Day 45: Gimme Some of That Old Time Religion!

We have a lot church in prison. And not just services, but propaganda hanging on the walls and in our library, and a very regular presence of proselytizers.

Bibles, pamphlets, and various novels from the Left Behind cult series are available for anyone to read. The last time I saw this large of a stack of Guideposts was on the back of my Grandmother's toilet. If this still is not enough religious literature for us prisoners, we can buy a copy of the Christian Bible for seven dollars. Muslims, however, must pay $13 for a Qur'an. I guess religious equality includes a premium charge.

Each Sunday evening has a church service - Christian, of course. There are also two Bible Study sessions each week. Aesthetically, all of this is incredibly revolting. These services are held in the Day Room, with music via boom-box and the make-shift congregation of ten led by the nasally, off-key jail house preacher. A far cry from the majesty of Notre Dame.

Obviously I do not attend these services, as jail and church top the list of most excruciatingly dull ways to spend time. Experiencing the combination would likely send me straight to a bed sheet noose. But recently a jail house preacher had taken one of the prisoners aside, away from the church service, and I overheard their conversation.

Derick is cynical of the prisoners who choose to participate. "If you are out there on the street, never in church but getting drunk and smoking crack, and then you come here and all of the sudden care about church - well, you are probably hiding something."

I am cynical too, but not about the people who choose to seek out help. Because that is what they are doing by attending these services, albeit in a very wrong-headed manner. The conversation I overheard was very blunt: the prisoner was here due to his moral failure at not avoiding Satan's temptation, and if he would only choose a righteous path in the future, he would never be back in jail.

I am angry at this message, because it absolves society of our collective responsibility for the sorry state many of these people must live: a life in poverty or a life as a member of the working-poor, in a country ravaged by a Government War against Drug Addicts, Users, and The Poor.

Moralizing and lecturing others is a luxury of the wealthy, fat, and happy. It would be far more helpful if this time was spent helping the prisoners who need it in their current life rather than their alleged afterlife. Instead of job programs, educational opportunities, health care, and child care, they get lectures on how their own personal moral failure is the only reason they are where they are.

I admire people who wish to help those less fortunate. But sometimes the cure is worse than the disease.