Last summer, someone shared an opportunity with me to become trained to visit detained migrants in McHenry County jail (a county or two northwest of DuPage County). I went to this training in the hopes of living the words and promises I had said and made to the people I met in Mexico. Months and months passed and I heard nothing from this group, so I added the training to a list of life experiences and moved on. Then, a month or two ago, I got a letter with the list of the ministry team of which I was a part. Today was the first day I visited McHenry County jail and the people there.
I met a woman at her home and she drove the both of us to the jail. She lives about 15 minutes away from the jail and an hour from me. I am quite grateful that my dad drove me to her home because 2 hours on the train to sit idle with my nerves would not have been helpful. I sat in her home and waited nervously for her to be ready to leave. Once we were in her vehicle, I asked her to describe what the day would look like; she did.
We arrived at the detention center and I was instantly doing it wrong. Instead of putting my drivers license through the smaller-than-mailbox-sized slot in the wall, I attempted to go into the office to give it to the guards. After my continued confusion with the procedure, I locked all my things away in a locker and clipped on my red visitor tag. We were taken to a "library", if you could even call it that. We had a few minutes before the first group (all women) came in so I got to see the forms we were to use. One was a chart on which we could record information to make phone calls for the detainees, since making calls on their own behalf costs the money they don't have. The second sheet was a prayer request sheet that is passed on to local parishes that they might pray for those being detained.
Suddenly the room was full of women in orange jump suits. I talked to a woman from Mexico who has lived in Chicago her entire life. She has not seen her son in five and a half months. She has court next week. Please pray for her release. A woman from Korea can't be in touch with her mother because her mother's phone is blocked-- but her mother does not understand what "blocked" means, so the situation is not fixed. The women left. Men came in afterward. I will skip the second interaction I had and return to it since it is responsible for my lack of homeostasis. My third interaction was with two Polish men. One man was very excited to return to his family. The other couldn't figure out what he is meant to do with his life and hopes daily for some guidance. He couldn't fathom how I already knew what I want to do with my life.
We then broke for a half hour so the jail could do its head count.
After break, we met with another group of men. I chatted with an older man from Mexico who grew up here. He's only been around Illinois, Indiana, and Wisconsin. Our time ended and I chatted with a man from Zambia, as well as another man from Poland. The older man from Zambia has relationships with the others with whom I was visiting. His wife is in dialysis. Please pray for her. The man from Poland shared some of his struggles with regard to his faith. How moving that after a few short minutes, he felt comfortable sharing something so private.
After this, I was driven to the train station and I came home to my place of comfort and privilege.
Let me return to the encounter I skipped. He is a man of only 24 years, from Mexico. We talked and laughed together for the entire 15 minutes we were able to spend together. He and I had an interaction together on the grounds of the callings and convictions of my faith. He and I were Christ to each other. When it was time for our time to end, I reached out to him for a hug, and we did. I was then scolded quite sternly for providing such an embrace. The note about not hugging the detainees was in a letter I had not read in two months. It is against the rules of the detention center, among other things. At the time, I was terrified. I shut down. I was worried that I would be asked to leave, or worse, that we all would. I was terrified that the guard monitoring the visits would pull me aside to scold me as well. Every other word from my mouth was an apology, and yet I was not told "it's alright, just don't do it again". That was really tough.
I believe I did the right thing by hugging that man. It may have been against the rules, or breaking protocol, but it was the right thing. If God has no other hands than ours, how do I not use those hands to be Christ to others? I am still unsettled in my spirit; this is the first time, really, that I have blatantly disagreed with an authority figure on behalf of Christ. I know that no one ever said following Christ would be easy. I think I was not prepared, today, to take such a new course of action for my faith.
Feedback? Prayers, please.
