Wrestling With God

by Hanley, Don;

  Dan sat down and repeated, "What kind of radical school are we running in Booneville?" He chuckled and said, "Yeah, I would say we now have five members of our radical program - and only three are Catholic - Jerry Haloran, Jack Carroll, and me. Only two heathens, you and Rebecca." Dan winked at me and I smiled back. "Oh, tomorrow, we'll add a sixth, an African-American woman Jerry found. I don't know whether or not she's Catholic. And what difference does this make, Henry?"

  We were all quiet as mice, even April stayed quiet as she kept looking at everyone with a puzzled expression on her face. We heard, "Oh, so you want to know how many people the archbishop thinks he's got under his thumb? You can tell him he can be assured that there is no one under his big, ancient thumb."

  Dan hung up the phone and announced, "Well, the warden isn't exactly happy, but I still have a job."

  April joined us and we all clapped.

  I never heard Jan sing before, but in a beautiful soprano voice, she began singing, "Oh, Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes, are calling. From glen to glen Jerry and Jack both joined her and at the end, Agnes said, "Now that will be my favorite Christmas song."

  Chapter 7

  JERRY

  On Monday, the day after Christmas, we began our first formal team meeting promptly at 9:30. I should say, "informal" because everyone was dressed casually in jeans and long-sleeved shirts, including J.J. and Rebecca. J.J. was meeting everyone but me for the first time and her very pleasant personality allowed her to fit in immediately. We sat in a ragged circle in front of the fireplace. J.J. informed everyone that she had finished all of her courses at St. Louis University and, like me, was ready to work with us as part of her doctoral dissertation.

  Before we began planning for the monumental task of transforming a prison, Rebecca said, "I have a hunch that your comment, Jack, that you have spent l8 years 'wrestling with God' has some bearing on our project. Would you please say more about what that means to you? I only have a few second-hand comments from Jerry on that intriguing idea."

  I added, "Yes, Jack, I agree with Rebecca. I think it is somehow central, like are we looking for inmate counselors who are wrestling with God, as you say?"

  Jack chuckled, "Well, to begin with, I never used those words before that day, Jerry, when you asked me how I managed to be so different from my brother, the priest. I've thought a lot about it since and I like what the phrase symbolizes: A person's struggle to find meaning and hope in life. It must be an individual thing, not a bunch of words or dogmas or moral pronouncements provided by some authority outside ourselves, and presented as something we must believe on faith. It must be a pondering struggle and our own—not someone else's. I think it is necessary that we read and study as widely as possible. But in the final analysis, it is our experience, thought and experience—our 'wrestling'—that defines the kind of person we are. And, it is not just a bunch of ideas or words; it must be a rather constant way of being. Like when I'm with a bunch of inmates who are about to go to blows with one another, I need to be centered, myself, if I'm going to make any difference in helping to change the situation."

  Rebecca said, "Jack, I don't know what 'being centered' means. It sounds awfully abstract. I want to be centered right now. How do I do it?"

  "My guess is, Rebecca, that you are already centered. You are here with us, paying attention to what I am saying and what others are feeling. I noticed how graciously you welcomed J.J. into your home and introduced yourself to her and to everyone else. You didn't seem to be distracted or in need of being pretentious in any way. And, to me, that is being centered."

  "Thank you. So it is being present without having to work at it and trying to make some kind of impression. And, I'm guessing, definitely not trying to intimidate or being pretentious. That is helpful. Would you please give us another example or two?"

  I looked around and everyone seemed interested in this discussion. Jack said, "Well, what Dan did at Midnight Mass is an example. He had an inspiration after his wonderful reunion with his daughter and could not abide the archbishop's condemnation of gay marriage. I would say he had wrestled with God and came up with an answer and an action."

  J.J. slapped Dan's leg and exclaimed, "Wow! Dan, you're the dude who told the archbishop that he was full of crap about gay marriage?"

  Rebecca, Jack, and I started laughing. Dan smiled sheepishly. J.J., looking puzzled, asked, "What's so funny?"

  "You are." Rebecca laughingly said, "Calling Dan's message 'telling the archbishop he's full of crap! ' I think it's hilarious." Both Jack and I nodded in agreement.

  J.J. shook her head, laughed and added, "Well, he is, and not just on that issue."

  Dan asked, "Are you a Catholic, J.J.?"

  "Lord no. But, after four years at St. Louis U., I think I could become one ... with the Jesuit branch."

  We all laughed at the idea that the Jesuits represented a separate branch of Catholicism. I wanted to hear more, "So, Jack, tell us more of your thoughts. What are some of your own struggles?"

  "The one I've been struggling with for over twenty years is killing my dad." Jack looked around and saw that all of us were definitely focused on his words. "I still don't know whether or not I did the right thing. Now, I am a proponent of non-violence and, of course, against murder. But when I think of my dad's abuse of Mom and if I had not killed him, he would have continued to hurt her nearly every day of her life. If I had shot him in the leg, say, and wounded him, Mom would have nursed him back to health and he'd have beaten her some more. So I don't know."

  Rebecca asked, "Jack, would you say your mom wrestled with God?"

  "I've thought of that nearly every day of my life, too. My answer is 'yes' and 'no.' Mom was thoroughly brain-washed to believe that everything the Church said came directly from God. At the same time, she would shake her head and say things like. 'You know, son, I think you did the right thing in killing your dad, but still, it was wrong. I think I'll die being confused.' And after all these years, I kind of think the same thing. I'll die confused." He took a deep breath, blew it out, and added, "And you know what?" He looked around at the five of us again, "That is okay. I'm okay with not knowing what is exactly right and what is wrong. My mother was one of the most loving persons I've ever known, so in that sense she wrestled with God, or maybe saying she was inseparable from God would be a better way of putting it. So ..."

  J.J. said, "I agree, Jack, we, I mean, everybody has to learn to live with ambiguity, or we'd go nuts, or become one of those holier-than-thou pains in the ass. Like your bishop."

  "J.J., I really like your use of words. May I quote you?" Rebecca grinned, and seeing the look on J.J.'s worried face, added, "Just kidding. And, Jack, going back to J.J.'s question, it sounds like your 'wrestling with God' is just talking to ourselves about what is right or wrong and about moral questions. Is that what you mean?"

  "No, not at all. It's about consciousness, about realizing that our thoughts, especially our judgments, and how our words and actions affect our lives and the lives of others. If we have a sense, a realization, that our words and our actions are life-giving and loving, then we are in touch with our true selves and our God-given power. After reading your book on your struggle with your relationship, I felt that Jerry was really wrestling with God, and you were too. I thought, as I read it, that it would be a denial of love and grace if the two of you had split and gone your separate ways."

  I held up my coffee cup and loudly proclaimed, "I'll drink to that! " Dan and Jack laughed and J.J. looked puzzled. To include J.J., I said, "I'll give you a copy of Rebecca's book about a priest, me, and a woman, Rebecca, who fell in love and married. Of course, I like the story."

  Rebecca wasn't satisfied, "Jack, I didn't think of grace, or life-giving love, I just was in love with this big lug. Sometimes, it was just pure lust!" She looked over at me and added, "Now, Jerry, don't say a word or I'll smack you."

  "Yes, ma'am."

  J.J., being new to all this, wanted to know more. "Jack
, is this consciousness stuff something we are born with, earn, or just lucky to have because we're selected by God?"

  Jack rubbed his chin and looked at the ceiling. I don't know whether or not he realized that he was trying to answer a question that has puzzled saints and theologians for centuries. In many ways, he was giving better answers than almost all of my seminary professors. "J.J., we don't know. I believe we are born with this grace or power and if we are lucky, we have the encouragement and education to begin realizing how wonderfully loving and powerful we are. I hope that your psychology program at the U. has opened you to these ideas. For me, Carl Jung, Carl Rogers, and the modern positive psychologists are working on it. Too often they are all too academic and trying to find a way of measuring it. It's not measurable. And people like B.F. Skinner are, as J.J. would say so eloquently, 'full of crap'" We all laughed ... even J.J.

  Dan said, "Jack, I've been working with you for years and now I'm hearing what you have been trying to teach me all this time. It is condensed and sounds like we may be looking for mystics among the inmates. Is this so? And, Jack, I've been wanting to ask you this for months, maybe years, would you consider yourself a mystic? You know, like Ghandi, Martin Luther King, Mother Theresa, or Nelson Mandela?"

  Jack shook his head vigorously and said, "God, Dan, what a question. If I said, 'Yes', then I wouldn't be a mystic. And I'm sure that when all those people were alive, they would have told you, 'NO,' too. It is all way beyond words. A wonderful falling in love experience, I believe, is a mystical experience, if it is true love, so, oh, hell, I don't know. And like not being sure about the rightness or wrongness of everything we do, it is OK not to know for sure. How's all that for ambiguity?"

  J.J. said, "OK, I think I'm beginning to get a little hint of what you're talking about. We're looking for really good people who are true 'people persons,' right?" Jack nodded and she went on, "So what level of consciousness are we looking for when selecting inmate-counselors?"

  Giving Jack a break, I spoke up, "The training of counselors will be part of my job—and my dissertation. I've been thinking about this, too. So here are some of my ideas on what we should look for. I think our prospects should be thoughtful men who read and discuss moral issues, are relatively free of the hurt and anger that got them in prison in the first place. They also need to really want to live a better life and to work to make a better world."

  Dan added, "I agree with what you're saying, Jerry, and of the couple of hundred inmates Jack has counseled, I imagine that there will be about forty or so who would fill the bill. What do you think, Jack?"

  "I think we could find about that many, thirty or forty. Some of the best are just learning to read. I don't think being literate is a prerequisite for our prospects because many of those chosen, I'll call them 'high consciousness' men, cannot read but would be excellent counselors."

  J.J. wrote that down, and I noticed she had just moved into the slot of secretary of the group. That was a plus for us and for her. She asked, "Will our program include literacy training? Or is the prison already providing that?"

  Dan answered, "We began a small program last year, and it needs to be expanded. That will not be our program."

  Our group continued to talk for nearly two hours and often seemed to raise more questions than solutions. We did manage to establish that we would need to limit our work to the inmates who were drug free, in a drug rehab program if needed, and a work or occupational training program. Dan and Jack would work out the logistics of how to select the inmates. J.J. would research the work done in Europe and other U.S. states that related to our project and Rebecca would assist her on writing it up and possibly conduct interviews. I would immediately begin to research and formulate the training program for the inmate-counselors.

  We broke for lunch. Agnes, Jan, and Eileen brought over gourmet salads and sandwiches. The trio was invited to eat with us. I was sure that Dan sitting down with Agnes and Jack with J.J. was not accidental. I was close enough to hear Jack tell J.J. that she was only the second beautiful woman he'd talked to in over twenty years.

  After lunch, we spent another hour planning exactly what we would be doing for the next two weeks - which would include the New Year holiday. Dan invited us to join he and Jack at the prison on January 2nd.

  When everyone left, I asked Rebecca, "Did you notice the sparks between Dan and Agnes? They're about the same age, aren't they?"

  "I think so; both are in their sixties. Ruth might be a bit older but not out of the range. I've never seen her so social and peppy. And what about Jack and J.J.? Was she flirting or is that just her style?"

  "I think a little of both. She was very out-going when we met for the interview, but I wouldn't call it flirting. Anyway, this is a very friendly and social group. And I think they are all dedicated to do some good in the world. It will be good to be paid for doing my dissertation. Father Patrick Peterson told me he would be glad to chair my committee and gave me several names he thought would be good committee members. It's going to be a busy and good new year."

  April bounced into the room and jumped on Rebecca's lap. Plato and Julie followed and said, "Hey, guys, I'm headed to the gym. Remember, tonight's the opening game of the holiday tournament. You're going to be there, right?"

  "Of course," I said, and didn't dare tell her that I had forgotten. I glanced at Rebecca and I'm sure she was thinking the same thing. Yes, it was going to be a busy year.

  Chapter 8

  REBECCA

  On the Wednesday between Christmas and New Year's, I decided to get back to Jack's project and conduct some interviews. I wanted to bring Julie along because we have had a hard time spending one-to-one time ever since April was born, but she was in the middle of the holiday basketball tournament and days she didn't have a game, she had practice, so ...

  As I turned down the muddy unpaved street in Coleman, Illinois's shanty town, I rather wished I had taken Jerry up on his offer to join me on this trip. I had insisted that he stay home and spend some time with April and Julie. I also told him that before we had ever met, I had always conducted interviews alone for over fifteen years and getting married did not turn me into a poor, helpless little woman. He held up his hands in surrender and muttered, "Yes, ma'am, no offense, ma'am." I punched him in the chest—lightly.

  To say that the houses on this street were shabby was almost a compliment. I found the house with the 1256 Elm Street address after driving only half a block. It was one of the two addresses in Coleman that Richy Quinn gave me. I hoped to find Susan Gilsinnen, one of Father Joseph Carson's, aka Joe Carroll's, sexual victims. The car in the driveway looked abandoned and there was room behind it to park. I was thankful that I was wearing Nikes with rubber boots as I stepped into the slush.

  I knocked on the door with a small broken window with cardboard taped over the open space. After my third and loudest knock, a small, emaciated woman squinted up at me and growled, "Whatdawant?"

  I tried to look and sound gracious as I said, "Good morning, ma'am. I'm looking for Susan Gilsinnen. Does she live here?"

  "Nope. Used to, before she went and shot herself, 'bout eight years ago. Poor creature was only seventeen years old. Damn shame. Whatcha want to see her for, anyway?"

  "I'm so sorry to hear she died. I wanted to talk to her about a priest named Father Carson."

  "I heerd about him. Think Susie knew him. 'Member her saying he was a sonofabitch. Kinda bad way ta talk about a clergyman, but mebbe he deserved it."

  "Are you Susie's mother?"

  "Yeah, not a very good one though, I guess. Well, sorry ta disappoint ya but I gotta take my medicine." She shut the door.

  No interview, but I had a feeling that somehow Father Joe had something to do with Susie's suicide. When I got to the car, I asked Garman, my handy GPS guide, where 458 Shady Lane was located. Garman's lovely feminine voice told me it was only six blocks away. I hoped Marie Sorrel was there and knew Susie Gilsinen.

  Only two blocks from t
he shabby houses was a pleasant and prosperous-looking town square. I passed an impressively large Catholic church, which I assumed once housed the now-infamous (in my mind, anyway) Father Joe Carson. Shady Lane was a quiet tree-lined paved street on which the snow had been cleared. I parked in front of 458 and walked up the cleared sidewalk to the front door. The house was probably a hundred years old but had never seen a neglected day in all those years. It wasn't a mansion, but still, an impressive place with a wide front porch you could hold a dance on. After ringing the doorbell only once, an attractive young woman dressed in a blue sweater and jeans and holding a baby opened the door. She had a welcoming smile and a cheery, "Good morning. How may I help you?"

  The friendly greeting helped me let go of most of the tension I carried from the Gilsinnen house. I held out my hand, "I'm Rebecca Brady, and I hope you can help me find Marie Sorrel."

  Taking my hand, she said, "I'm Marie. Please come in, you look harmless." She chuckled.

  "I like to think I am ... most of the time." The baby, dressed in pink, smiled at me. "My toddler, April, only smiles at harmless people and she's always right. So I guess your beautiful girl is the same. What's her name?"

  Maria motioned to the couch and I sat down, and she sat in a facing recliner. "Her name is Suzanne, but we call her Suzie. So tell me what you wanted to see me about."

  "Something quite delicate and difficult, I'm afraid. I'm a journalist and I am trying to gain information on a priest who was stationed here in Coleman around ten years ago. His name is Joseph Carson. A young man who was hurt by Father Carson gave me your name. The fellow's name is Richy Quinn." Maria stiffened and frowned. I added, "Richy said he met you only once, so you might not remember him."