Local Catholics find God behind bars
*A group from the Sheil Catholic Center begins the second year of its weekly ministry visits to Cook County Juvenile Detention Center.

By Michael Morain
Medill Grad Student

Tatiana Hoyos isn't used to jail.

After filing through the X-ray security gate and signing a clipboard, she follows two priests down the long, brown-brick hallways of the detention center's school.

Among the colorful felt banners promoting reading and math hangs a poster printed with tidy, blue letters: DO NOT ASK YOUR TEACHER TO: mail a letter for you, make a phone call for you, buy you cough drops…

As the visitors work their way around the windowed hallway ringing the inside courtyard, a group of kids play basketball outside. While a few shoot hoops, sideliners scrunch their hands up into the sleeves of their uniform jackets to keep warm. From the concrete courtyard, the only visible parts of the outside world are the two white spikes atop the Sears Tower and the moon.

The scene is familiar to many of the approximately 475 residents at the Cook County Juvenile Detention Center. All of the residents await to appear in court for charges of crimes ranging from drug possession to armed robbery to aggravated assault to murder.

Many, in fact, will be in and out of prison for the rest of their lives.

"It's a totally different lifestyle. I can't even imagine," says Hoyos, 21, a junior at Northwestern University.

She, along with six other Evanston residents, visited the detention center Thursday night. The trip, organized by the Sheil Catholic Center, 2110 Sheridan Rd., begins the second year of the group's weekly visits.

"I was so surprised that they were so little," says Hoyos.

Nearly all of the residents are between the ages of 13 and 16. Most are boys who end up in the center more than once.

A row of 18 cells, each with a number etched on a reinforced glass door, lines the back wall of the unit. Each cell, about twice the size of a small elevator, contains a bed, a toilet, and a small plastic chair.

Residents, scattered around tables in the common room, play cards. A few watch television or play video games.

"Doug," a boy who hasn't quite grown into his shoes or his issued green t-shirt, sits down for some questions. This is his fifth stay at the center.

Every morning he wakes up at 6:45, eats breakfast in the unit, and sits in a chair, silent, for what "seems like hours." Usually, he looks forward to daily trips to the gym after classes. In the evening, he watches television for a while before the 8:30 curfew -- too early, incidentally, for most of last month's Cubs games.

What's the hardest part of the day?

"Visits," he says, turning to keep an eye on the rest of the room. According to Doug, nobody comes to visit him -- not his mom, not his foster parents, and not his older brother who's spending time in the "Doc," the Department of Corrections.

"My heart hurt," says Nora O'Connor, 42, of Evanston, who works at a private investment firm downtown. "I don't know how someone can go into a situation like that and not be touched.

What strikes O'Connor is Doug's resignation. Describing his foster family's neglect and his friends' drugs, he seems to accept the idea that he will spend the rest of his life in and out of prison.

"Where do we stop that cycle of brokenness, that never-ending hamster wheel of broken life?" she wonders.

O'Connor admits an instinct to fix things, but realizes she can only do so much. "Rapt attention, that's all I have to give -- my ear and prayers," she says.

Along with her desire to help Doug, O'Connor hopes her experience at the center will help her reconnect with her own 17-year-old son. She sees some similarities between the two.

"Being able to accept somebody's anger without judgment -- if I'm able to do that for somebody that I met for five minutes, how can I not do that for somebody I gave birth to?" she asks.

After a few more minutes, Doug seems antsy to get back to his card game. Before the small group leaves, Father Denny Kinderman asks Doug if he'd like to pray.

"How about you go ahead and I just listen in," Doug answers, offering his hands to the others around the table.

Prayers like these play a big part in jail ministry, but according to Father David Kelly, the "spirituality of presence" is often what counts. For residents like Doug, who rarely sees his family, regular visits mean a lot.

"The whole idea is to just be with the people, witnessing that this is an important, blessed place," says Kelly, a member of the Missionaries of the Precious Blood, who has been visiting jails since 1977.

Even so, Kelly counsels first-time visitors to expect some resistance. "The mission of a jail is security," he says, contrasting the visits to hospital ministry, where doctors and patients often invite faith as a tool for healing. Since only two guards are assigned to each group of residents, they don't always welcome changes to the routine.

But Kelly notes that healing takes place in the detention center, too. And the benefits go both ways.

"For me, it's very powerful," Kelly says. "I feel honored that the youth are so willing to speak from their heart…It has shaped my spirituality as much as I've been able to shape anyone else's."

Even on tough days, Kelly says he always leaves the center energized, summing up his motivation to continue his work: "I believe that's where God is."

*Editors Note: Kolbe House Ministry is the source of the prison ministry.