A little over a year ago, on a bitter cold March morning, I braced myself for the arrival of a work crew from the Franklin County Jail that was coming to First Parish of Northfield to scrape, spackle and paint the interior of our mid-19th century meetinghouse.
Not quite sure what to expect, I remember asking myself what “criminal elements” was I unleashing into our sacred, albeit dilapidated church space? And so, it was with a tinge of curious apprehension that I welcomed the barrage of men who came barreling through the door on that frigid winter morning.
There were no striped prison uniforms, ankle chains, or hardened expressions that my television imagination had unwittingly conjured. Instead, there were clean-cut guys in jeans and sweaters or sweatshirts, eager to see what kind of work this Grand Old Dame of a church needed.
They were exceedingly polite and courteous, and surprisingly they resembled all our sons and brothers, husbands and boyfriends, neighbors and friends. What had I been thinking? A few of them were very accomplished in carpentry and general repair skills, and soon their list of what they could do for us grew. Their hard work and tremendous accomplishments are not the most important part of this story, however. It is their humanity, in all of its imperfections and in all of its yearning for redemption that is at the heart of this reflection. And let’s not forget humility … theirs and most definitely mine.
While they were not prisoners by conscious choice, bad decisions had brought them to their present living situation. Good behavior and a desire to do something useful while incarcerated had brought them to us. Not knowing what specific circumstances had landed them degreasing our kitchen cabinets before priming, I noticed how something within them changed whenever I praised their tremendous work. The more I showered them with heartfelt gratitude, the more the light in their eyes became brighter … and the more they wanted to do!
It made me realize how desperately we all want to be appreciated; how hungry we all are for someone to tell us that there is something within us that is valuable and worthy of gratitude and forgiveness and respect. We try and teach our children that there are consequences for their actions, but we also tell them that we will still love them, no matter what.
While we are all “a little bit broken,” perhaps no one feels more broken than someone who sits in jail. Yet, while they are suffering the consequences for their behavior, there oftentimes is more judgment than compassion to help them heal in the broken places. I suspect there is a lot of self-loathing and depression that goes on in the minds and hearts of those who find themselves in such a situation.
While the faces of the work crew changed from week-to- week (only two of the original team were there two months later on the last day, and had gained 10 pounds from all the desserts we fed them), the same reactions to gratitude and praise abounded. Obviously the men had no choice but to respect their sergeant (Sgt. Kevin Gamache), yet, it was also abundantly clear to me that their respect for him was sincere. He treated them with dignity, and they responded accordingly. So much more was being “rebuilt” within the silence of those ancient walls.
I initially thought this was going to be a simple scrape, spackle and paint job. There was nothing simple about it though, both in terms of what the work required and the emotional human response that it evoked. They restored the beauty of our church, and in return we worked hard to help restore some of their self-esteem.
The Community Service Program of the Franklin County Jail is more than offering nonprofits free labor in return for supplies. It is a program that at its best offers restoration of broken spirits for people trying to reclaim their dignity and sense of value and purpose in this world in which they have struggled to live. Hopefully those who participate in it will find inner fortitude, self-love and the ability to make healthier and better choices in the future. Hopefully there will be less judgment and more compassion from those of us who taught our children that there are consequences to their actions, but that we would still love them, no matter what. We are all someone’s child, and until we draw our last breath we will always need for someone to care about us, to believe that we are worth redeeming, and to love us into wholeness.
With gratitude to Sgt. Kevin Gamache and his revolving work crew from the Franklin County Jail.
The Rev. Cynthia A. Frado is with the First Parish of Northfield.