The Narrow Gate

[The following is a guest post by George Boggs, a parishioner at Catholic Church of the Incarnation.]

In the autumn of 1972, the Cabell County Sheriff’s Department arrested and charged me with several counts for the possession and sale of controlled substances. I was a university graduate student and drug dealer. Needless to say, my arrest was one of the low points of my life. But not the lowest. 

I spent several days in the county jail. The jail was on the third floor of the County Court building. My cellmate was an accused murderer. I recall looking out the window one afternoon at a cold, rainy, West Virginia fall day. I watched the people below going about their business, bundled against the cold and wet, hunched over and scurrying, while I was dry and warm. And I wished more than anything else that I could be out there with them, cold, wet, and in that miserable weather. That was one of the low points of my life. But not the lowest.

After my grandmother mortgaged her home to secure my bond of $30,000 (in 1972 dollars) and I was released from jail, I faced an elderly judge. He leaned forward from his bench, pointed his finger at me, and said: “Young man, I disapprove of the dispensing of illegal drugs in my county. If you come before me for sentencing on these charges, I intend to see you put away for the maximum penalty under the law.” The maximum sentence was 30 years. Moreover, at that time, the West Virginia State Penitentiary in Moundsville was notorious as one of the most violent prisons in America. The gate to that penitentiary was wide and easy to enter, but it locked behind you. If I had survived my incarceration (many did not in that institution) and served a full sentence, I would have been 53 years old when I walked out that gate. That was the lowest point of my life.

Ultimately, two long years later, through the grace of a loving God (Whom I did not acknowledge at the time), felony charges were dropped and I spent a year on probation after pleading to a misdemeanor. I swore to myself that under no circumstances would I ever set foot in another jail or prison. I swore to myself to commit suicide instead. I would never walk through that gate again.

More than 30 years later, in 2005, my wife and I joined a Christian church following a significant conversion experience.  I was persuaded by friends to attend a retreat called the Walk to Emmaus, which is modeled on the Catholic Cursillo movement. This retreat experience led me to a follow-up gathering, which featured a witness speaker for Kairos Prison Ministry. Kairos Prison Ministry brings the Cursillo model to the incarcerated. I listened to the speaker and was impressed by a man who would voluntarily walk through the gate of West Tennessee State Prison, carrying nothing but the love of God and some chocolate chip cookies as an agape gift. I spoke with him following his talk and told him of my admiration for his devotion. I woke up the next morning and realized I had volunteered for what is called a Kairos “Inside Team”. I was alarmed about what I had done. I recalled my promise to myself.  But the faith formation I received from my Cursillo retreat and the love of Christ gave me strength. I found myself walking back through that gate after 30 years, but this time with a different focus and a different purpose. 

God’s work with me, however, was not finished when He led me back to the prison. My Cursillo formation led me to a prayer style called lectio divina (a Benedictine Scripture study practice). After meditating on John 6:53-54, I began the journey toward full communion with the Catholic Church.  Becoming Catholic was, by far, the most significant life changing event I have ever experienced; I realized, as my wife Babetta so perfectly described it, that “I was born Catholic, I just didn’t know it”.

Today, I assist prison inmates in two primary ways.  When needed, I teach RCIA classes on behalf of the Catholic chaplain at the Memphis Federal Correctional Institute, and I also work with the inmates to develop their mathematical skills so they can pass the GED before their release. I have witnessed the first Communion for any number of the incarcerated, and helped many pass the feared math section of the GED exam. If they are Catholic, I help them connect with Catholic parishes before their release.  None of this ever would have happened for me and for those inmates without the spiritual formation derived from Catholic Cursillo. 

There is another element to this story that must be borne in mind. Without the freedom to exercise our Christian faith in the public square, Kairos (nor any prison ministry) will not be entering any prison, anywhere. Believe me, there is significant activist opposition to faith-based programs in prisons despite the hunger of the incarcerated for Christ. Yet we are informed by none other than Christ Himself that “whatever you did for one of these least brothers of mine, you did for me.” (Matt 25:40). The Church teaches that we, the laity, must do these things to exercise our faith.

During this Fortnight for Freedom, we must pray, speak out, and stand in solidarity for the freedom to exercise our faith for the least among us, whether they are hungry, homeless, sick, naked, or in prison. The gate is narrow, and the road is hard, but we must not be deterred. It is our road. It is The Way. 

Archbishop Chaput put it bluntly: “If lay people don’t love their Catholic faith enough to struggle for it in the public square, nothing the bishops do will finally matter.”  Please join me and Catholic Church of the Incarnation in this prayerful struggle for a liberty that we hold dear.