Prison Walk

I was introduced to "prison ministry" about a year ago, when our JustFaith group visited the State Corrections facility in Monroe. We went to the Friday evening Mass and bible study, and because I enjoyed it so much, I've been going back as regularly as I can manage.

Last month, after a great deal of organization by the inmates, the prisoners conducted a "walk-a-thon" for the Jamie Moyer Foundation. The inmates, who were sponsored by doners on the "outside," marched around their athletic track in 95 degree heat in order to raise money for "the kids, man" (as one walker put it) - for the kids suffering from cancer.

One of my jobs was to help with the water distribution. We also provided sunscreen, becuase it was a scorcher of a day. Still, the feeling was very festive, as if we were all at a picnic.

"Anyone need sunscreen?" one fair-skinned volunteer called out. All the black guys howled with laughter. "Don't laugh," said the volunteer, cheerfully applying lotion. "Dark skinned people can get skin cancer, too."

"We don't use that shit," a big, soft spoken fellow said.

"Oh, I don't know," replied the volunteer, who had traveled extensively. "People in Africa use it all the time."

"Well," said the inmate, "I'm not from Africa, I'm from Alabama, and we don't use that shit." More howling laughter.

After the pre-game drill they got down to it. Off came the shirts, off went the runners, joggers, walkers and limpers. And, I can tell you, I never saw so many tatoos in my life. There were hearts and guns and knives and angels; skulls and bones and titties and crosses. It was really quite something, and not a bad way to spend an afternoon.

So my next job was to sit and keep a written record of the laps the inmates finished. At first, it was tough enough just to get everyone's name right, as I had about 25 guys to keep track of, but by the 8th lap (two miles) I was getting the hang of it. And I dare say, those tatoos really did help out! By the 16th lap most were pretty beat, but they kept marching on, and I, sitting on my butt, could gleefully cheer them along. After some thirty laps they had to quit, because their time was up, but I'm sure some of those guys could have kept hiking for days. It was impressive. These were young, healthy men, sure, but there were also a lot of older guys walking. And some fat guys. Some slow guys. Guys with canes. Most of these guys never quit.

In all, they raised over $2,000 for the Moyer Foundation.

There is something very meaningful, when your life is nearly snuffed out behind prison walls, in doing good things for other people. One gains a sense of pride and accomplishment, but more importantly I think, is the sense of human dignity that comes with helping out another human being. And these inmates, isolated from the world, were throwing their physical all into helping "the kids, man," - kids who also live in fear and isolation. This desire to 'give back' is universal, I think, and tatooed on the human heart.

I just thought people should know about this unseen day behind the walls.