"Our Precious Blood spirituality call and challenges us to be instruments of healing in our fractured world."

People who are not steeped in restorative justice – who have only a cursory understanding of the philosophy – believe that restorative justice is short on accountability. Even some of the staff of PBMR, which I like to think of as a restorative justice organization, struggle with accountability. Kazu Haga, in his book, Healing Resistance, said that in holding someone accountable, we need to put the emphasis on holding. Meaning that we should put the emphasis on relationship. What is needed and what does the one who has caused harm need to do to put the “us” back into right relationship? Here's the thing about accountability, the starting place has to be that the people are good – that we are each of us created in the image of God. The harm done is a deviation from that goodness that we possess. Now we must work to repair the harm. “ Forgiveness and compassion are always linked : how we hold people accountable for wrongdoing and yet at the same time remain in touch with their humanity enough to believe in their capacity to be transformed.” (Bell Hooks) Recently, two of our staff, Joe Montgomery and Fred Weatherspoon, accompanied a group sponsored by Juvenile Justice Initiative (JJI) to Hamburg, Germany. The trip’s intention was to learn about and tour juvenile prisons in Germany. The gourp consisted of members of JJI, state of Illinois representatives, and Fred and Joe—both who are system impacted from their youth. Their perspective is powerful and telling as they share their reactions to Germany’s juvenile justice system over and against their own experience in the U.S. I sat down with Joe and ask him about his experience. I encourage you to spend some time with his responses. Kelly: Besides being in a different country, what really stood out to you about the trip? Joe: The biggest thing is that they trust their kids . They’re put in a place, a detention center, where they don’t have to fend for themselves – survive on their own. In Germany, the kids have what they need. That’s the thing, from day one, the staff are working to get the kids what they need to get back home in good way. Education is big. You don’t have to be an A grade to go to school – everybody goes to school. Here, in our country, you have to be on a cetrain level to get into school. And even then, there are so few spots for education, that it may take years to get into school or a program. [If at all] It’s crazy to me how they value education. Even the correctional officers (CO’s) have an education. They have to have a college degree and they take continuing education classes. But the biggest thing was that they treat those kids with dignity . They work to ensure that they succede. Here, we expect failure from our kids and so we don’t put anything in to preparing people to come home. Kelly: You had some state officials with you, do you hope they took from the trip? Joe: I hope they learned from what they saw, and make changes —like the requirements for someone to go to school. Here in our correctional facilities, we don’t do anything to help people make the changes they need to go home successfully. I think it is an attitude, too. To see the kids as trustworthy. I was shocked to see that in Germany, they could cook with pots and pans on a stove. They had utensils – real utensils! They trusted them. Their thinking is that we trust that you will make the right choice. Kelly: What else really sticks out for you? Joe: In Germany the district attorney doesn’t look to get the harshest penalty for you. They aren’t trying to send you to prison. That’s unbelievable! I couldn’t imagine someone here doing that for one of ours. Another thing: in Germany the people who make the laws are one the same page as those who enforce the laws. What I mean is that the laws that are made come from what is happening on the ground. When we heard the lawmakers, that’s what we saw in the detention center and on the streets and how the police worked. Here in the US, the law might say one thing, but that is not our experience in the community. Like you have to have probable cause to search someone’s car. But the reality is that police stop people all the time and just search the car hoping they find something. This exerpt is just a short snap shot of the reflections and wisdom from Joe and Fred’s time in Germany. Stay tuned for more from them, as we continue to explore the possibilities and potential of when we hold one another accountable by holding each person as sacred, precious, and worthy of restoration and healing.

Fr. Kelly once wrote: “We must create communities of hope where we recognize that our lives are intertwined with one other and that what affects one, affects us all. This ethos— the interconnectedness of all —is at the heart of our spirituality that calls us to be ambassadors of Reconciliation.” As you know our Front Porch Community Healing Center opened this past November, and it has brought many curious neighbors inside to see how the old community grocery/liquor store has been transformed. The first few months were wonderful welcoming new friends inside, but something was missing . The space is beautiful, but those white cinder block walls were stark and colorless! So we called on our artist instructor, Alberto Alaniz, and a youth artist, Kathleen, the “granddaughter” of Father Kelly and creative energies emerged! A mural team of youth and staff gathered sharing ideas and sketches and began designing the layout. Alberto reflects on the initial brainstorming process, “ Love, Hospitality, Hope, Healing, and a strong sense of Community were important expressions of what the team felt PBMR stood for in this community and what our mural should give voice and challenge to in these dire times.”

It is just as important as ever to attend to the little graces by which the dignity of our lives is maintained and sustained. -Howard Thurman I came back from a funeral I presided over for a friend’s mother, and all I could share was paraphrasing that you needed to have been there. Undoubtedly, you’ve heard someone say you had to be there! I call it an awakening , a deeper realization that unexpectedly catches me in a holy moment; the little graces by which the dignity of our lives is maintained and sustained to borrow a phrase from Howard Thurman. And too often my words fail to convey the depth or excitement of that little grace. There are those who can come close with a picture, a song, or a poem; but I believe nothing really beats being there. Fernando, our neighbor across the street, called me over the other day to show me two bullet shells lying in the alley. He poured out a heartfelt lament of concerns for the safety of our community and the misfortune of all the violence in our society today. Then, as he kissed the crucifix hanging around his neck, it was as if his faith kicked in and he began speaking words of hope and gratitude mentioning improvements and changes for the better he’s seen happening over the years. He blesses God for this, and attributes a lot of it to the presence and work of PBMR. His words graced my heart with a deep realization of a new relationship with the man who first came to us to work off some court ordered community service hours for a traffic violation. My words can’t describe the awakening of that little graced moment. Attending the funeral that I mentioned above were men and women whom I had not been in touch with over the past 15 or more years. Back then they were youth in our neighborhood, in our programs at PBMR, in the juvenile detention center, in courtrooms – now productive adults in their 30’s. They wanted to assure me how much they appreciated my role in their survival by not allowing the evil around them to enter into them; and they made it through. I found myself touched with little graces, as stories were told how the welcome, accompaniment and safety at PBMR had seen them through. And I knew it had to be through the Blood of Christ they were brought near. And we were all brought together by the woman who had brought us together in the first place years before. Painfully accepting her passing, we came to celebrate in many stories the legacy of truth-telling in the life Precious Renee Talley shared with us. She had been a Christmas present to her loving parents born on December 26th in 1956. Maybe that’s why they named her Precious. And yet to all who came to know her, she truly was precious with little energy for futility. With many mourners I too thank God for the gift of Precious in my life. Her down-to-earth approach brought her much respect. For Precious life was not only a gift but also an obligation. Her obituary read she could be as sweet as cotton candy but at the same time tough as nails. The home-going had many witnessing that she knew Christ who knew suffering . She lived her life familiar with sorrow, pain and woe. Hers was a dignity no one could take from her even as aging would bend her down low enough to lean comfortably on her walker, but spiritually standing tall ; a woman whose education was limited but not her wisdom. And her truthful unfiltered, blunt, and holding-nothing-back ways to speak truth were invitations for her hearers to be about truthful ways in their living. Awakenings, these little graces, play a significant role for me in living Precious Blood Spirituality in our ministry at PMBR. Caught up in the lives of our neighbors, our youth, our mothers and all our ministry I am surrounded with evidence of the power of redemptive suffering through the blood-stained cross of Christ present in our day. And I’m sure in your life as well, in our Precious Blood family, there’s no lack of little graces by which the dignity of our lives is maintained and sustained as we study the book of the cross. I am so glad that somewhere in my life, there must have been a moment when I said, “Here I am, send me” . My life has been filled with countless little graces during 20+ years at PBMR, and all I can say is you had to be there.

There is an African proverb that says, “when a child is rejected by the village, he will burn the village down just to feel the warmth .” I was asked to give a talk to the Center of Social Concerns at Notre Dame about the work of PBMR and Restorative Justice. They asked, too, if I would talk to a Restorative Justice class the following day, so I decided to make a trip out of it and bring along a couple young people. I can tell stories, but the real impact is to hear first-hand from those who live it each day. We got an early start so we could walk around campus. Of course, the Notre Dame stadium and “touch-down” Jesus was what they wanted to see. It was a beautiful day and the energy was high as the students moved quickly on foot and on the scooters. As we walked across campus, I suggested we take a peek inside the Basilica, which is a beautiful church. As we entered, they were taken aback by the number of students in church praying – no doubt making a quick visit before or after class. “They just come in here a sit?” one asked me. I told them that often people just need a quiet and safe place to be for a while. That they understood, but it is rare in their lives. One of them asked about the Stations of the Cross that lined the walls of the basilica and, so, I took the opportunity to talk about story of Jesus’ passion. As I pointed out each station, I got a nod of approval from an older gentleman in the pew. As we got to the building where we would talk, I could sense that both were nervous. I assured them that they would do fine and that they just needed to be themselves. I spoke for a while and then introduced them to the group. Their nerves gave way as they began to tell their story. They were honest and spoke from their heart. They shared what it was like being an African American “kid” growing up on the south side of Chicago. Of course, they spoke of the violence and their experience of being locked up, but they also talked about PBMR and all the good that was happening in their neighborhood. “Some people”, they said, “think we are all just criminals - bad people, but there is a lot of good in the neighborhood, too.” While they weren’t polished speakers, their story was theirs and they were authentic. As we closed the night, the students continued to engage with them – asking questions and thanking them for coming the campus. I could see both beaming with pride as they were the center of attention. On the ride home I asked them how they felt it went? They both said in so many words that it made them feel good – like they were somebody , instead of a nobody. It was one time when they weren’t defined by someone else. At the very heart of our work, is breaking down walls of judgement so that we can discover the dignity in one another. In the case of the two youth that accompanied me, they need people and society to see them, not judge them, and embrace them for who they really are. How many times have they been called a menace to society? Told that they are the problem? As we talked more, I think they were slowly beginning to believe that they were worthy of being respected and loved. A couple of days later, I went to court with another young man who I have known for most of his life. He was now 30 years old. He had endured a great deal…having had his bumps and bruises along the way. I got one of those early morning calls that he had been arrested . I worked to get him out of jail, and now accompanied him to court. As he stood before the judge, the state’s attorney called him a violent felon…even though he had not yet been convicted. There he was with his white dress shirt and black slacks and hair neatly tied back – another black man with dreads labeled as a felon. As I sat there, I wanted to cry out “you don’t even know him!” They knew nothing of all that he had overcome - obstacle after obstacle. They didn’t know that he's in a strenuous program to become a lineman for the power company and just the day before sent me a picture of him on a pole with his white helmet…. a sign that he had graduated to the next level. They didn’t know that he had three beautiful children and a beautiful wife. They didn’t know that he was one of the most respectful young people I know. As I saw him stand there for all to see, dressed as he thought they wanted him to dress, I knew he felt as though he was seen as violent felon – guilty because if his blackness. I felt sick; I felt anger, I felt powerless. But I also felt the love for a young man who deserved to be loved. I believe that our spirituality is to stand there at the foot of the cross , with all our powerlessness, but, also, with all our love and devotion. There is a story of older woman who had a deep devotion to Our Lady of Guadalupe. A visitor to her home asked her why she had such a deep devotion to Our Lady. The older woman responded in her language, “porque se quedo'” – because she stayed.

Gathering on “The Front Porch” As a little girl growing up in North Star, OH, I remember sitting on our front porch and waving to all the people who passed by on Rt.127! Being farmers, we would run to our porch swing on a rainy day and watch the rain watering our fields. On weekends and evenings, neighbors would gather on our porch to tell stories and have some ice cream and warm pie that Mother just baked. Last week when the temperatures reached almost 50 degrees here in Chicago , I sat with one of our mothers on her porch as she told of her granddaughter’s murder and the pain of going to the court hearings month after month and rehearing the horror of the night. She cries, “Will the pain ever leave; will I ever find healing?” I leave her porch thinking of the differences in our porch conversations. Today on 51st St. in the Back of the Yards, PBMR has opened a “Front Porch” , a warm, open space for neighbors, staff, and participants to gather, share stories, connect, and be fed physically and spiritually, to heal pain and celebrate friendship. After 5+ years of vacancy, many were waiting with great expectation for those doors to open...Neighbors were stopping and asking, “Is this going to be a Church, an art center?” “Will you be selling liquor?” Then on November the 8th, the doors did open and we celebrated the birthing of the radical transformation of a once neighborhood “Grocery/Liquor store“ into a no-steps, 2- room gathering place to lift spirits , not sell them! The place hosts circles of all kinds – Mother’s healing circles, Youth circles, RJ leadership circles, Support circles for men and women returning from prison, Staff circles, Drumming circles, Community Mass circle, Planning circles - all for the purpose of healing harm and building relationships. While precious blood continues to pour out on the streets we walk and the porches on which we stand, we invite the community into a safe place, a comfortable corner to share with others their suffering, their confusion, their hopes and know that they are not alone. Everyday I’m at the “Front Porch” someone new stops by – someone in need of healing longing for a place of peace, a mother with 2 young children asking for prayer, a young father walking home from work...young, old, rich, poor, neighbors curious to see if this is a place for them. “Need some water, coffee, chips, some cookies, a hug? Come inside. You are welcome here! ” For those who saw the chaos and smelled the stench when the doors first opened in late July, the transformation has been amazing. Rats had their way, and quickly learned that they had lost their home! Neighbors, funders, board members, attorneys, friends of PBMR have been welcomed into this new creation and they stand with mouths open in amazement- sometime even to the point of tears. Mothers were especially excited as they could not believe there was such a place in their community – a place to find peace, to experience a “Spa Love Day”, a place where pain and disappointments can be shared, where reconciliation can happen among women/men/youth; a place to drum out frustrations and clear one’s brain! Summer will offer all kinds of activities and “Front Porch” experiences as we set up easels outside and the community comes together to paint and chat, to barbecue and know they are safe to come off their porches and get to know their neighbors and the community in a new way! PBMR continues to hear the voices of the community and respond as best we can to that call – it is the call of our spirituality – to build a community where all are welcome, all are seen as IN the circle, where all offered radical hospitality, hope and healing, where those who feel “far off” will be brought on to “the Front Porch” (close) through the Blood of Christ. We invite all of you to come , especially this summer, sit on "The Front Porch” to see and engage in our building a community of LOVE!! Donna Liette, CPPS

One by one, people walked to the front of the room, carrying wooden crosses with the names of their loved ones written on the front and sides. Holding their Mothers, Fathers, children, sisters, brothers, friends in their hands, each person spoke the name of their loved one aloud for all to hear and carefully placed their cross on the Wall of Remembrance . I watched as a young girl, whom I have come to know quite well these past few years, walked up, and spoke name after name into the microphone. She took her time, didn’t rush, and made sure to read every name carefully and with intention. Not yet 18 years old, and this little girl read upwards of 15 names. Hot tears streamed down my face. One of my greatest joys of being at PBMR is working with the youth—particularly the young women. They are brilliant, strong, creative, wise individuals who never cease to amaze me day after day. But in moments like these, I am reminded of the invisible unbelievably heavy burden of trauma and pain that these young people carry. Because of the neighborhoods they’re born into, the dangers they face, and the color of their skin they are burdened with a level of grief and loss that I will never fully understand. These kinds of wounds live beneath the surface —no one can see the trauma that another person carries—and yet our wounds are crying out for someone to see, touch, and heal the broken pieces of our hearts. But where, when, and by whom can we let ourselves truly be seen? Is there anywhere or anyone safe enough to let our walls down and share our sorrow? One mother spoke about how before leaving the house she puts on a full face of make-up in hopes of covering up the pain and depression that she battles daily. Here in this room, her tears wiped away this protective mask, and she shared how losing her husband, sister, and son, coupled with the stress of struggling to take care of her family often feels like too much to bear. Folks in the front and back of the room nodded in understanding communicating that they too feel what she feels. By sharing our wounds with one another, we didn’t sink from grief, but found community and solidarity which kept us afloat. There is a deep need and hunger for sharing our wounds in the context of community—to let down walls and unpack the hurt. I also believe that spaces safe enough for this type of healing are few and far between, especially for folks in our neighborhood. People have been hurt time after time, from such young ages. While safety is a basic human need, our youth, parents, and families often lack safety of any kind—whether it be psychological, emotional, physical, or spiritual. Nowhere and no one feels safe, and so people stay bottled up, wounded, and alone, unable to heal or move forward. And we wonder why things aren’t getting better. This year, PBMR is focused on healing —on creating more spaces and places where people can be vulnerable and allow love to touch their wounds. If we want to bring healing to the visible exterior in our community, we have to begin with the invisible interior. We have to begin with seeing, hearing, and holding the hearts of those we love, and becoming vessels of love and care for one another . As the young woman placed her cross on the wall of remembrance, we began to see that all the crosses organically were forming the shape of a heart . The pain of loss and grief of our hearts was momentarily flooded with love , and for a second, we gained a glimpse of the yoke being easer and the burden light.

Fr. Greg Boyle, SJ, in his latest book, “Forgive Everyone Everything”, writes that scripture scholars contend that the original language of the Beatitudes should not be “Blessed are the single hearted” or “Blessed are the peace workers” or “Blessed are those who struggle for justice”. A better translation would be “You’re in the right place if you are single hearted” or “ You’re in the right place if you work for peace…” In 2000 as we began to dream and plan for PBMR, there were a couple things that were non-negotiable. One, was that we had to be in a neighborhood/community that knew first-hand the pains of violence and incarceration. It would have to be a community that allowed us to be proximate to those we served/accompanied. And so, in 2002, when the doors of PBMR opened, we moved into the Back-of-the-Yards community on the south side of Chicago. Beginning in a small janitor’s apartment at St. Michael the Archangel parish, the four of us (Joe Nassal, Bill Nordenbrock, Denny KInderman and myself) began our work. Little did we know what exactly would lie ahead. But with the commitment to the spirituality of the Precious Blood and the gift of the ministry of Reconciliation, we set forth to try to be witness of God’s presence and love amidst the trauma of incarceration and violence. In addition, we sought to be a resource of renewal for the church. In 2004, we had the opportunity to move into the second floor of a converted school building that once was the St. John of God Parish. The parish closed in the mid 90’s and after was used as a residence for youth in the care of the state. Today, while more in number – both staff and community members - we still seek to be that presence of God’s overwhelming and healing love. We have opened several houses that serve as a home for men and women who are coming home from prison and families who have unstable housing situations. Early in November of this year, we opened a small center about a block from PBMR’s main building. It had been a well-known neighborhood market – food and liquor – for many years, but in the years since it has stood abandoned—a sign of the devastation our neighborhood faces. Because of generous benefactors and supporters, we were able to obtain the building and in a community effort – supporters, staff and young people – it has been completely rehabbed and restored. We’ve dedicated this space to become a healing center where families and young people can experience the love and care that is at the heart of the spirituality of the Precious Blood. In this center (yet to be named) we will focus solely on healing: individual, family, and community. It will become a space (and already has) where people can build, renew, and repair relationships. The very first gathering, even before the building was fully complete, Sr. Donna held a circle for mothers who had lost their sons or daughters to homicide in the past year. It was a powerful circle where families could finally speak of their loss and pain amidst people who were willing to listen without judgement . Since that first circle, several gatherings have been held in this new space: young people coming home from jail and detention, men and women previously incarcerated who work to support those returning home, and PBMR staff who rely on strong community relationships to do the work we do. Sr. Elaine Roulette, the founder of My Mother’s House in New York, was asked, “How do you work with the poor?” She answered, “You don’t. You share your life with the poor.” As we have found so often, it can be as easy as crying together, laughing together, sharing time with one another. I remember the very first conversations that we had regarding the creation of a ministry of reconciliation. We asked one another, “what if there was a place in the community where people could experience care and support, a place where we could concentrate on healing and transformation. The “old May street store” has become such a place. It is solely dedicated to healing and transformation. Perhaps that should be the name – PBMR’s “Center for Healing and Transformation” I am often asked how I have been able to do this work for as long as I have. “All the heartache and disappointment, how do you keep yourself going?” I truly believe that it is because I am in the right place. I am where I should be and when you are where God wants you to be, incredible things happen. As we close out this 20th Anniversary of PBMR, know of my deep gratitude for all the encouragement, care, and support for the hospitality, hope, and healing for our youth and families here in Back of the Yards throughout these 20 years. -- December New Creation Column written by Fr. David Kelly, CPPS.

“When I was seven my auntie adopted me. As my stepmom she changed my name to Henry. At age eleven she put me out, later admitting she never did like me. I came into her life as a package deal with my little brother whom she really loved.” I listened to Johnathan (his birth name) for about fifteen minutes as his story unfolded eventually landing him now in Cook County’s Temporary Juvenile Detention Center (JTDC) at age seventeen. He thought his story not out of the ordinary, sleeping in abandoned cars or on the floor of a friend’s home. “I look at my life, and I love it. I feel better telling you about it.” It’s been twenty-some years of listening to stories of the disarray of young lives. Yet God, like a shepherd, is there leading JTDC kids , struggling, resisting, and longing to be led. Parker Palmer reflects: “violence is what happens when we don’t know what to do with our suffering.” While the courts focus on the violence, I sit and listen to the suffering. “I love my birth mother, but,” Alfred confides in me, “she’s an addict.” “Do you have any sisters or brothers?” I always ask that, then wait as they calculate how many on their father’s or their mother’s side. He counts on his fingers including as his siblings the children of a caring women who he calls “mother.” On his sixth finger he looks at me and says, “these six died in a fire two months ago; all children of my stepmom.” “Come close, I don’t want anyone to hear. My mother is homeless and is in a wheelchair. Can you help her? ” “Do you think I did the right thing? Think I can plea self-defense?” Thomas tells me what happened on the train – the one I take whenever going downtown, and the one that is too often in the news reporting stabbings, shootings, and robberies. His was a detailed story that now has him going to the adult court for attempted murder. “I go to court every Wednesday hoping DCFS will find a placement for me.” The lives of some incarcerated kids are overseen by the Department of Children and Family Services (DCFS). Often these kids spend months incarcerated, just waiting for placement in a group home or with a family . Raymond seems resigned to this fate while telling me about his dream to someday be a chef and own his own restaurant. I’m touched by his untiring hope. “I fell on my knees and cried out really loud, ‘God forgive me!’” There had been months of nightmares and torturous feelings of guilt. To escape his depression, Hernandez told me of his attempt to shoot himself, while making a video of it. The gun jammed! “You have to be serious,” Hernandez instructed me, “You have to really get into it!” And I remembered Thomas Merton’s reflection that the deepest level of communication is not communication but communion. “After screaming to God I feel good again.” “I’m writing a book about my life to help kids not make the same mistakes I’ve made.” Jakwon lives in a neighborhood he claims is the worst in Chicago. “I became streetwise and did a lot of bad things.” He wants to help others by telling his story, like I hear from many other JTDC youth in their creative reflections on life as it really is in the hood – rapping realities of shattered lives. “Say a prayer for all of us,” I hear from a table where four kids are playing cards. They all bow their heads while we lift our voices to the God who knit them together in their mother’s womb, to God who calls them beloved sons, to God who has plans for their lives, as they ask the One who alone is their Judge for freedom, protection for their families (especially moms and grandmoms) and help for bettering their lives. Occasionally, tears are wiped away. Through it all, I am balancing ministry with a tinge of guilt as if volunteering as a chaplain in JTDC I am agreeing with a faulty criminal justice system – like guilt by association. Advocating for change is another battle ground. Here in JTDC I enter a healing ground where I find the Good Shepherd going after the stray to put them on his shoulder and tell them: “your faith has saved you.” Every Tuesday and Thursday evening finds me in JTDC doing something I can’t not do. Fr. Denny is a founder and continuous Spiritual elder for the PBMR community. He visits youth in JTDC every Tuesday and Thursday evening without fail to listen to the stories of the youth and offer presence, prayer, and accompaniment.