I spent last Thursday in a penitentiary Canyon City, Colorado volunteering with Breakthrough – an amazing organization working in and out of Colorado prisons (learn more here). Step to the line. I am one of 25 community members (retirees, teachers, business leaders, Google employees, engineers etc…) standing shoulder to shoulder in a brightly lit gym facing the 25 incarcerated men across from us (fathers, sons, artists, surfers, musicians etc..).
Thank you for this. Mondays are my favorite day of the week now, because it's the night I volunteer at Books Through Bars - a non-profit that collects used books and mails them to people in local prisons. I spend 2 hours in a little storefront space in West Philly reading letters from incarcerated people asking for books, making my way through the crowded rows of shelved donations and selecting titles that meet their requests and I think they'll enjoy. The letters are beautiful and heartbreaking. One man sent us a copy of his GED transcript with his most recent request, along with a note thanking us for sending him books over the past 5 years - he used the books we sent to get that GED. There wasn't a dry eye in the building as we passed that letter around. Sometimes it doesn't feel like I'm doing enough to try to improve what I can in the world, but moments like that allow me to open up to the idea that maybe the small actions I take have a bigger impact than I realize.
Anyway.... here's what I've got right now on those questions you asked at the end. It's not much, but it's given me something to think about:
What are the limits of compassion?
- I've yet to find the limits of compassion, because I always reach the limits of my own heart first.
What are its effects on you when you receive it?
- Nothing breaks me faster. It's the kryptonite to my emotional armor.
Has someone unfairly “filled in the blank” when it comes to you?
- Probably. Hell, I'VE unfairly filled in the blank about myself. (Like, probably more than anyone else has.)
Have you done this with someone else and realized you’re wrong?
- Absolutely. And the fact that I get to the point "and realized you're wrong" is only due to the cyclical nature of grace. I receive grace (aka compassion) from others, which enables Grace to change my heart, which enables my heart to see with new eyes, which enables me to give Grace to others, which allows me to receive grace.
Undone by your words here. I had an experience a little over a year ago, where I sat in a courtroom at the sentencing of a man who had committed horrific crimes against a child who is now in our care. (I run an organization called Love146, which cares for children who have been victims of sex trafficking and exploitation.) In all my years of doing this work, it was the first time that I ever attended a sentencing. I went because the survivor was not able to go, but she provided a videotaped 17 minute long victim impact statement. I was incredibly apprehensive about going. Mostly because I (and here’s my confession) have not had much love for the perpetrators who have harmed these kids. Honestly, I have mostly felt rage, contempt, maybe hatred. And that’s even with the full knowledge of the truth of what Dorothy Day said, “I really only love God as much as I love the person I love the least.” The Judge allowed the entire victim impact statement to be shown. For 17 minutes I watched the man watching the survivor share her story on a screen only a few feet away from him. And something shifted in me. I still can’t completely understand it and honestly, I’m still processing. But instead of feeling what I had expected to feel (rage, contempt, and hatred) I was instead caught off guard by only a deep, deep sadness. I’m looking at him and picturing a time that maybe his mother held him in her arms for the first time as an infant, or him sitting in his kindergarten class drawing with crayons or playing with friends. I sat there looking at him wondering, “what happened to you?” And for a moment I no longer saw what I had previously described as “a monster”, but I saw a human being. And as you say, “Human beings are inconveniently complex.” And not only a human being, but an “image bearer” of God. (I’m still processing that one). I realize it’s much easier to hate a monster than it is a human being. That’s probably why we dehumanize people by creating labels like that to describe them. Makes it easier to hate. We often tell children in our care that “we are so much more than the worst thing that has happened to us”. I’m only just beginning to understand that we are also more than the worst things we have ever done. All that to say…thank you for your words here, Nadia. I need them.
Nadia, thank you for this fine essay. You are so right about differentiating pity from compassion as pity is not empathy. I can only imagine the energy of all these men standing there sharing their life’s in quiet witness. The American prison system is especially cruel and I have difficulties finding words for it. Thus it makes it harder to differentiate the guilt of the system from the guilt of the individual. And still, as Viktor Frankl said somewhere setting some one free means also the freedom to one’s own guilt. Attributing it all to external factors like the system is as wrong as attributing it all to one “poor evil soul.” As always it is balancing all those factors and improve the ones we have control over. Thank you for being at these places and for letting us participate through your eyes. 🙏
Ps: what hit me personally was your line on self pity. I had not thought about my self pity as probably an expression of self contempt. That is quite an insight to behold.
“Cancer is pretty fucked up honey….” is for sure true, AND it is also a gift. It is clarifying and motivating. Chemo fatigue cannot be “pushed through” so I am learning at long last how to treat myself with compassion and grace. My relationship with God is more tangible than it has ever been, and I rest in knowing the only really important thing today is to love and be loved. I don’t want to deny that cancer SUCKS but neither do I want to deny its gifts. Blessings to your friend, and to you for accompanying her in her journey.
So much of this, for me anyway, comes down to forgiveness, first and foremost of self. It tends to radiate outward after that. So, I would suggest, the limits of our compassion is the limit of our ability to forgive.
As Corrie ten Boom said “Forgiveness is the key that unlocks the door of resentment and the handcuffs of hatred. It is a power that breaks the chains of bitterness and the shackles of selfishness.”
Thank you, Nadia! As a former federal prisoner, still on probation, and a registered sex offender, I am choked up as I read your post. I lived in a "church bubble" for most of my adult life. I met neighbors in prison that I likely would not have encountered in my white, male, middle-class, church-going, privileged life before prison. My neighbors were wounded and in many cases they had done horrible things. I belonged there because I was (and am) one of them. I discovered how beautiful they are, how vulnerable, how gifted they are. They are the people Jesus loved to hang out with. The terms of probation prohibit me from being in contact with them, but I remember them with thanksgiving.
Something you said here somehow got into the backstage area of a thing I've been thinking about since a priest said it to me years ago. You said:
"I remain committed to the truth that no one’s value can be calculated by just the sum total of their worst moments."
The thing the priest said to me, when I was talking to him about not being able to forgive someone who had injured me fifty years before, resulting in a life of chronic pain plus some surgery. I just wasn't able to, I said, and besides, the person still sneered at me every time they saw me and said mean things, so I didn't feel I could even start with the forgiveness. After a pause, I said, "I wish it could have been different." And the priest told me that being able to wish it could have been different was one of the steps on the way to forgiveness.
Somehow, what you said connects to that. "I remain committed to the truth that no one’s value can be calculated by just the sum total of their worst moments." It might take me another fifty years to figure out how, but here I am, and thanks for saying it. I'm going to ponder it.
Prison is a good place for Jesus people to be. And it's one of those "hidden places" in American society that people by and large avoid thinking about. Thanks for being there and thanks for shining a light!
I still remember the first time I heard the story of an old man speaking at a meeting. (I was in my first 30 days of sobriety) He had just gotten out of prison. He was there serving time (20 years) for felony manslaughter. He had driven head-on into a family of three. The father and one year old baby were killed, leaving the mother alone. After his talk everyone applauded his share. I was horrified. I mean WTF? So glad I stuck around and received the gift of compassion. Today when I hear people share about having killed someone while driving drunk, I am amazed by their courage to tell the truth. I always remember but for the Grace of God there go I. God Bless you for your volunteer work. Prayers for your daddy.
My default is to fill in the blank with my own experience and values. I create judgement based upon my perception, which is not even close to their truth. Maybe this 'blue line exercise' is the way to begin creating a more empathetic culture? I've done it at a conference of advocates and people with disabilities (different questions). It was eye opening. I cannot fathom how moving it must have been to do it with people in prison. Maybe, just maybe, if we did this (or even imagined doing it) in other places like city council and school board meetings with attendees, athletic games with a few of the coaches/spectators/referees/players, family reunions, churches, and parks, etc., the complexities and commonalities of life would cause all of us to be more empathetic. That experience has impacted me on many levels and remains with me.
I heard on NPR this morning that there are more people in US prisons with life sentences today than there were people in prison in 1970...whatever it is we are doing isn't working.
Thank you for this. I work at a correctional institution as an EC teacher. The thing I try to get across to people is that I’ll never believe anyone wakes up and says “I can’t wait to ruin lives today.” Many of us were one wrong move away from being in that same spot.
I've asked myself why I write about doing time in a 60s era Crippled Children's Hospital. It was an entire world, like an orphanage (you didn't see your fam for months) or a prison (crying got you sent to the cast room) but I was usually the least crippled in that I could walk unaided. I had many surgeries on my polio-paralyzed arm during 3 stays from ages 9 to 12, but I also learned self-reliance, the fine art of emptying bed pans into the autoclave and how to have compassion for others. The mere mention of the word pity still sends me into fits. We weren't pitiable, we were badasses in plaster casts. The Deep End (Lindasclare.substack.com) is my way of equalizing a comment one particularly horrid and brief boyfriend made: And do you swim in a circle? Damn right I do. Let's all look for ways to love each other, despite our flaws.
Thank you for today’s inconvenient truth. I keep a list of my three “near enemies” (three couplings) on my desk as daily reminders: 1. Attachment masquerades as Love, 2. Pity masquerades as Compassion, 3. Indifference masquerades as Equanimity. For me a daily reminder is needed. Even then I screw it up, but I keep working at love, compassion and equanimity. Thanks, again, for your message today!
Thank you for this. Mondays are my favorite day of the week now, because it's the night I volunteer at Books Through Bars - a non-profit that collects used books and mails them to people in local prisons. I spend 2 hours in a little storefront space in West Philly reading letters from incarcerated people asking for books, making my way through the crowded rows of shelved donations and selecting titles that meet their requests and I think they'll enjoy. The letters are beautiful and heartbreaking. One man sent us a copy of his GED transcript with his most recent request, along with a note thanking us for sending him books over the past 5 years - he used the books we sent to get that GED. There wasn't a dry eye in the building as we passed that letter around. Sometimes it doesn't feel like I'm doing enough to try to improve what I can in the world, but moments like that allow me to open up to the idea that maybe the small actions I take have a bigger impact than I realize.
Anyway.... here's what I've got right now on those questions you asked at the end. It's not much, but it's given me something to think about:
What are the limits of compassion?
- I've yet to find the limits of compassion, because I always reach the limits of my own heart first.
What are its effects on you when you receive it?
- Nothing breaks me faster. It's the kryptonite to my emotional armor.
Has someone unfairly “filled in the blank” when it comes to you?
- Probably. Hell, I'VE unfairly filled in the blank about myself. (Like, probably more than anyone else has.)
Have you done this with someone else and realized you’re wrong?
- Absolutely. And the fact that I get to the point "and realized you're wrong" is only due to the cyclical nature of grace. I receive grace (aka compassion) from others, which enables Grace to change my heart, which enables my heart to see with new eyes, which enables me to give Grace to others, which allows me to receive grace.
Undone by your words here. I had an experience a little over a year ago, where I sat in a courtroom at the sentencing of a man who had committed horrific crimes against a child who is now in our care. (I run an organization called Love146, which cares for children who have been victims of sex trafficking and exploitation.) In all my years of doing this work, it was the first time that I ever attended a sentencing. I went because the survivor was not able to go, but she provided a videotaped 17 minute long victim impact statement. I was incredibly apprehensive about going. Mostly because I (and here’s my confession) have not had much love for the perpetrators who have harmed these kids. Honestly, I have mostly felt rage, contempt, maybe hatred. And that’s even with the full knowledge of the truth of what Dorothy Day said, “I really only love God as much as I love the person I love the least.” The Judge allowed the entire victim impact statement to be shown. For 17 minutes I watched the man watching the survivor share her story on a screen only a few feet away from him. And something shifted in me. I still can’t completely understand it and honestly, I’m still processing. But instead of feeling what I had expected to feel (rage, contempt, and hatred) I was instead caught off guard by only a deep, deep sadness. I’m looking at him and picturing a time that maybe his mother held him in her arms for the first time as an infant, or him sitting in his kindergarten class drawing with crayons or playing with friends. I sat there looking at him wondering, “what happened to you?” And for a moment I no longer saw what I had previously described as “a monster”, but I saw a human being. And as you say, “Human beings are inconveniently complex.” And not only a human being, but an “image bearer” of God. (I’m still processing that one). I realize it’s much easier to hate a monster than it is a human being. That’s probably why we dehumanize people by creating labels like that to describe them. Makes it easier to hate. We often tell children in our care that “we are so much more than the worst thing that has happened to us”. I’m only just beginning to understand that we are also more than the worst things we have ever done. All that to say…thank you for your words here, Nadia. I need them.
Nadia, thank you for this fine essay. You are so right about differentiating pity from compassion as pity is not empathy. I can only imagine the energy of all these men standing there sharing their life’s in quiet witness. The American prison system is especially cruel and I have difficulties finding words for it. Thus it makes it harder to differentiate the guilt of the system from the guilt of the individual. And still, as Viktor Frankl said somewhere setting some one free means also the freedom to one’s own guilt. Attributing it all to external factors like the system is as wrong as attributing it all to one “poor evil soul.” As always it is balancing all those factors and improve the ones we have control over. Thank you for being at these places and for letting us participate through your eyes. 🙏
Ps: what hit me personally was your line on self pity. I had not thought about my self pity as probably an expression of self contempt. That is quite an insight to behold.
“Cancer is pretty fucked up honey….” is for sure true, AND it is also a gift. It is clarifying and motivating. Chemo fatigue cannot be “pushed through” so I am learning at long last how to treat myself with compassion and grace. My relationship with God is more tangible than it has ever been, and I rest in knowing the only really important thing today is to love and be loved. I don’t want to deny that cancer SUCKS but neither do I want to deny its gifts. Blessings to your friend, and to you for accompanying her in her journey.
“Perhaps there is no justice.
“Perhaps there is only love.
“Perhaps that is enough.”
—Street
So much of this, for me anyway, comes down to forgiveness, first and foremost of self. It tends to radiate outward after that. So, I would suggest, the limits of our compassion is the limit of our ability to forgive.
As Corrie ten Boom said “Forgiveness is the key that unlocks the door of resentment and the handcuffs of hatred. It is a power that breaks the chains of bitterness and the shackles of selfishness.”
Thank you, Nadia! As a former federal prisoner, still on probation, and a registered sex offender, I am choked up as I read your post. I lived in a "church bubble" for most of my adult life. I met neighbors in prison that I likely would not have encountered in my white, male, middle-class, church-going, privileged life before prison. My neighbors were wounded and in many cases they had done horrible things. I belonged there because I was (and am) one of them. I discovered how beautiful they are, how vulnerable, how gifted they are. They are the people Jesus loved to hang out with. The terms of probation prohibit me from being in contact with them, but I remember them with thanksgiving.
Something you said here somehow got into the backstage area of a thing I've been thinking about since a priest said it to me years ago. You said:
"I remain committed to the truth that no one’s value can be calculated by just the sum total of their worst moments."
The thing the priest said to me, when I was talking to him about not being able to forgive someone who had injured me fifty years before, resulting in a life of chronic pain plus some surgery. I just wasn't able to, I said, and besides, the person still sneered at me every time they saw me and said mean things, so I didn't feel I could even start with the forgiveness. After a pause, I said, "I wish it could have been different." And the priest told me that being able to wish it could have been different was one of the steps on the way to forgiveness.
Somehow, what you said connects to that. "I remain committed to the truth that no one’s value can be calculated by just the sum total of their worst moments." It might take me another fifty years to figure out how, but here I am, and thanks for saying it. I'm going to ponder it.
Prison is a good place for Jesus people to be. And it's one of those "hidden places" in American society that people by and large avoid thinking about. Thanks for being there and thanks for shining a light!
Thank you for the lists of where healing is and is not found. And for the reminder to be gentle with ourselves.
Dear Nadia,
I still remember the first time I heard the story of an old man speaking at a meeting. (I was in my first 30 days of sobriety) He had just gotten out of prison. He was there serving time (20 years) for felony manslaughter. He had driven head-on into a family of three. The father and one year old baby were killed, leaving the mother alone. After his talk everyone applauded his share. I was horrified. I mean WTF? So glad I stuck around and received the gift of compassion. Today when I hear people share about having killed someone while driving drunk, I am amazed by their courage to tell the truth. I always remember but for the Grace of God there go I. God Bless you for your volunteer work. Prayers for your daddy.
Love,
Kat
My default is to fill in the blank with my own experience and values. I create judgement based upon my perception, which is not even close to their truth. Maybe this 'blue line exercise' is the way to begin creating a more empathetic culture? I've done it at a conference of advocates and people with disabilities (different questions). It was eye opening. I cannot fathom how moving it must have been to do it with people in prison. Maybe, just maybe, if we did this (or even imagined doing it) in other places like city council and school board meetings with attendees, athletic games with a few of the coaches/spectators/referees/players, family reunions, churches, and parks, etc., the complexities and commonalities of life would cause all of us to be more empathetic. That experience has impacted me on many levels and remains with me.
I heard on NPR this morning that there are more people in US prisons with life sentences today than there were people in prison in 1970...whatever it is we are doing isn't working.
Thank you for this. I work at a correctional institution as an EC teacher. The thing I try to get across to people is that I’ll never believe anyone wakes up and says “I can’t wait to ruin lives today.” Many of us were one wrong move away from being in that same spot.
I've asked myself why I write about doing time in a 60s era Crippled Children's Hospital. It was an entire world, like an orphanage (you didn't see your fam for months) or a prison (crying got you sent to the cast room) but I was usually the least crippled in that I could walk unaided. I had many surgeries on my polio-paralyzed arm during 3 stays from ages 9 to 12, but I also learned self-reliance, the fine art of emptying bed pans into the autoclave and how to have compassion for others. The mere mention of the word pity still sends me into fits. We weren't pitiable, we were badasses in plaster casts. The Deep End (Lindasclare.substack.com) is my way of equalizing a comment one particularly horrid and brief boyfriend made: And do you swim in a circle? Damn right I do. Let's all look for ways to love each other, despite our flaws.
Nadia,
Thank you for today’s inconvenient truth. I keep a list of my three “near enemies” (three couplings) on my desk as daily reminders: 1. Attachment masquerades as Love, 2. Pity masquerades as Compassion, 3. Indifference masquerades as Equanimity. For me a daily reminder is needed. Even then I screw it up, but I keep working at love, compassion and equanimity. Thanks, again, for your message today!
Peace & joy,
Paul Brinkman
W. Paul Brinkman
ELCA Pastor - retired
(he, him, his)