Hard Questions About Redemption

A recent newspaper story breathes new life into one of my hidden fears: imprisonment.

The Rev. Patrick Moloney, a Roman Catholic priest in New York City who once ministered to prison inmates, is now a prisoner himself. Convicted in 1994 of conspiring to possess more than $2 million in stolen money, Moloney is serving a 51-month sentence in a federal prison.

As a chaplain who works daily with prison inmates--including lapsed clergy--I cannot help but wonder: What if it were me behind bars?

For one accustomed to the respect of polite society, imprisonment is a rude awakening. Moloney, for example, is not permitted to perform any of the sacred functions of his priestly office while in prison. Though his ordination is still intact, his ministerial calling is not acknowledged by prison employees. He spends his days cleaning latrines and shower stalls--they call it “inside sanitation.”

In the eyes of the law, the Rev. Moloney is federal inmate No. 28251-0545--no more, no less.

But in reality, that’s not all he is. Like all of us, Moloney and his fellow inmates are human beings created in the image of God. Regardless of guilt or innocence--contrary to popular belief, most prisoners eventually admit their guilt--inmates possess unique gifts, talents and abilities.

Some, like Father Moloney, even sense the call of God in their lives. This is exactly what worries me.

In my travels through the prison where I serve as chaplain, I am treated as though I am implicitly better than the inmates. And at times, I’ve even felt it necessary to confront those who dare to treat me otherwise. It isn’t as if I feel I’m due great respect, it’s simply that inmates are sometimes treated with so little respect, as if they aren’t human at all.

Over the years, people both inside and outside the prison system have asked me some inane questions: “Do inmates cry?” “Do you think you are doing them any good?” “Do any of them really change for the better?”

The answers, of course, are yes, yes, and yes.

But the fact that I am even asked those sorts of questions at all raises for me a fundamental personal issue: If I fall from grace, will I, too, be counted among the damned?

What if--as is Moloney’s claim--I were to be found guilty of a crime I did not commit? Will the presumption of my guilt forever condemn me to latrine duty? Will I, like Moloney, be forced to take my ministry underground?

Here, too, I fear the answers are yes, yes, and yes.

The thinking that inmates cannot be redeemed reflects the schizophrenic nature of our culture. We flock to see films such as “The Shawshank Redemption” and “Dead Man Walking,” which attempt to depict the redemptive possibilities of all humankind. Yet, in our hearts, we don’t believe such redemption is possible at all.

If that’s true, then the cross has no relevance for anyone: For if Jesus’ crucifixion has any meaning at all, it is that all can be redeemed.

Even backslidden preachers.

Atchison is an ordained minister and has worked as a policy analyst and social worker to the homeless. He currently is a prison chaplain.