tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-87305912461583433712011-11-23T15:43:57.690-08:00"Oh, you're so lucky to bring Jesus in to those poor people." I am lucky but I don't haul Jesus around in a suitcase. I get to see what God has been up to in the last few hours. Then I get to tell the stories.Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.comBlogger1531100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-12669953612070979702011-11-21T22:35:00.000-08:002011-11-21T22:35:09.949-08:00

God: Jeremiah, you need some new underwear. Jerry: Really? Boxers or briefs? God: Check out the local Nordstrom's for the latest in loincloths. Get a nice set. Jerry: You got it! God: And Jeremiah? Jerry: Yes, God? God: When you get that new underwear, put it on. Jerry:  Of course! (Like what else would I do with it? Use it as a slingshot?) God:  I heard that.  Jerry takes himself downtown

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-51852671566610490902011-10-13T19:09:00.000-07:002011-10-13T19:09:52.933-07:00

About a mile north of the jail, on 4th/5th and Pine Streets, there are signs everywhere. Occupy Seattle has been busy. There are all sorts of negotiations going on (the Mayor is accused of trivializing the basic outrage and turning it into "camping violations") but the mood continues to be fairly upbeat. Across the street from the jail is the County Administration Building. It is often the

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-87943504034740949352011-10-05T20:39:00.000-07:002011-10-05T20:39:11.229-07:00

NO WHINING ZONE. GO CRY SOMEWHERE ELSE. I'm reminded of the time a new bishop came to the diocese. Before too many people had had a chance to meet him, the word was already out. "No whining." No matter who he met with, that was his theme. When he came to our parish, I had a chance to greet him privately. I gave him this button. That he didn't laugh spoke volumes.  

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-11286089101596995652011-10-04T22:39:00.000-07:002011-10-04T22:42:25.829-07:00

It's the feast of St. Francis of Assisi. This painting is thought to be very close to what he actually looked like. It is at eye level in the Lower Basilica of St. Francis in his home town. In the midst of angels and heavenly thrones, you could almost mistake him for another tourist.  Once I thought I caught him rolling his eyes as if to say, "Can you believe all this stuff??" Francis went off to

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-75232447772788184182011-09-30T21:14:00.000-07:002011-09-30T21:14:28.664-07:00

The woman was a little older than I. My brain went into its Search and Remember Mode. We were standing at the entry way to a church north of Seattle. I was there because Uncle Frank had died. I was looking for his sons before things got started. I was also looking for Betsy. Betsy used to be a juvenile detention minister and a volunteer at the adult prison in Monroe. Now she works at this parish

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-49208398541992355332011-08-16T22:09:00.000-07:002011-08-16T22:09:44.702-07:00

He told us a story about being in the park, seeing a trio getting out of their car, putting purses in the trunk, then going for a walk. One was a grandmother, one was about three, and the other, he guessed, was probably The Mom. In the few minutes he saw them, they walked into his heart, even though he didn't know it yet. Months later, on a sunny August day, he is in jail, sitting in a church

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-52121296068467582112011-08-06T21:34:00.000-07:002011-08-06T21:34:36.296-07:00

Do you write in your bible? I don't. I don't highlight verses in different colored inks. I don't put exclamation marks in the margins or pencil in comments. Lots of other people do, but I never have. My hesitation comes from knowing that what is so real and pertinent today will be incomprehensible in two years or ten. I don't want to lock in one meaning and not have the opportunity to see

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-24688526598005466282011-08-03T21:53:00.000-07:002011-08-03T21:53:26.237-07:00

Last night I was up on the eighth floor assisting with a Word and Communion Service led by one of the Catholic volunteers. Rudy's partner is recovering from knee replacement surgery and is out of commission for a few weeks. The eight floor, south wing, houses Medium Security level men in eight dorms, twenty beds to the dorm. Because the multi-purpose room we meet in isn't huge, only three men

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-41942862471482682512011-07-06T18:31:00.000-07:002011-07-06T18:31:13.137-07:00

I keep this in my back pocket at the jail. Not a real one, but it's there nonetheless. It is a reminder that the work I do is best done in the presence of love. If I can be aware that we all come from Great Love and are created for Great Love, no matter the paths we have wandered, then I can work in love, without fear. I'm always surprised when someone asks if I'm afraid to be working in a jail.

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-23561026323705679392011-06-15T00:43:00.000-07:002011-06-15T00:43:03.320-07:00

Before I leave my office to visit offenders on the upper floors of the jail, I check the stack of things that I'm taking with me. Do I have my keys? The all-important keys. After years of having only pants that did not have pockets and therefore making key retention iffy, I finally found pants with pockets. My work keys are on a separate ring from the house and car keys. There's a big green clip

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-27132521175947684132011-06-12T18:01:00.000-07:002011-06-12T18:01:15.086-07:00

This year in the Northwest JanuaryFebruaryMarch dragged on through AprilMay and into June. This last week, however, is a different story. Usually there is some stately progression of flowers as spring arrives: crocus, daffodils, tulips, cherry trees, rhododendrons, iris. There are bits of green fuzz on the trees and then a week or so later, real leaves and two weeks after that, you can tell the

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-1194484552713304232011-05-17T17:47:00.000-07:002011-05-21T20:23:36.734-07:00

I have been many things in my lifetime: switchboard operator, telemarketer for USA Today, high school religion teacher, parish worker, prison chaplain, to say nothing of unmentionable or forgettable short-life things, including a camp counselor who put the kids to sleep at night with interminable stories about Abby and her sister Gertrude.  For a brief time, when I was in college, I was a cashier

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-9538876159281023862011-04-30T12:52:00.000-07:002011-04-30T12:52:21.544-07:00

The women from 9East were a glum bunch on Thursday. One of the six had been at the Easter service the week before; the other five were new. Gina is four and a half months pregnant with twins. "The kids are sitting on my ribcage," she said, her face twisted into a grimace. Teresa pondered her fingernails. She's getting out this weekend and one of her first stops will be the nail salon to replace

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-55798707290913625182011-04-20T18:42:00.000-07:002011-04-20T18:42:51.565-07:00

This just in from The Seattle Times. Much of the work in corrections is about managing people. Over time, management has learned what kids in kindergarten know: "Use your words." Effective speech can make all the difference in a volatile situation. On the other hand, there are people in jail or prison who never got the T-shirt that says, "Plays nicely with others." It doesn't pay to get

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-91141689558659870212011-04-18T21:50:00.000-07:002011-04-18T21:50:50.998-07:00

When I worked on liturgy committees or was on staff in parishes, by the time Easter finally rolled around, I'd have the bends. We'd typically begin preparations for the big seasons and feast days several months ahead. It wasn't unusual to have a staff Epiphany party end with everyone pulling out calendars and penciling in the date for the meeting to prepare the Lenten reconciliation service. To

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-79319183776831478932011-04-09T17:01:00.000-07:002011-04-09T17:01:53.938-07:00

At a Word and Communion service at the jail this week, we prayed with the readings for Sunday: Ezekiel's adamant pronouncement that God would raise the People from their graves and put them in God's own land and the story of Lazarus being raised from the dead. The Ezekiel reading, a shortened version of what we'll hear at the Easter Vigil, left out the vision of a valley littered with dry bones.

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-22068908745706091162011-03-28T22:56:00.000-07:002011-03-28T22:56:35.945-07:00

  Well, I'm not, at least at the moment. Instead, I'm at the ocean in Oregon. For years, I've taken Easter week off and gone to the beach with several friends. We pack along our knitting, crocheting, quilting and books and settle in for a week of lazing about, good food, and Mariners' baseball. In the past few years, the group has dwindled due to health and retirement. And this year, Easter week

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-42261139272348497862011-03-10T23:51:00.000-08:002011-03-10T23:51:01.509-08:00

photo from nationalgeographic.com If you had been following me around this morning, you would have seen this sight up on the 11th floor. At the jail, the higher the floor, the greater the security. These men are housed in one-person cells. They can talk to each other--if they yell--but they can't see each other. One at a time, a man is released from his cell for "yard" time. That means he gets

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-76543428279614467492011-02-28T17:14:00.000-08:002011-02-28T17:14:26.211-08:00

10:58am. We've been holding Open Chapel for almost two hours. Two more minutes and we'll clear the place and everyone will head for lunch. It has been a busy morning, a never-ending line outside my office with requests for prayer, for a rosary, for an explanation about something Catholics do or believe. A regular kind of day at the prison. Except. There is a rumble and then a groan. The noise

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-14815189038251825032011-02-24T16:01:00.000-08:002011-02-24T16:02:15.628-08:00

Rodney Clapp has a great article at Christian Century about why we need people to pray for us. This is what I bring into the jail. When people tell me they are having a hard time praying, I tell them about the people outside who are praying for them. "Let their prayer carry you for a while." If they are bored with their own prayers, their own concerns, I give them a name of someone outside and

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-36187550788212928132011-02-12T14:34:00.000-08:002011-02-12T14:34:54.917-08:00

from the Seattle Times This is a story from the detectives who interviewed the man accused of killing Corrections Officer Jayme Biendl. Take a few moments and see if you can list all the people in need of prayer around this incident. Then multiply that by 10. And again.

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-20073739283218663382011-02-06T23:03:00.000-08:002011-02-06T23:03:37.289-08:00

The thirteen prisons in the state observed a moment of silence on Sunday at 1:35pm to honor Officer Jayme Biendl. It was her birthday. Her death a week ago has affected corrections officers as well as police officers and their families, offenders and their families, Department of Corrections decision-makers and staff. There's a huge running debate on news blogs about the dangers of women working

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-36996620174352528442011-02-01T00:05:00.000-08:002011-02-01T00:05:13.877-08:00

Jayme Biendl was a corrections officer at the Monroe Correctional Center north of Seattle. She was strangled to death last Saturday night during her shift at the chapel. One of the news stories is here  An offender who was not in his cell for the evening count was found in the chapel at 9:15pm. He told the officers that he'd been planning to escape, but had decided against it. They handcuffed

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-68029143351948572572011-01-31T23:56:00.000-08:002011-02-02T00:05:28.000-08:00

Gene's in his thirties. He's been to prison once and he's facing a second trip, probably for a longer time. It was five years last time. It will be at least seven, maybe fifteen this time. He has a wife, two kids, a job he lost after he stole from the company, and a batch of remorse he's been stirring up for the last few months. He said he'd lost God along the way. I was curious and so I asked,

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-63628816099889864762011-01-15T16:03:00.000-08:002011-01-15T16:03:12.702-08:00

There's a certain rhythm to the comings and goings at jail. From my office near the main entrance, I can almost always tell when a batch of offenders are being released and headed out, or when the lawyers have arrived for afternoon court sessions, or when some officer has cycled in for a spot of relief duty. The sound level rises and falls, the chatter shifts, the scanner beeps more

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-60189133927089677022011-01-06T19:47:00.000-08:002011-01-06T19:59:48.676-08:00

I forgot to bring the Kleenex. I apologized. He cranked up half a smile and said, "You know me. Tears come with the territory." He pleaded guilty in the courtroom this morning. Tomorrow the federal marshals will be here to take him to Montana. He's looking at very serious time, maybe more than twenty years. He was my first stop this morning. I had a handful of requests, people wanting to see

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-27444966995625056712010-12-31T21:24:00.000-08:002010-12-31T21:29:35.178-08:00

I did say I'd spent time with two offenders on Thursday, didn't I? David was on a different floor from Jaycey. When I asked the officer if I could see him, the officer wasn't sure he'd want to be disturbed again. Turns out I was the fifth person who'd asked to see him that day already. But David stirred from his sleep and came out to talk to the chaplain. On this floor, there's a table and two

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-24910505313132873952010-12-31T21:00:00.000-08:002010-12-31T21:27:54.790-08:00

Thursday I made a quick trip in to Seattle to pick up some mail and to deliver worship sheets to my office so the volunteers would have the readings for this weekend. I ended up staying a couple of hours, spending most of that time with a couple of offenders on different floors of the jail.  One man was struggling with loving everyone. "Everyone in general?" I asked. "Or someone in particular?"

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-50342685387410311852010-12-25T21:48:00.000-08:002010-12-25T22:09:38.153-08:00

Ever since I began working at the jail last June, my ability to get lost or disoriented has been the source of many stories, mostly ones I tell on myself. How does one get lost on an elevator anyway? And how many times have I heard a disembodied voice intone, "You can't get there from here"?That disorientation and lost-ness is a fine template for this Christmas season in jail.Some of the

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-42086761882324470912010-12-08T17:22:00.000-08:002010-12-08T21:05:38.702-08:00

Ruby Bridges was six years old when she was the first African-American to integrate her school in New Orleans. The crowds were there, every day, teetering on the edge of being a mob, yelling hate. Ruby was escorted to school by federal marshals. The first grader showed up every day and so did the crowds.Dr. Robert Coles, who has written about spirituality and morality in children, wanted to talk

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-72686657111154954932010-11-19T20:12:00.001-08:002010-11-19T20:27:13.399-08:00

I write this on the day that the Department of Corrections announced the closure of a third prison in a year. You might think that's good news. Think of it, we don't need three prisons! But it really means more crowding at the prisons we have, and the loss of jobs and programs, and more tension behind the walls.But there is good news. Those of you who have been around for a while may remember my

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-57361494654093843112010-11-14T21:46:00.000-08:002010-11-14T22:00:21.458-08:00

The requests are coming in for Christmas cards. No one asked for Halloween cards this year (they were a hot commodity at the prison a few years ago) but the push is on for Thanksgiving and Christmas cards. I managed to pick up a few dozen at a local Catholic supply store back in the summer.But now! I've put a special collection bag right by my front door so when I pick up my mail, I can put all

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-6147907499037142202010-10-21T20:09:00.000-07:002010-10-21T20:36:43.009-07:00

I was thinking about tunnels today as I left the jail. Because I'd driven to work, my car was parked in the garage UP steep Goat Hill. Fortunately, someone had mercy on those of us who find it difficult to walk with the sidewalk bruising our noses, so there is a much gentler incline inside a building with a tunnel that leads to the elevator to the parking garage.(Are you following me still?)As I

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-75275737302908561852010-10-13T21:35:00.000-07:002010-10-13T21:45:19.548-07:00

I was at a parish retreat tonight, a wonderful gathering of the Raggedy Band of believers who make up St. Leo Parish. We had 1 Corinthians 12:12-26 to pray over (we are many parts, we are all one body...) and then moved into groups to talk about what "weighs on your heart." I told the group that I sometimes find it easy to go to "the dark side," but that tonight, that tendency was more than

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-39240106388054043972010-10-11T00:16:00.000-07:002010-10-11T00:34:35.372-07:00

Most of my workis about fasteningthe odd bits and pieces--flotsam and jetsam--of fragmented lives.I use wordsto stitchbindhookthe disparateshapestrying to choosetwo scraps thatcan tolerate each otherfor a breathjust abreath.But in my office and on my deskthe tool of the momentis a small clawwaiting to snatch and tear.A pile of brokenmisshaped metalbears testament to the leavingsof the staple

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-19943671957446972382010-10-04T20:00:00.001-07:002010-10-04T20:44:07.605-07:00

Today is the feast of St. Francis of Assisi. This statue is in San Francisco, a much smaller version of the one I first came to know at Fisherman's Wharf. I love the silhouette of the statue. In the many versions that Beniamino Bufano crafted, this Tau shape is consistent.Here's a version that is at Grace Cathedral in San Francisco and another, with mosaics, that is at the Mondavi Vineyards. The

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-60207582648193692242010-09-19T00:16:00.000-07:002010-09-19T00:24:38.774-07:00

A man committed suicide at the jail last weekend. Actually, he hung himself early Saturday morning and died on Tuesday. He was facing serious charges in another state and, in light of everything else that had taken a serious downward spiral since last spring, I think he was a man living without hope. Please pray for him, for his friends and family in that other state, and for the men who found

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-37273689097344974762010-09-11T21:26:00.000-07:002010-09-11T22:04:17.430-07:00

On that bright September morning nine years ago, I drove to Yakima from Tacoma for a chaplains meeting. My friend and I enjoyed the beautiful clear day, the colors of the leaves as we went through the mountains, and just being away from the work that occupied us at our separate prisons. We got lost in Yakima and stopped for directions, eventually making it to the meeting just a few minutes

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-28861054682969119582010-09-09T23:23:00.000-07:002010-09-09T23:30:14.601-07:00

Tissue in the boxand the small packetspleaseBatteriesfor the iPodsfor the clockHoly cardspictures of Jesusand Maryand GodSerenity PrayerCatholic prayer bookin Englishin SpanishRussian Laotian Polishwords to the rosarya biblewith all the booksThe new testament withProverbs and Psalmsis nice butI need moreGive me this dayOur Daily Breadand Living Faith and The Purpose Driven Lifeany devotional book

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-65556210772393043932010-09-06T20:02:00.000-07:002010-09-06T20:17:35.699-07:00

One of the jail volunteers and I were talking the other day about what people worry about when they're in jail. She made this observation:"Men worry about what their women are doing, and with whom. Women worry about their kids."She's right.I'm learning more about the differences between jail and prison as I close in on the third-month mark for this new job. At the jail, I've seen people sometimes

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-73827201158037394492010-08-19T11:28:00.000-07:002010-08-19T11:31:38.103-07:00

Here's an article from the Seattle PI about the prison where I worked until May. Take some time to read the comment section as well. The attitudes there speak volumes.Welcome to prison

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-76068702836181172782010-08-05T23:37:00.000-07:002010-08-06T00:22:22.157-07:00

There's a great meme going around the blogs, asking for favorite devotions (which I always assume Catholics know about and everyone else needs an explanation, but I'm frequently wrong). I went to Catholic grade school for five out of the first six grades, which may explain a lot of things about how I grew up to be who I am. It certainly explains my love for church-related trivia.My first two

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-71752919796293369462010-07-24T21:49:00.000-07:002010-07-25T18:17:55.986-07:00

I was standing at the elevator on the 7th floor. I pushed the Down button. A voice asked, "Where to?" and I said, "Fourth floor.""You can't get there from here." It was a nice voice, very patient.I stared at the papers in my hand, a stack of requests from offenders who wanted to see a chaplain. The jail is a tower twelve stories high.And you know elevators. They run up and down. I was on the

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-66921304812702344072010-07-07T23:37:00.001-07:002010-07-07T23:44:45.255-07:00

I got a call early this afternoon, asking me to see a woman and let her know that her mother had died. You who have read this blog for a while know that death notifications are my specialty. Have tissue, will tell.Except that I had been told that the sergeants are the ones who do the actual notification, then the chaplain is called in to deal with the aftermath. The notes in the files and on the

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-20185077205825944142010-06-27T23:25:00.000-07:002010-06-27T23:40:24.631-07:00

All I had to do was go to the courthouse, get my fingerprints done, and get my badge.I went to the wrong building, after sitting out in the courtyard, smugly enjoying the fact that I was early.I found an office with a title that seemed to fit what I was looking for--but I was in the wrong building. Uh huh. This was the County Administration building. I needed to be across the street in the

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-14777197613159264722010-06-24T08:57:00.001-07:002010-06-27T20:58:18.278-07:00

That was the the important lesson last Wednesday night when I went through orientation for the jail. We were a mixed group: some AA/NA volunteers, several women who work with women in transition, a health care provider, a mental health care worker, an Americorps volunteer (who looked like he was just out of high school, but I'm sure that was due to my failing eyesight) and me, the new Catholic

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-12542675472530745872010-06-13T18:44:00.000-07:002010-06-13T19:12:49.023-07:00

A couple of other bloggers are talking about sin and reconciliation today, and as I read and pondered, the familiar opening to the Rite of Penance and Reconciliation came to mind, except it began with what I put in the subject line: I am homesick!Not homesick for home because that's where I am right now, typing away. So homesick for what? It took a few minutes to figure it out, but here it is: I

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-13628333299254665532010-06-10T21:42:00.000-07:002010-06-14T08:15:34.656-07:00

Three full weeks of vacation and I'm still fidgety about it. I haven't taken this kind of time off since I was a school teacher back in the 70s and 80s. In those days, the ten weeks of summer were a time to catch up on some required course, haunt the local library, and one year, spend 10 delirious weeks in Assisi, Italy.Every doorway in this town is related to something in Francis' life: here's

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-46624088555376716142010-06-01T23:19:00.000-07:002010-09-14T23:47:52.798-07:00

First, you should take some time and read Sherry's post about "Looking up and finding clouds." That's what put me in the mood to respond here. As I make the adjustment to having LOTS of time on my hands between jobs, I'm hungry for some good cloud-watching time. (Unfortunately, the weather as it is in Tacoma these days, if I turn my face up, I'm likely to get a bucket of rain in it. It's JUNE

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-49636964153903351342010-05-27T16:37:00.001-07:002010-06-01T15:30:46.431-07:00

He sounded very certain, as if he'd thought it over for a few days and knew he had to tell me. "I'll never forgive you," he said again, shaking my hand. Then his ears turned pink and his cheeks flushed dark red.He stammered. "I mean, what I mean to say is, well, I won't forget you." I knew that.It was Sunday morning and we'd celebrated Pentecost. The announcements were made, schedules noted, what

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-5682483141433766872010-05-18T23:29:00.000-07:002010-05-18T23:54:09.230-07:00

Well, this being prison, it had to happen. My last day at prison will be Pentecost Sunday.Release dates are important in prison. There is a great deal of calculating one's actual date to walk out the gate. I tease the guys about "DOC arithmetic," but it's more true than funny.Someone standing in court, having been convicted, gets sentenced to a certain number of months. Not years. It's always in

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-76416905214674991332010-05-13T08:31:00.000-07:002010-05-15T19:02:17.923-07:00

I'm leaving prison.While I haven't had the elegant countdown like so many of the men I've worked with, as of today, it is seventeen days and a wake-up. Drama Queen that I am, the men will get the news on Sunday at the end of the service. My last day will be May 30th.However, it's not the end of detention ministry.In mid-June, I'll be headed north to Seattle to become the Catholic chaplain at the

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-26082254463160956552010-05-09T12:06:00.000-07:002010-05-09T17:01:49.996-07:00

The air is thick with emotion here today. Our worship aid had "Happy Mother's Day" printed in red, but there wasn't a single intercession for mothers in the Prayers of the Faithful. One of the Protestant services began: "Every man in this room has broken his mother's heart." Oh great, the Guilt Sermon, I thought.Back in the days when the chapel handed out greeting cards, there was always a big

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-25245296949605317082010-05-02T15:17:00.000-07:002010-05-02T15:30:36.608-07:00

we prayed "for our deadly departed" today.Pamphylia is the source of all church pamphlets.and listeria (wicked stuff if you ever come across it) had its origins in Lystra. (Maybe I'm glad it wasn't read as Lysistrada. That would have been tough to explain to a roomful of men.)Antochi wasn't on my travel itinerary. Maybe next time.We had fun today with the readings. Can you decipher this?

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-84929649531701301982010-05-02T11:51:00.000-07:002010-05-02T12:15:31.666-07:00

"If you don't like my attitude, STOP TALKING TO ME!" "I'm up. I'm dressed. What more do you want?" "Jesus is coming. Look busy."I realized this weekend that homey bits of commentary don't have much of a place in prison, certainly not of the temporary kind. Tattoos are a different story altogether. But the t-shirts and bumper stickers of the world outside of prison don't make it past the fences

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-32904468365194995932010-04-19T19:53:00.000-07:002010-04-19T19:59:18.994-07:00

Here's your warning: there's graphic, explicit stuff in this post.There are some things you folks in the regular pews just miss because you are where you are. While I never hear announcements about a car with its lights on or doughnuts after Mass, I'm willing to bet no uniformed officer interrupts one of the readings because he's looking for a couple of guys who have left something suspicious in

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-44328016686265450432010-04-14T21:00:00.000-07:002010-04-14T21:20:43.638-07:00

There is more to my Sunday than prison, communion services, pastoral counseling, and checking in with volunteers. When I get home in the late afternoon and open the front door, the Sunday paper that I had to kick inside at 6am is waiting for me. I take it to the back bedroom where there's a recliner and weed out 75% and then settle in to read.I always finish with Section B of the Seattle Times.

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-17778108153275784822010-03-30T20:47:00.000-07:002010-03-30T23:09:01.232-07:00

These few lines were in a religion textbook that I used back in my first career.'The Holy Supper is spread within,And the many candles shine,And I have waited long for theeBefore I poured the wine!'Do yourself a favor and follow the link. Savor the whole poem by Robert Buchanan. http://www.southerncrossreview.org/48/buchanan.htmlThe textbook was These Stones Will Shout by Mark Link, SJ.I'm

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-73710083676917425522010-03-22T20:47:00.000-07:002010-03-22T21:08:42.887-07:00

Having no elect or candidates this year, and being tied to the worship sheets that we get from Los Angeles, we read Cycle C yesterday, the story of the woman caught in adultery... or the men caught in their BS, though I rarely hear it referred to in that way.I was struck by several things. The Isaiah reading begins with an invocation of memory, a reminder of what God did in the past. "Remember

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-91893681128141679462010-03-17T14:18:00.000-07:002010-03-17T14:27:33.779-07:00

1. The garden behind my building was rototilled on Monday two weeks ago.2. It snowed and hailed that same day.3. There is more than one person walking the track in the small yard.4. Two of the half-courts are busy with games of "Horse."5. The pickle ball court is full and has people waiting to play.(Lest you think we have some huge recreation space, the "courts" are about the size of a couple of

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-19281382823989912982010-03-02T00:01:00.000-08:002010-03-02T00:19:51.247-08:00

or maybe even sooner. Why is it I get good ideas once a season has already begun?We make a big deal about being part of the Body of Christ here at the prison. Okay. Truth is I make a big deal about it. I can drive to several different prisons within an hour or three of my home. Not one of them has a sign telling you you're getting close to a prison until the turn down the actual road. Very

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-75308444089196740972010-02-27T20:24:00.000-08:002010-04-15T16:55:20.933-07:00

That's Leonard Cohen singing in the background. I want a whole CD of different artists singing his "Hallelujah." I've been playing his music in the car as I've been making trips to Seattle and Shelton and Seattle and back home again. It has been raining and he has the perfect voice for weather like this. Never mind that the daffodils and crocus are a month ahead of themselves and the cherry trees

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-48445446224664360252010-02-12T22:34:00.000-08:002010-02-12T22:49:53.604-08:00

It is Walter Bruggeman who insists that good preachers must have the bible in one hand and the newspaper in the other, isn't it? The gospel and daily life have to have a conversation if any of it is going to make sense.However, I'd like to invite Fr. Bruggeman to prison one of these days.It happens, often enough, when there is a disaster somewhere in the world, or more specifically, in the United

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-12357399838257485232010-02-09T22:50:00.000-08:002010-02-28T19:48:57.021-08:00

Early Sunday morning, I stopped by my home parish, St. Leo in Tacoma, to pick up communion for the day's services. It wasn't 6:30 yet, not officially dawn, but in front of the church there were three men sleeping on the benches. St. Leo's sits on the Hilltop, straight up from downtown, just blocks from the county jail (where people are released at 10pm) and several hospitals. The block houses a

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-67585693402369606242010-01-30T20:11:00.000-08:002010-01-31T06:15:41.963-08:00

How about something purely personal? My brain is fuzzed with both religion and politics these days and I've been wrestling with a big hunger that didn't have words to describe it. Top Ramen was not fitting the bill and neither was chocolate. I didn't want to go anywhere. My Thursdays (beginning of my weekend) have been spent in exhausted slumber.Couldn't write. (I see ya, Fran, and raise you.)

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-75334458158820796242010-01-23T18:30:00.000-08:002010-01-23T18:40:35.147-08:00

"Please sign me up for 'Read to me, Daddy' so I can read a book on to tape for my kids. Thanks."The request was written two days before Christmas. I didn't see it until Sunday, January 3rd, because I'd been on vacation. It has a permanent spot hanging from the shelf right above my desk. It's never going to be answered.The man who wrote it committed suicide on New Year's Eve.Just a week before,

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-19172618692720039102010-01-20T19:47:00.000-08:002010-01-20T19:51:45.489-08:00

They filed in somber and awkward loss etched on their faces and in the slump of their shoulders.They filled the seats not shy about sitting hip to hip, tissue boxes strategically slid across the floor.A line of blue uniforms and blue badges stretched across the back of the room: officers, superintendent, mental healthall here to bear witness.We began with Amazing Grace

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-52532988591847915812009-12-31T23:02:00.001-08:002009-12-31T23:10:00.659-08:00

Less than an hour til the new year here on the West Coast. Not the new decade. I'm one of those sticklers who insist that counting begins with ONE, so the 20teens don't start til 2011. But I've been thinking about 1999 and what a great turn of the annual odometer that was. I loved watching the New Year's celebrations every hour from around the world. I spent a lot of time the last three months of

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-84603364068624835612009-12-28T11:54:00.000-08:002009-12-28T12:06:37.281-08:00

Eight in the morning and the ground is frosty. We move the altar away from the wall and into its celebration spot. Someone moves the pulpit and sets up the crib scene on a small table in front of it. Worship sheets are out and so are the song sheets (swiped from a Lutheran Bell Choir service that happened last week). New candles are lit, bread and wine on the altar. I even remembered the

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-30179410984897593062009-12-24T12:46:00.000-08:002009-12-24T13:04:43.258-08:00

That was Fr. Jim at the beginning of the fourth Sunday of Advent Mass last Saturday night in my home parish. As soon as he said it I thought, "You're right!" and felt the worry and concern dissipate. No matter how much I prepare, comes a time to say, "Enough is enough."This Advent, a purple cloth covered whatever table stood in for our altars: a typewriter table, a recycled table in a classroom,

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-60669063168314509422009-11-29T12:28:00.000-08:002009-11-29T12:49:40.005-08:00

"Let's offer each other a sign of peace. No bruising!""And behold, the angels appeared, praising God and saying---MOVEMENT! MOVEMENT!"(In the midst of some equisite quiet one evening) "Pill line!""No bruising?" I can see your head shaking from here. "What does that mean??"The second service of my Sunday is held in the dining room of a unit that houses a number of gang members, Surenos to be exact

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-50485819002810196212009-11-28T21:31:00.000-08:002009-11-28T21:48:08.433-08:00

I'm not one for patient waiting. It's not that I lack patience. Mostly I lack the ability to remember just what I'm waiting for. Life gets in the way. Things happen. I get distracted.Right before Thanksgiving, I got a letter in the mail from Seattle University. Inside was a copy of the question I was asking in the fall of 2008 as I began a program in Pastoral Leadership. I read through it,

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-73806855727782618792009-11-07T16:57:00.000-08:002009-11-07T17:16:00.704-08:00

I don't know if it's a result of working in prison or just the warped sense of humor I have, but the greatest temptation is look at my work and see blog titles.For instance, Tuesday's gem was "Two Days, Three Dead Grandmas."Not funny at all, especially to the three men who lost a grandmother in those two days, but the juxtaposition of events, and their similarities... my brain just went in that

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-16221576323273152552009-10-30T14:17:00.000-07:002009-10-30T14:40:20.493-07:00

It's the last week of October and I'm bracing myself. While we don't have to endure the onslaught of Halloween inside the prison, October 31st marks the serious beginning of the holiday season. Every year it's a bit different, but like it or not, here it comes.Starting with Halloween, men start to get nostalgic about their kids. They want cards to send to them, they start talking about going

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-22169040817889306112009-10-03T19:58:00.000-07:002009-10-03T21:16:55.131-07:00

When I was twenty and a junior in college, I fell in love. It was a resounding thump that has echoed through the decades since then. And a Jesuit was responsible, no kidding.I was in Rome at Loyola University (Chicago) Rome Center on Monte Mario. Some three hundred of us lived in a former tuberculosis sanitarium with wonderful balconies, too much espresso and Coke, and far too many cigarettes. We

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-33701549844991320702009-09-14T19:05:00.000-07:002009-09-14T19:19:36.720-07:00

Sunday afternoon, the final service of the day. I'm looking out the classroom window at the garden below. It is half harvested now. Still hundreds of pounds of potatoes, tomatoes, carrots and cabbage yet to be pulled, but close to 9,000 pounds of vegetables have gone to the kitchen and to four local foodbanks already.Into the classroom comes a young man. "Catholic service?" It is. He sticks out

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-50773164608018580602009-09-04T17:50:00.000-07:002009-09-04T18:09:47.554-07:00

I'm infamous for not "doing" nature. Going for a walk in the woods or on the beach is not a meditative or restorative experience for me. Chalk it up to physical awkwardness or just plain fear that I will fall and not be able to get up. Whatever. I found a kindred spirit in a pastor named Kathy last year. Kathy said she was a couch potato and couldn't understand why one would want to "go for a

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-84230673173358998902009-08-25T00:05:00.000-07:002009-09-02T12:36:46.787-07:00

When on emotional overload, paperwork looks like a good thing. Specifically, recording the religious preference(s) of newly admitted offenders. Most are fairly mundane. Christian, Muslim, Jewish, Catholic (or "Chatolic"). The Protestants occasionally spell out Lutheran, Methodist, Presbyterian. Okay, I'm lying about the last one. The guys can't spell Presbyterian. And want to guess what "

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-44166220401430825602009-08-22T19:18:00.001-07:002009-08-22T19:41:13.695-07:00

The question was the first of ten in the interview on Friday: What's the difference between a chaplain and a pastor?A chaplain is a pastor with a slightly different hat.Most pastors have a specific congregation. They come out of a specific belief system and organized group and they serve a particular group. They work with people who may be as diverse as anything on the planet, but there are some

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-53553215340110823512009-08-16T12:07:00.000-07:002009-08-16T12:22:10.076-07:00

It was very hot here two weeks ago. Seattle hit 104 the same day I got in my car with the temperature reading 108. It wasn't the heat that struck me so much when I was leaving. It was the silence.Usually when I leave the facility in the mid to late afternoon, there are people leaving the yard, heading in for the afternoon count. The offices in the administrative building are still busy and fans

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-55259496264117187272009-07-18T22:26:00.000-07:002009-07-18T22:35:31.326-07:00

... is the annual Revival.Jesus bands.Lots of testimonies.Altar calls."Sign this card if you've given your heart of Jesus!"Frantic card-counting in the chapel afterwardsThis year: no telephone books ripped, no bricks broken. We will create no trash in honor of the Lord.And where am I?Home.Thinking about the seeds that get planted all year.Pondering the seeds that will be sown this

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-75767826249955756352009-06-29T16:36:00.000-07:002009-06-29T16:50:24.014-07:00

Synchronicity and coincidence run neck and neck around here sometimes. I'm always on the lookout for connections between stories, but there are days when the two by four is wrapped in neon and brings along bumper stickers and T-shirts as well.For instance, this weekend, I dealt with two men whose brothers had died.And last week, two different men whose mothers had died.What's with that?Two weeks

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-7588466458845505592009-06-28T16:32:00.000-07:002009-06-28T16:54:56.994-07:00

"God did not make death, nor does God rejoice in the destruction of the living." Wisdom 1:13What a great line, and a prelude to the gospel story that tells of not one, but two women healed by Jesus. It's not often I can make a room full of men blush, so I love the story of the woman who suffers for twelve years with her hemmorhages. "Where do you think she was bleeding from? Her nose?" I can

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-86340288893535321032009-06-20T21:15:00.000-07:002009-06-21T11:31:36.955-07:00

and then again, maybe not.Back in the days of training, and every year since then, correctional workers get warned about being co-opted by the offenders (or the system, I like to add). It's too easy to "fall in" and do things the way everyone else does just because it causes the least resistance. So, for instance, when I'm short-tempered and cranky, I can bark orders and threaten to write an

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-71526665551518154452009-06-14T20:04:00.000-07:002009-06-28T16:55:58.479-07:00

Saint Teresa of Avila, the 16th century Spanish mystic, saw an angel rushing towards her, carrying a torch and a bucket of water. “Where are you going with that torch and bucket?” she asked. "What will you do with them?”“With the water,” the angel answered, “I will put out the fires of hell, and with the fire I will burn down the mansions of heaven; then we will see who really loves God.”I have

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-16936619392365540292009-06-13T07:57:00.000-07:002009-06-13T08:12:23.644-07:00

It's graduation season here in the Northwest. Yesterday was the last day of school for most districts and in the afternoon, the streets were full of students celebrating. Those in cars honked their farewells, those on foot cheered with lattes held aloft. The windows of cars and trucks have been decorated for weeks with "Proud parent of THS grad!" and "2009 rules!" "UW bound!" "Proud Scripps dad!"

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-30163421421543545702009-05-31T20:17:00.001-07:002009-06-13T07:45:44.932-07:00

The call came early, a little after seven. "Chaplain, we've had a death here.""I'll be there in an hour."When I arrived and turned in my keys, one of the officers behind the glass said he needed to talk to me, so I turned to the door that he'd come through, only to be met by a staff investigator at the gate who wanted to talk to me now. The officer said, "The superintendent wants to see her first

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-71116091334982140662009-04-30T21:26:00.000-07:002009-04-30T21:40:49.804-07:00

It has been too long. The last time I wrote, we were still early in Lent. Lent came and went, and so did Easter. We're headed into the fourth week of Easter and I'm still trying to come up for air.Worms. I did mention worms.They were the inspiration for my part of the homily on Easter Sunday. It poured rain on Easter. When I picked up my keys and headed for the chapel, I found the walkways

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-28561456454002005522009-04-02T18:22:00.000-07:002009-04-30T21:46:18.922-07:00

That was the greeting all day long yesterday. April 1st and it was snowing. Cold and snowing. The white stuff covered the garden that is begging to be planted. It covered the yard where the phones stood silent. It covered the jackets pulled up over the heads of offenders trudging toward lunch. It didn't stick to the sidewalks. Small miracle.It was all gone by three in the afternoon.A friend from

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-73291737962246924582009-03-08T19:00:00.000-07:002009-03-08T19:11:58.740-07:00

It's March 8th, for heaven's sake. Look out the windows of the chapel. There's a near white-out going on. Snow?? Again? Too true. I hadn't seen any snow in the whole hour that it took to drive from Tacoma to Shelton. When I got to the parking lot, it was sort of misting kind of hard (you have to live in Western Washington to get the nuances).I went inside, turned in my keys, went through two sets

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-1809403726200981092009-03-06T11:53:00.000-08:002009-03-08T18:59:57.176-07:00

One of the real joys of my job is doing something that is not in my job description. Twice a month, I facilitate a writers group. It's informal, meant to encourage creativity. The rules are few: bring something to read, tell us what kind of critique you want.Over the years, there have been poetry, essays, stories, how-to articles, love letters, even a couple of books. We listen to it all, no more

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-6522698753244356872009-03-01T22:49:00.000-08:002009-03-01T23:02:57.395-08:00

It's that time again. Lent is here. Every year we do a crash course in the purpose of Lent. The altar cloth changes--from the mainly blue Mexican serape to a deep purple, the candle from white to purple, we stop saying the Gloria and the Alleluia--though our wonderful worship sheets had the Alleluia included on the English side and not on the Spanish.We move Ash Wednesday to the First Sunday of

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-43590883999362906452009-02-19T22:41:00.000-08:002009-02-19T23:01:03.890-08:00

It took a while to find the last offender I needed to see tonight. I called the unit to let them know I was sending Michael back down to them. Mike's grandmother had died and we talked to his family about the information I needed to get the paperwork started for a funeral trip. Now Mike was on his way back to the unit and there was another guy I needed to see.This one--an officer had sent an

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-1081183637881391612009-02-10T19:01:00.000-08:002009-02-10T19:09:08.387-08:00

In between what seemed like a gazillion rosary and bible requests on Monday, there were at least a jillion phone calls. Most of them were pretty easy to deal with, but then there was this one:Ring. Ring."Good afternoon. Chaplain O'Donnell.""Chaplain? Hello, my name is Kyle."Kyle had a few questions to ask. "I understand that usually a community college is associated with a prison. Is that true of

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-49987627862408191072009-01-19T14:54:00.000-08:002009-01-19T14:56:53.435-08:00

I was on the tiers today in one of the units, going from cell to cell. "Who are you?" some people wanted to know. "Are you a counselor?" Counselors are really case managers, so, although I do some counseling around here, I'm not a counselor. "Counselors don't work on Sundays," I said a few times. Someone muttered, "Or any other day either" and there were chuckles up and down the tier.Counselors

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-63765213116791714912008-12-21T11:07:00.000-08:002008-12-21T11:19:34.173-08:00

It's after 11 on a Sunday morning and I'm in the office. At home. I am not at the prison having finished two services and taking a break before two more. I am home. In nine and a half years, this has happened fewer times than the fingers on one hand.The reason? Snow. A big wallop of it.I was in Tacoma when it began, planning to head to Shelton on Saturday afternoon, back to the place where I'm

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-8690091909742356152008-12-05T00:39:00.000-08:002008-12-05T00:49:25.574-08:00

I begin the Sunday Word and Communion service with, "Happy New Year!" Some of the guys look startled. Those who have been around a few years already know the joke. It's one of those "teaching moments" that work well.I get to talk about Advent, the start of the new church year. I say a bit about the gospel of Mark that we'll be listening to this year, with good chunks of John thrown in because

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-17182540148220354352008-11-26T17:43:00.000-08:002008-11-26T18:01:12.603-08:00

#1. About the atheist who wanted a non-kosher diet: I went to see him in his unit last Sunday. He wasn't there. He's sitting in the Closed Observation Unit (mental health area, monitored 24/7), wearing a smock, not talking to anyone. Seems he made that comment about kosher food while he was working in the kitchen and someone took offense. Smacked him over the head with a mop handle. Two black

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-70786426330361058922008-11-19T18:45:00.000-08:002008-11-19T18:56:44.408-08:00

The requests from offenders have multiplied in the last week or so. Many of the requests are from people who have been gone for a while and are now back because they violated their community custody (aka parole). Things have changed since they were last here.#1 request: "Please send me some Thanksgiving cards. I need 10 for my family and girlfriends." The chapel doesn't do cards anymore, I have

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8730591246158343371.post-34068370615164702732008-10-21T19:00:00.000-07:002008-10-21T19:17:29.445-07:00

Okay, God. I get it. I work in a prison with all sorts of people who have done all sorts of things. I listen intently to the stories, even the ones that begin with "I didn't do it."But tonight, I have my own story.I was headed to Seattle this morning for two days of classes. My carpool buddy showed up at 6:30am so we could get on the road for the 8am class. I grabbed up my bags and books and we

Shannonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02270396127498411004noreply@blogger.com3