Down the Nights and Down the Days: Advent for a Prisoner Priest
. . . Offering Mass in a prison cell is a little like offering Mass in a battlefield. We don't have the luxury of an altar, and must make do with what we've got - which isn't much. In the middle of the floor in this eight-by-twelve-foot cell are two concrete stumps that protrude about two feet out of the concrete floor. Just inches to one side of my stump is an iron bunk, and inches to the other side is a concrete counter protruding sixteen inches from the stone cell wall. At first, I offered Mass sitting on the concrete stump with my Mass kit spread at the edge of my bunk. One of my treasures is a Hammond World Atlas. Whenever TSW readers post comments that mention where they are, Pornchai and I like to find their town or city in the Atlas. So far, we have had readers from 31 countries. . . .
"Phasers on Stun, Mr. Spock!" Captain Kirk's Star Trek Epiphany
. . . Back in 1966, to make matters worse (for Debbie, at least) our family had the only color television on our block. We were by no means privileged. Our father brought it home that year as a Christmas bonus from his boss. I remember the day we first plugged it in. We quickly became the popular kids in the neighborhood! "This means," my 12-year-old sister tactlessly proclaimed, "that every nerd in the neighborhood will be in our living room for Star Trek." Debbie had to admit, at least, that Star Trek was far better in color. We discovered, for example, that only the crew members wearing red shirts were done in by aliens each week, and the slightly green tinge of Mr. Spock's skin made us wonder if perhaps Leonard Nimoy might really be Vulcan. . . .
A Ghost of Christmas Past
. . . Many of the Christmas cards that now adorn my cell wall tell of a Light shining in the darkness. You have cast a light into the darkness and spiritual isolation of prison this year. It's a light magnified ever so brightly, in my life and in yours, by Christ. The darkness can never, ever, ever overcome it. . . . When a young prisoner came to Dr. Frankl in the throes of despair, he was cautioned not to "waste grace." Dr. Frankl advised him that his days of suffering must be offered for the family he may never see again. It's a difficult concept for someone on the wrong end of injustice, but the young man was transformed by that advice. . . .