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Dear Colleague:
Most people don't know this about me, but for three years I spent Christmas Day in a Chicago jail.
I recall those days as some of the saddest, yet most spiritual, of my life.
Most of all, I remember the men, the prisoners -- some awaiting sentencing, some already convicted, some waiting vainly to be released. All of them were desperately lonely on Christmas Day, the one day of the year that many people stop to take notice of just how important their families are.
Unlike those men, I had chosen to be there. I was their chaplain. Although I visited them dozens of times throughout the year, Christmas was different. I was the only visitor many of the inmates saw that day.
Few of us think much about men or women in jail. That's natural. Before I started visiting Cook County jail, I never had met an inmate, much less spent a Christmas praying with one. Perhaps that's why I remember my first Christmas in jail so vividly. Criminals. They were rough men -- disheveled, angry, brutal and sometimes threatening. They were hardened by poverty, callused by life on the streets, the horror of which most of us barely can imagine. They represented our society at its lowest. But prisoners, like so many others, "find" religion on Christmas Day. And I was grateful for the opportunity to bring it to them.
There was no Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve; lockdown regulations wouldn't allow it. So we gathered on Christmas morning. I was given strict orders to keep Mass under an hour, so we prayed and reflected, at a pace all too fast. Then we worked our way through a heavy "Joy to the World." Depressing as it was, the full measure of the inmates' despair still hadn't hit me.
After the song they started lining up in front of me.
What did they want? To confess, perhaps, or ask for a special prayer? To beg for a noon-time feast or cigarettes?
No, their request was simpler and far more profound. They wanted to make sure their love was felt outside the jailhouse walls.
The prisoners could make only one phone call a day, even on Christmas Day. They faced a dilemma: Who gets the one phone call and who gets left out? Call a mother and neglect a wife, or call a child and ignore a grandmother?
It was at that moment, among hardened criminals, that I saw a true expression of the meaning of Christmas. Those men stood before me, humbly insisting that their love reach far beyond their jail cells. They asked me to call their families.
Sometimes it's the most barren crevice that sprouts the most beautiful flower. I was late getting home, and my parents and family were eager and ready, watching for me at the front door. My nieces and nephews ran out into the yard to embrace me and then started tugging at my coat, hurrying me into the house. They were hungry and wanted me to celebrate our family Christmas Mass because their grandmother (Nonna) Albertina's lasagna was not meant to be overcooked!
As the family's only priest, I always celebrate Mass for the Biondi clan on Christmas Day. Then my mother, sister and others unveil Christmas dinner -- not the traditional ham, but rather a gourmet Italian feast beginning with the most sumptuous lasagna alla Albertina I've ever eaten. It was the kind only my mother can make: thin, flaky layers, and no ricotta cheese, but made with besciamella sauce instead.
But first things first. Mass would have to be delayed -- and dinner as well. I had to make a few more of those calls. Just as my mother's cooking would nourish my body later, each call helped to nourish my soul É or at least assuage my conscience. I could hear it in their voices at the other end of the phone, the initial mistrust, the gradual warming and, finally, the excitement and appreciation of hearing from a stranger who called to tell them that their loved one, who was spending Christmas in a cold, impersonal jail, was thinking of them.
With each phone call, I realized that the old adage really is true: The best gifts can't be bought.
My message for all our University's faculty, staff, students, alumni, friends and benefactors is quite simple during this Christmas season: May the joy of family and the spirit of love fulfill each of you. And may you find pleasure and peace in the simple but precious gifts of good health, warm laughter and affection for all your loved ones.
Larry Biondi, SJ
President
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