In the one month since Bishop Earl Fernandes celebrated Christmas Eve Mass with us at the Ohio Reformatory for Women (ORW), I’ve had an unexpected spiritual awakening.
My perspective has changed and I’m living with a newfound anchor of faith and hope! It wasn’t missing. I just hadn’t been led to its discovery yet.
How? Two reasons: the message Bishop Fernandes shared in his homily and the special guests he invited. In a way only God can, these separate elements have been blended inseparably into my amazing anchor.
Bishop Fernandes’ guests were Governor Mike DeWine and First Lady Fran DeWine along with their staff, and Ohio Department of Rehabilitation and Corrections (ODRC) director Annette Chambers-Smith with her staff. I can only imagine the volume of communications between the ORW, ODRC, Governor and Chancery offices to arrange what has become an historic event.
As the musician and cantor, I’ve never felt more nervous, humbled and excited as I did for that Mass. It was an honor and challenge of the highest level to play and sing for and with them.
On the evening before, the sacristans and chapel workers prepared the large chapel as I practiced at the keyboard with another singer. The room’s high ceilings, concrete and tin walls, tile floor and metal chairs made background noise inevitable. We’d learned of the guest list and the whole place was buzzing with excited activity.
As a perfectionist, I naturally put a lot of pressure on myself, and it was now multiplied by 100. That, plus all the activity, plus a dramatic hearing loss issue (a story for another day), equaled a cacophony of chaos and I had a meltdown.
How was I going to play and sing for Jesus AND the special guests, AND my peers, when I can barely hear anymore? Tears welled up in my eyes and I hung my head. I remember saying aloud, “Jesus, I want to hear! This is for you and them, and I cannot mess it up. Please help me.”
The girls gave me a moment, then we prayed together. I collected my emotions, which had scattered like marbles, and resumed practicing. A do-over song later, we could even make a few jokes that really helped wipe out the tension. Whew!
The next morning, I prayed the exact same words, but with a little less panic and a little more confidence. I knew Jesus and the congregation would appreciate my effort because it was the best I could possibly do.
Nonetheless, when the bishop and his seminarians arrived, I was relieved and very grateful to chat with them; they helped me relax and get out of my head for a while.
As I have done for every missed holiday with my family for the past three decades, I clipped their picture to my music stand. I do this to see their loving faces and keep them close. Interestingly, during the Mass, I felt the essence of my family that of society itself by the presence of the DeWines and the real people who joined us.
Half an hour of fellowship time passed, then we were instructed to take our seats and absolutely stay in them before the governor and the other guests entered the room. No problem — my knees instantly turned to Jello and all of my muscles forgot how to do their job. The magnitude of this moment was overwhelming: The highest-ranking officials in our state, department and diocese were going to celebrate the birth of Our Savior with 70 inmates! These people have control over my spiritual and incarcerated life, and it was now my job to formally welcome them and begin our first hymn (if I could speak around my heart that had leaped into my throat).
As I took a deep breath, I humbly yet sternly reminded myself who this was really about. I welcomed everyone to our Christmas Eve Mass and began to play “O Come, All Ye Faithful.” With each verse, I decompressed, settled into my role and was able to truly enjoy what was unfolding.
Bishop Fernandes’ homily was the other vital element of this life-changing Mass. He repeatedly said, “You matter … You are not forgotten … God sees you every single day.” He spoke with such energetic emphasis that I simply had to believe him. He also said, “We are all pilgrims of hope, and hope does not disappoint.” He carefully expounded on “all pilgrims,” just to make sure we got it. All pilgrims meant inmates, prison staff, state leaders, volunteers, seminarians and, well, all of us!
He said, “Whatever our station in life, whatever our situation or condition, we are all pilgrims of hope on a journey to Heaven together.” For the first time in many years, I felt like more than just another inmate; I felt like a fellow follower of Christ.
Bishop Fernandes had backed up his words with actions by inviting these particular guests. In turn, their actions proved the truth behind his words because they chose to be with us.
The rest of Mass was beautiful. We sang the Sanctus and Agnus Dei (in Latin!) as a special surprise for the bishop. The girls and I had been practicing for months to “be prepared for a special upcoming occasion.”
I was laser focused, using visual cues to time the music properly, and am pleased to report it was successful. I heard everyone’s voices align perfectly with the notes for our Communion and closing hymns. “Hark, the Herald Angels Sing” sure did sing that morning!
Each morning since Christmas Eve Mass, I have woken up with new hope. It’s an overarching, God-given hope I didn’t feel before, emanating from my heart, spreading into my mind, body and spirit. My station in life has not changed, but I have been transformed. I’m still in prison and have responsibilities, work, programs, Simon (my cat), visits, and get counted five times a day. But I am fundamentally different because I heard, saw and believe, through the actions of that blessed morning, three important facts: I matter, I’m a pilgrim of hope on a journey, and this hope does not disappoint.
Happy Jubilee Year! Spec non confundit!