Dear Dee,
I have just emerged from my singular “church.” In this place, Unitarian takes on a slightly different definition—the Church of a Single Unit—me. I don’t know for certain that I am the only UU here, but I suspect that is the case. I don’t go around asking people their religion, but someone once asked that of me. When I replied “Unitarian Universalist,” he looked at me as if I had said, “Hello, I just arrived from Mars.” When I was being processed in, there was a checklist of religions to choose from on a form I was given. UU was not listed. Rather than feel passed over or ignored, I chose to think, “How cool. I have an unlisted faith.” It’s like being a member of an ultra-exclusive club.
Thanks for the collection of chalice lightings you sent. I intend to take your advice and parcel the readings out as part of each Sunday morning’s sermon reading. I began that little ritual this morning and I do feel that it enriched the experience. The one I read this morning was by John where he used jazz as a metaphor for the UU experience. I would never have thought of that equation but I find it spot on—individuality functioning within the greater spectrum of harmony. The piece had a simple eloquence that I found very moving.
Today’s sermon was “Playing with the Italians.” There is an undeniable sense of power that comes with taking a stand for what is right. I may or may not have mentioned that prejudice is rampant in here. In fact, the inmates willingly self-segregate. In the chow hall, blacks sit on one side of the room with whites, Mexicans and Asians on the other. But on that side, there are Mexican tables, Asian tables, DWB (that is, Aryan Nation boys) tables, etc. It calls to mind the junior high school practice: You can’t sit at the popular kids’ table. I have a cellmate who is a shameless racist. He uses the “N” word without any compunction, but never in the presence of any of the black inmates. I have asked him repeatedly not to use it in my presence, but he has ignored me. About three weeks ago, he did it again. I stood up and said, “Do me a favor. Pretend that I’m black and don’t use that word around me, just as you don’t around Kenny” (our black cellmate). He rolled his eyes and got very quiet. But he hasn’t done it since. It felt good taking a stand.
Speaking of the DWBs, I have been noticing that they have begun flexing their muscles again. Last week, they literally threw my chair and one other man’s across the room and put theirs in our places in the TV room. Having made my stand in January, I have chosen not to do so again. Instinct tells me it would put a target on me. Taking a stand has its virtues but there are the realities of prison life to consider. In a way, it’s sad that, at this stage of their lives, their greatest achievement is telling people where they can and can’t sit to watch television.
That’s about it for another Sunday. As always, thanks for providing the spiritual food for me to chew on. I think these letters have become an integral part of my “church” experience. Writing about the sermons really helps me to cement the message into place.
Love, Kent
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