting filled me with hope, and for a split second I thought the Society of St. Columban might actually revive in some form – calling on the tremendous intelligence, good will, training and experience of the world I witnessed in my former colleagues and teachers. Maybe we could re-group, I thought, and give the world the benefit of (despite everything) the good we gained in our training as Columbans, and of what we’ve learned in our long, rich and varied experiences since leaving the Society.

Second thought however made me realize that such considerations are wishful rather than realistic. No, as I remarked earlier, the Society of St. Columban, the priesthood, and the Church in general have painted themselves into a corner. The crises of all three institutions are irreversible. There is simply no way back. Rather than trying to revive any of those moribund institutions, we need instead to envision entirely new forms of faith, church, priesthood and mission. Faith needs to be radically ecumenical in the sense indicated in my posting last week. The church itself needs to be no less radically exorcised of all elements of patriarchy. This means opening the priesthood to women, who in every age, including Jesus’ own, have been and remain the backbone of the believing community. When women become priests, the church will ipso facto (and thankfully) change beyond recognition.      

But above all, mission must be rethought and re-formed. This entails recognizing the “division of labor” shared by the world’s Great Religions. Such recognition acknowledges that the best interpretations of Christianity are pretty good in directing believers towards changing the world. Here is where the insights of liberation theologies need strong affirmation. Meanwhile eastern forms of faith such as Buddhism, Hinduism, Taoism and Sufism have a great deal to teach the world about the interior life and recognizing that divine spark or indwelling I referred to at the beginning of these reflections.

Mission then involves cooperation between persons of faith across the spectrum. It entails a deep dialog about how those with faith in life’s unity might cooperate to address the real problems of the world. These are not sectarian or “religious.” Rather they are about eliminating or diminishing violence, torture and war, hunger in a world of plenty, and environmental destruction. People of faith across the world need to reject the spirit of Dominus Jesus, and get on with the business of saving the planet.

In a word, it’s time to forget the past, as wonderful and painful as it might have been, and get on with building the “other world,” the other Society, the other church and the other priesthood we all know are possible.

Next week: the 100 books most responsible for my spiritual and intellectual formation