My morning began the same way it usually does - I entered
the large green metal doors of the women’s prison, said good morning to the
familiar female guards, went through the various security measures, and walked
into the main entrance.
The prison opens into a large concrete courtyard that is
usually full of drying laundry hanging from various levels of clotheslines. On
the main floor of the courtyard, there are many small stoves plugged into the
walls that serve as cafes—providing teas, coffees, and food for one boliviano (~14 cents)—all run by
inmates. Many of my days in the prison are spent here, just chatting with
friends over tea and bread. On the second and third levels are small concrete
rooms for women who can afford to pay for their own cell, since in Bolivia men
and women in prison have to pay for their own room and board. On the third
floor, there are also a few small classrooms and recreational rooms.
This particular Friday things were different than usual.
There was a buzz of excitement in the air--a sense of expectation. In the
prison courtyard, the laundry lines had been moved to make room for a table
draped with a golden cloth, adorned with red flowers. I was curious, but
quickly fell into conversation with a friend as we walked to the classroom
together.
Waiting was a group of friends ready for our Friday
reflection. Many of these women have been incarcerated for reasons of sheer
poverty due to an unjust system: they are imprisoned for unpaid debts despite
constantly working and raising young children. Even in the prisons, they have
to pay for their room and board. We had a fruitful discussion about injustices
pertaining to women’s rights—most of these women are dealing with sexual
violence trauma, not to mention separation from their families, unfair labor
laws, and much more. We had a lively and passionate conversation; clearly, the
buzz that I had felt upon arriving had followed us into this room.
After the group discussion had finished, one of my friends,
Marta, and I began to talk one-on-one. She had been having a very difficult
time, not having seen her sons in months. She told me that the only good thing
that came out of her time in the prison was that she had found God. She
explained that people accused her of only turning to God in desperation, of
needing to believe in something when surrounded by such difficulty. Rather, she
had explained, it was because she had hit rock-bottom, and when nothing else
was there to distract her from the foundational truth and life’s profundities, she
saw very clearly that God was there—in the simplest, loneliest levels of human
need, human dignity, and life. She began to laugh about how perfect it was that
such a hard day fell on the same day the Virgen
was coming. Suddenly, the pieces came together—the set-up downstairs, the
excitement in the air—a statue of the Virgin Mary was on its way.
This was no ordinary statue - it was the Virgen María de
Urkupiña- the apparition of Mary that
appeared to a poor shepherd girl upon a hillside just outside of the city of
Cochabamba. Every year a large festival is held in her honor. Because of Pope
Francis’ very intentional visit to the prison when he was in Bolivia, it was
decided that the statue of the Virgen
would be carried to each of the prisons of Cochabamba, before being placed on
display for the festival.
We walked back to the courtyard
just as women were beginning to gather, rosaries clenched in their hands. White
handkerchiefs and candles were distributed, as well as sheets of song lyrics.
The women, Catholic and non-Catholic alike, stood waiting and craning their
necks to catch the first glimpse of Our Lady. Finally, she entered, carried on
the shoulders of military men, followed by priests and government officials.
The women only had eyes for her. She was beautiful, wearing bright white
garments, a sash of the Bolivian flag, and a lace veil over her sleek black
hair. She was holding the Christ child in her left hand and a crown of gold in
her right. A large halo encircled her body, and luminescent sun rays reflected
off of its surface. Many of the women broke into tears, waving the white cloths
above their heads and singing with passion in their voices.
One by one, the women went to
touch the Virgen, reverence and
understanding in each caress, leaving their prayers at the feet Our Lady. Among
them was Marta, holding her rosary tightly to her heart and looking into the face of Mary. Here
with these women and their rock-bottom faith, in this prison—this is
consistently where I find Christ the Redeemer and the accompanist.
These are women who fight to
wake up in the morning, women who are dealing with separation from family,
sexual assault, PTSD, poverty, depression, debt, loss, and much more. And here,
before them, was a statue of a woman who had lived in such systems of
injustice, such poverty, had seen such loss, had wept for her child, had borne
the weight of true suffering. Here she was, holy and glorified, entering their
rock-bottom, their hell, and standing with them in love and solidarity.
To learn more about service opportunities through Franciscan Mission Service, please click here.
No comments:
Post a Comment