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Sunday, January 24, 2010

KAIROS

ORIGINS OF KAIROS
By Ike Griffin

The Kairos program came out of the Cursillo movement created by Eduardo Bonnin and other young men active with Catholic youth in 1944 as a means to soften the hearts of Spanish men, hardened by war, back into a loving relationship with community and the church. The name Cursillo is a short form of El Cursillo en Cristianidad, or Short Course in Christianity. “Kairos” is a Greek word meaning “in the fullness of time” or God’s special time, or at the right time, as contrasted with “chronos” or linear time.

Spanish men had largely given up participation in the church, leaving that socially required connection to their women. Boys, born into the church, would participate up to their Confirmation, after which they typically withdrew. Men were obligated to fight, first a bloody civil war spanning decades, then through the harshness of World War II. Spanish Christianity had long suffered the effects of the Inquisition. Twentieth century Iberia had inherited large migrations of Moors, Muslims, Jews and Christians, each adding complexity to civil strife over dominance. The Inquisition left a Christian Spain, but eroded the self-image of churchmen and accelerated their flight from daily participation in the church. That trend may still be present today, but in 1940’s Spain, they were already experiencing a post-war collapse of the institutional church.

Bonnin’s efforts to ignite an interest in religion led him to consult the brightest modern theologians and to study the work of leading psychologists of that period, including Carl Rogers and Erich Fromm. They began to understand that people need to find joy, mutual support and acceptance in religion, and that those elements were largely missing from the local experience. Bonnin’s group felt that small groups were the best way to deliver Godly healing, igniting love and compassion among participants. Through some divine intervention, they were led to shape an experience steeped in original blessing rather than original sin.

The first Cursillo experience occurred in 1944. Only the laity participated. Priests came in to conduct Mass, but otherwise had little involvement. Not until 1949 was Cursillo recognized by the Catholic Church, allowing it to rapidly spread around the world. Recognition by the Roman Catholic Church cost Cursillo its ecumenical approach, but the cost to the Catholic Church was an awakening of the laity and corresponding end of their total dependency upon the clergy. Whatever the costs, Cursillo became the most significant spiritual renewal movement to come out of the church in several hundred years.

A Cursillo was formed for women about the time the movement broke from the confines of Spain. Psychological aspects of confession and confrontation of personal failures required programs to remain single sex experiences.

In 1957, Cursillo came to the United States as a Roman Catholic program modeled after the Spanish movement. The success of the program in igniting the fire of God’s love in men’s hearts, renewing their interest in the church, and service to the community helped it grow rapidly into a nationwide movement. Other Christian denominations and churches recognized the power of the movement, but some of the non-liturgical churches could not abide with restraints put on the movement by the Catholic Church.

When a creative energy is oppressed, it seems to find a path to another form, manifesting itself in new and beautiful ways. So it was with the ecumenical aspects of the earlier Cursillo. Through newly empowered laity, real ecumenicity became possible, breaking forth in new form. The new ecumenical Cursillo, sprang forth as The Walk to Emmaus, Tres Dias, Via de Cristo, The Great Feast, Koinonia, El Camino, The Great Feast, Jubilee Journey and a score of other ecumenical expressions of the parent model. New coed programs spawned Marriage Encounter.

By 1975, the collective expressions of Cursillo had gathered considerable momentum. Models of the movement exploded through the liturgical churches as Episcopal, Lutheran, Methodist and Presbyterian expressions became evident. The movement spread rapidly across the United States and around the world with great force. In the year 2000, more than eighty-thousand people experienced the United Methodist Church’s “Walk to Emmaus” weekend. Ecumenical models of the movement continue to grow, while most denominational models seem to have peaked and show less growth.

Kairos Prison Ministry began in Florida in 1976 at Union Correctional Institution, with a group of men inspired to present a “Cursillo” in prison. Their program was fashioned from the ecumenical models of Cursillo, shaped and refined to address the unique environment of prison. Kairos is the prison expression of those movements. The effort spread beyond their wildest imagination! By 1990, there were 53 programs presented in eleven states. At the millennium year 2000, there were 246 programs in medium and high security institutions in 28 states, Canada, England, South Africa, and Australia vigorously maintaining active Kairos ministries. At the beginning of 2010, there are more than 440 programs in 36 states plus 8 foreign countries.

Kairos Outside is a program designed for women whose loved ones are incarcerated. Significant women of the incarcerated “do time” right along with their loved ones – often a lonely vigil of shame and isolation. Kairos Outside provides a safe place for these women to honestly confront their pain and begin healing, by experiencing Christ’s love in a way not always available in their denominational churches.

Kairos Torch is presented for juvenile offenders within the juvenile justice system and is growing rapidly. Many younger prisoners (under age 25) have reached physical maturity without having experienced unconditional love delivered through another human being, preventing, or at least retarding, their emotionally and spiritually maturity. Kairos Torch provides that experiential opportunity for them, belatedly but powerfully delivered.

Those who are fortunate enough to participate in a Kairos, Kairos Outside or Torch, are drawn, at least for a few days, from a familiar cold and harsh environment into a warm, nurturing environment. Almost invariably they recognize something they have longed for all their lives, probably without knowing how destitute and void of love their lives have been, not knowing the nature of the hole they carry in their heart. For this particular audience, the incarcerated, Kairos is a life changing experience. Kairos, it is said, moves ones world-view a short but critical distance, from the head to the heart.

Wednesday, January 20, 2010

BILL

BILL ENTER
By Ike Griffin

Bill stood before the Rotary Club in Sanford, Florida in his painter white bib overalls. He had come directly there from painting the ATM at Sun Bank down the street. That he was the only person in the room in work clothes didn’t bother him in the least. “I am Bill Enter and I live down in Orlando. As you can see, I am a painter, and I have a contract to paint ATMs for Sun Bank. I am here to talk about my Kairos experience. I went through Kairos more than ten years ago, while doing five years as a sex offender. I began sexually abusing my stepdaughter when she was eight years old. By the time she was eleven, she couldn’t stand it any longer and turned me in to the authorities. I deserved to be in prison. The only good thing that happened to me there was attending Kairos, where I learned that people could love me in spite of what I had done.”

I had felt compelled to hire Bill to take over Advanced Kairos Training after watching him work as the rector of a Kairos weekend, ten years after he had been through a weekend as an inmate in that very prison. Incredibly, he had the nerve to tell participants particulars of his crime, unheard of in a prison setting. After witnessing that performance of fearless honesty, I asked Bill to join me in a presentation to a local Rotary Club. I wanted to see if his fearlessness carried into the free world.

Having told the Rotarians something of the work of Kairos in prisons, I introduced Bill as a graduate of the program. Bill began giving them the same brutal honesty he had delivered in prison as I quietly searched for a safe place to dive in case the audience started throwing things. He not only confessed his crime, he continued that he taught a Sunday School class at a church where his students were of the same age as his victim profile. Each year, he would visit every parent in their home to introduce himself, tell who he is, what he had done, where he had been and offer them an opportunity to move their child to another class. He had never lost a student.

Bill Enter was a convicted felon, sex offender, biker, devoted husband to his wife, trusted volunteer trainer employee of Kairos and became one of the best friends I have ever had. Bill died in a motorcycle accident coming through Baltimore on Interstate 95 on his way home from training seminars in Maine and New York. It was raining, and police investigators surmise that he was glancing down at his tank-mounted map when he ran into the back of a stopped automobile on the interstate.

Let me explain that one of the powerful dynamics of Kairos is built into talks by volunteers, who tell their own story of failure to be less than they were created to be. Vulnerability is encouraged because we cannot love one another unless we allow the other to see who we are. Wearing masks promotes more complex masks and relationships turn artificial. I felt very strongly that Bill Enter was needed to model and teach vulnerability among Kairos’ more than 20,000 volunteers annually. Yet, the board counseled me against the decision citing studies that sex offenders never heal, public opinion against this class felon, possible negative perception of the organization, etc.

Bill was hired and he and his wife moved to Orlando. Purchasing a home in a new development, he would go visiting neighbors every evening to introduce himself, explaining who he was, what he had done, etc. He would point out that there were several children in the neighborhood and he asked that all the parents keep an eye on him, just as he and his wife were vigilant of his activities.

That first Christmas, Bill revealed to me at our regular Monday morning share and prayer meeting before office hours that the local neighborhood had asked him to play Santa Claus at a Christmas block party. He said, “You know, I reminded them of my history, but they replied, ‘That’s okay, Bill. We will all be there – we’ll keep an eye on you.’” Following the weekend of the block party, Bill came in to our Monday meeting, blubbering and crying like a baby. “You can’t imagine how that felt to have parents hand me their children to bounce on my knee and lovingly inspire their anticipation of Christmas. The trust, the love they trusted me with… I cannot say I will never disappoint them - or fail, but I would rather die than disappoint any one of them.”

Bill began teaching Kairos volunteers, encouraging their fearless honesty, challenging those who wanted to preach. “Sounds like preaching to me. Don’t hide behind your piety. Inspire them that if you can make it, they can make it. Who has loved you enough that you can overcome your human frailties? It doesn’t matter how grievous your sin, half the people in the room carry the same guilt and they need to love you so they can know they are loveable.” Again, he pointed out, “Our regular confession is our protection against having our dependencies sneak up and bite us on the fanny. Inmates may admire your successes if you mention them, but they will connect with you through your mutual brokenness.” Bill carried a mountain of wisdom with him on his motorcycle and he could unpack the whole thing in very short order.

Bill was nervous flying, and typically rode his motorcycle to events that he scheduled around the country. Bill was a very casual dresser, perhaps because of the lack of luggage space. He enjoyed doing his seminars in bib overalls cut off just below the knees. One day I suggested that perhaps the organization called for a bit more dignity than he could muster on a motorcycle. He countered, “Ike, don’t lay that one on me. After incarceration, even a motorcycle has trouble offering all the freedom I crave. I need to sense the wind, rain, sun and smells of the world every day.” He continued, “I may take longer on the road, but I won’t cost more! I eat my meals beside the road, grocery shop at Safeway, have Kairos volunteers put me up overnight. You won’t be looking at any big expense statements from me. I have my laptop. You can reach me by email.”

One time Bill had scheduled seminars in Oklahoma City and Amarillo a couple of days apart and told me he wanted to fly this particular trip. He wanted to drive with his brother between OK City and Amarillo so they could stop by his mother’s house. He had been alienated from his mother since his incarceration and wanted his brother to arrange their meeting. She had not attended his trial, nor had she written to him in prison. Bill could not understand why he had become a criminal and his brother had not. He wanted to talk with her about their childhood history. Both Bill and his brother had suffered the same sexual abuse from their step father, both experienced all of the hurt and pain, but only Bill had turned criminal. Bill’s brother took time off from work to accompany him and did go into the house to seek permission for Bill to could come in, but she refused. Thwarted, Bill returned to Florida… dejected.

The following year Bill planned the same trip and this time she relented and allowed him into her home. They talked and cried, talked and embraced, talked and confessed. She had known what was going on between her husband and her sons, but she did not have the strength to admit it, felt powerless to fight it or stop it. To restore the relationship, she needed to know that Bill forgave her for not protecting him, but had to confess her complicity before he could offer his forgiveness. Healing hurts, at least for awhile.

On the 10th anniversary of Bill’s release from prison, he planned a party, inviting all of the men with whom he had done time. He planned the gathering at a state park near Orlando and invited everyone to bring something to put into a chain-gang Mulligan stew. Bill provided paper plates, chips and soft drinks. Bill was thrilled that about 100 ex-cons and some of their spouses arrived for the celebration. In reporting on the event at our Monday morning meeting, he pointed to the fact that many of these men were sex offenders. “As I looked around at the gathering, I was reminded that society believes sex-offenders can never be re-habilitated, but I will tell you that almost all of those men are making it in spite of all the barriers to re-entering society. They have been to prison and don’t want to return. They each have devised their own survival plan and they are not re-offending.” Because of intense press coverage regarding those who do re-offend, most people do not know that murderers and sex offenders actually re-offend less than most other classifications of ex-cons.

Bill’s funeral was held at Calvary Assembly Church in Winter Park, the largest church in town, and the space was needed. Perhaps because of the diversity of people gathered to celebrate the memory of Bill Enter, the pastor turned the service over to an open microphone, inviting anyone to come forward with stories of Bill. We heard from bikers, ex-cons, neighbors, prison administrators, ministry volunteers, employers and co-workers, who all in one way or another spoke of Bill’s fearless honesty. Each speaker had learned from Bill’s witness and gave tribute to his contribution to their lives, but the best witness was from his shrink – his therapist. She related that Bill was out on a conditional release. One of those conditions was that he see his therapist weekly. “Bill came to me his first week out of prison and we have been meeting weekly ever since. You will be interested to know that for the first few weeks, I was Bill’s therapist, but he turned the tables on me. He continued to pay, but has been my therapist since then.”

Friday, January 15, 2010

JEREMY

JEREMY ROBERTO PACHECO

By Ike Griffin

Note: Names of individuals and institutions have been changed. Circumstances are real, and are encountered frequently enough to believe they are representative of any number of the incarcerated.

Jeremy was tried as an adult at the age of 15 and incarcerated in the Ferguson Unit, known as “a gladiator school” in the Texas Department of Criminal Justice. Most of the inmates at Ferguson were young, average age about 23, but Jeremy was one of the youngest. He was approximately 20 years of age when we met on a Kairos weekend in 1986.

Though his father lived in Florida, Jeremy had moved to Texas with his mother when he was 8 years old. After his parents divorced, his mother re-married and moved Jeremy and an older sister to a town near San Antonio, Texas. Shortly after the move, his step-father began to sexually abuse him, as well as his sister. Unable to live with the pain and guilt, Jeremy ran away from home at the age of 10. Sexually abused children almost invariably report feelings of guilt regardless of their inability to prevent being abused. Jeremy lived on the street in San Antonio. Soon, he was picked up by a sugar daddy who gave him refuge, but who also demanded sexual favors and introduced him to drugs. Jeremy, being a very attractive, small statured kid with an innocent countenance, developed an income delivering drugs.

At the age of 12 Jeremy ran into his first serious clash with the juvenile justice system. Found guilty of dealing drugs, the judge first put him into foster care but was willing to turn him over to his older sister, who had also left the abusive atmosphere of their home and had established herself in San Antonio, working at a respectable day job. No one mentioned to the judge that she supplemented her income through prostitution at night. Jeremy’s life was marginally better living with his sister in her one bedroom apartment, but when she entertained her boyfriends at night, Jeremy had to sleep in the closet among the shoes and remain very quiet.

I have often tried to imagine what life must have been like for Jeremy at this point. Forced by circumstances of survival into male prostitution and drug running as an adolescent, he was known in the neighborhood for certain activities and he received no encouragement to change from his contemporaries. Life became painful enough for him that at age 14 he killed a man, was tried and sent to an adult prison a year later. The torments continued, following him into prison.

Being more clever than most inmates, Jeremy was able to find jobs in safer environments of the prison, primarily as a clerk in an office with supervision. When I met Jeremy, he was a Chaplain’s clerk, safe from harassment inside and anxious to shape a better life for himself upon his eventual release. Jeremy developed a team of eight or ten men who wrote letters to troubled youth, encouraging them to get hold of their lives, straighten up, ask for help, do anything to stay out of prison. Addressing each letter Dear Teen-Ager, the team of writers used their own lives as examples of experience to avoid. They were limited to both sides of a single sheet of paper to tell their story and make their plea. Each letter was hand written and original. Once a month, I would collect all the letters and distribute them to 9th grade counselors in the public school system, who would give letters to students that needed to hear from someone who had been through some of their experience and ended badly.

Needless to say, after a couple of years, I knew the writers’ stories quite well. It is interesting to note that the more often they wrote their story, the more honest and fearless they became exposing themselves. I was fortunate to see some of these men released and attended the wedding of one of the men after he was settled. This is the same man who had confessed to me that he had participated in the gang rape of one of the other men in the writing group. I was there when he sought forgiveness of his victim and the same was granted… the two men became friends who would protect rather than exploit one another.

Eventually, Jeremy grew too old for the inmate profile at his prison and was transferred to a new unit. He asked that I write a letter to the warden explaining his writing project and requesting he be given authority to continue. This outreach required special privileges in regard to access to supplies, congregating with a team of writers, and passing letters out of the institution via a trusted volunteer to local school counseling services. To my knowledge, Jeremy continued the project for 15 years, through 4 institutions.

I want to think that Jeremy will make a successful transition into society; he has certainly done much to build a support community for himself, seeking to leave the old sex offender label behind, but the odds are against him. The sex offender label is so limiting in where he can live, what jobs he can apply for, how he can be received by society even if they know him, respect him and trust him.

It was not the homosexual community that abused him. It was heterosexual men who tormented him, forcing him into prostitution, drug dealing and worse. Heterosexual inmates continued to torment him in prison. What he learned from them was how completely effective sexual abuse can be in dominating another human being to establish a pecking order. That is a particularly difficult truth to forget. Actually, it cannot be forgotten once experienced. One can only learn to live with the memory, and the memory can be tolerated if love and respect is found from another human being.