Christmas in Jail! (2014)

Four years ago:

Last evening Linda and I, and many of my friends from St. Marty's Painesville (Dan and Kathy Philipps and their daughter Alyssa; Kathy Flora; Mary Ann Ratchko-Gamez and her husband Feliciano, and several others) spent the evening "con-celebrating" a Christmas program for inmates of the Lake County Jail. Mary Ann brought her flute and Irish whistles and was accompanied by Alex on keyboard and her husband Feliciano on guitar. There were about 6 or so singers, some I recognized and some I didn't know, including a St. Mary's woman (Allison?) who sang a beautiful solo. There were also representatives from a number of other religious communities, St. Noel's, St. Gabe's, St. Anthony's, Kirtland Unitarian Universalist, a Leroy congregation, and several other Protestant congregations. Fr. Mark Riley of St. Mary's took the lead role (but involved everyone).

Lake County Jail (summer photo)

The sessions began as the prisoners ushered in. In the first session (of three), there might have been 30 to 50 women, mostly young, overwhelmingly white. They looked like our daughters, sisters, neighbors. They looked like us (and that really made us think!). We began singing together some popular (and maybe a bit corny) Christmas songs, but the inmates loved it! They particularly got into "Frosty the Snowman," thumping the floor and sitting pads vigorously when the time came. We moved into some more religious carols, led off by "O Holy Night" by our soloist. It was spectacular. Then we sang together several songs, including "Silent Night," one verse sung in Spanish. My favorite was the song "Peace Child." I will try to find a Youtube version of this song and post it later.

Part of the evening involved each of us bringing strips of cloth to a rough wooden manger, to make a comfortable bed for the Baby Jesus. It was moving to see some of the tough men do this. Father Mark asked us to put our hands over our hearts, and to prepare room in our hearts for grace, for the newborn Jesus. We did that--we made room. Father Mark said, "This visit to you is the most important thing I will do this Christmas." It was true for him, and true for all of us!

At certain points, some of the inmates began to cry--at the beauty of the music, at the touching scene making the rough crib comfortable for the baby Jesus, for the heartbreak of being in jail on Christmas.

Believe me, we were as moved and as grateful as the prisoners. We came to do a Work of Mercy, visiting those in prison (as Jesus once was!). What was amazing is how we felt the prisoners had done something for us!

P.S. The final song of every session, after the solemn hymns, was a vibrant version of "Feliz Navidad," led by Feliciano Gamez on guitar. It was so joyful that many of the women and men began dancing to the tune. It was a wonderful way to end the evening.

The Indigo Girls sing "Peace Child":



Lyrics to "Peace Child"

Peace Child,
in the sleep of the night,
in the dark before light
you come,
in the silence of stars,
in the violence of wars--
Savior, your name.

Peace Child,
to the road and the storm,
to the gun and the bomb
you come,
through the hate and the hurt,
through the hunger and dirt--
bearing a dream.

Peace Child,
to our dark and our sleep,
to the conflict we reap,
now come--
be your dream born alive,
held in hope, wrapped in love:
God's true shalom.

Songwriters
ALLOCCO, JACK / KURTZ, DAVID / (WRITER UNKNOWN), TRADITIONAL

Published by
Lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing LLC

Poem for Little Ava, Age 2 years 4 months

Nani Has Two Shoulders, Ava

You come in crying, saying, “I want Nani to hold me,

I want to sleep on Nani’s shoulder!”

Don’t fret, Sweetie Pie, don’t be jealous

Because your baby cousin Lilly is sleeping on Nani Linda’s shoulder.

Nani has room in her heart

And on her shoulders for Lilly and you . . .

And really for many more.

Don’t fret, pretty Ava.

        [Bob Coughlin December 27, 2018]

A Little Poem for My Granddaughter Lilly

Lilly Watching the Birdies

Lilly, thirteen months, sits at the window

Watching the winter birds

With great focus and interest.

“Dat,” she says, pointing at the black-capped chickadee,

“Dat,” again, for the junko and then the bluejay.

I want to show her the bright-red cardinal,

The robin, the downy woodpecker.

All the bird wonders of Chardon, Ohio

This little corner of the world,

Her grandparents’ home . . .

(Bob Coughlin / December 26, 2018)

Poem for the Darkness and Silence of Winter Solstice

Here's a poem I wrote many years ago. The poem seems pretty bleak--at first. But in the end it's a poem about Hope returning. Our days are very short and very dark right now. And I find the silence unnerving. Where is all the bird song? Where is the joyful cacophony?

Of course Christmas is coming. And we celebrate with lights and music and presents. And more than presents, we celebrate with our "presence" to each other.

I think in the darkness and silence, we need to light lights and candles, bring flowers and green into the house, and stay close to our family and friends. Otherwise . . .

Winter Solstice

The chill creeps into the bones:

December 21 and sun gone long before 5 o’clock;

huge gray clouds roll in off Lake Erie

riding the Witch’s gale, spitting sleet and

fears as real and as organized as the swirl

of pin oak leaves down Lakeshore Boulevard.

This day, shaken by nameless fears,

seems to last forever:

I wonder how I will get through the next minute,

and the minute after that,

and the minute after that,

wonder if I can make it

until hope returns

until peace-which-surpasses-understanding,

as mysterious as winter solstice’s fear--

my heart standing still, turning cold,

my spirit abandoned--

until peace returns like grace like unexpected

gift.

                       Robert M. Coughlin

Advice to Prophets--a short poem

Advice to Prophets

Today the prophets weep,

Victory always seems to go to Evil.

But in the long arc,

If we help bend it,

It turns toward justice.

Weep not, prophets,

Just get to work!

Bob Coughlin

July 4, 2018

[Theodore Parker, Unitarian/Transcendentalist, in his 1853 book “Ten Sermons of Religion”--”The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice.”]

 When I wrote this poem yesterday, I was thinking of some prophetic voices that I have known--Mike Rivage-Seul, Kathy Flora, Brian Rice, Dave Lima, Dolly Mikula, Fr. James Martin, Maurice McCrackin, Marion Bromley, Ernest Bromley, Chuck Matthei, Daniel Berrigan, and many others. What keeps them going in times of such discouragement? Or is that the wrong word? There's a line in Tennessee Williams' Glass Menagerie: "I am disappointed, not discouraged."

I also thought about the famous line, seen above, that Martin Luther King Jr. borrowed from Theodore Parker, about the arc of the moral universe. What I wanted to add is that we have to do the bending--I'm not sure that it bends by itself. We have to get to work!

Remembering Martin Luther King, Jr.

Forgive me for not posting blog entries lately. I apparently have a fierce and inexplicable case of writer's block. But I did want to write a brief post today on Martin Luther King, Jr. A few years ago I wrote a piece in this blog on what I was doing the day MLK was murdered. What was left out of that posting was the impact of MLK on me--and on the world.

I was just becoming awake to the world when Martin Luther King, Jr. was murdered on April 4, 1968. I was a 19-year-old college sophomore studying for the year in Salzburg and Innsbruck, Austria. That year in Europe put America in a different light for me. Europeans were very aware and concerned about the poverty and racism in America. And they seemed very worried about and opposed to the Vietnam War. I should have cared more about these issues, but I guess I was still somewhat insulated from them. I grew up in Euclid, Ohio. During my high school years, Euclid had a population of some 70,000 people, none of whom, as far as I knew, were Black. The Vietnam war had affected Euclid, but even that didn't penetrate my consciousness much--even though a St. William's and St. Joe's classmate, Raymond "Buddy" Chasser, had been killed in Vietnam. A year after MLK was murdered in Memphis, my own cousin, Tommy Fitzpatrick (again, of Euclid, St. William's, St. Joe's, and Euclid High School), was killed in Vietnam. So I quickly woke up, with all these deaths, riots, and war all around us.

MLK's murder left me bewildered, and eventually led to my study of nonviolence, my own fight against racism (which continues!), and my involvement in both the Civil Rights movement, the protests against the Vietnam War, and, indeed, resistance to war in general. After college, I moved to Cincinnati and roomed with Chris Cotter in the poor Over-the-Rhine neighborhood. We both studied nonviolence, learned about poverty first-hand, and met many courageous people involved in both the Civil Rights movement and the movement to nonviolently resist war and the tools of war. That's when Chris and I met Marion and Ernest Bromley, Juanita and Wally Nelson, and Maurice McCrackin--and later, Dorothy Day. And we met a lot of Peacemakers and Catholic Workers--Peggy Scherer, Greg Haas, Henry Scott, John Luginbill, Kenny Przybylski, Dan Bromley, Richard Gale, Tim Jenkins, Chuck Matthei--and so many others. In Chris Cotter's last two years at Notre Dame, he was in the Peace Studies Program, working with great teachers like Jim Douglass, Charles McCarthy, John Howard Yoder, and many others. I got to meet Jim Douglass and Charles McCarthy--and I know Emmanuel Charles McCarthy, now a Melkite-rite Catholic priest, is still a profound influence on Chris and my friend Tim Musser (and really hundreds and hundreds of other people).

Some years after leaving Cincinnati, I decided to write a biography of Rev. Maurice McCrackin, the great peace and Civil Rights activist. I soon teamed up with Judith Bechtel (now Judith Blackburn), and were able to publish a bio of Mac through Temple University Press in 1991 (a 2nd edition is still for sale on Amazon.com)--Building the Beloved Community: Maurice McCrackin's Life for Peace and Civil Rights. Daniel Berrigan, SJ, wrote a foreword to our biography.

All of that was thanks to Martin Luther King, and yes, to his death, which opened up my eyes to the evil in the world and what could be done about it.

Of course this is only part of the story and omits the influence of people I encountered in Berea, Kentucky, like Mike and Peggy Rivage-Seul, Guy and Peggy Patrick, Anne Weatherford, and many more. And the marvelous people I have met, and still work with in Painesville and Cleveland, Ohio--like Kathy Flora, Dan and Kathy Philipps, Brian Rice, and many many more. Not to mention the impact of my wife Linda and my daughters, Julia, Carolan, and Emily.

There are many courageous allies out there. Martin Luther King, Jr. once said, "The arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice." There's work to be done, there are allies out there, and "we shall not be moved" by the forces of hatred and despair.

A Poem on the 6th Anniversary of the Chardon High School Massacre

Can you believe it? School massacres are becoming routine in the USA! Here is a poem I wrote this week on the 6th anniversary of the massacre at Chardon High School--in Geauga County, Ohio, my home. My nephew Dillon Coughlin was in the cafeteria when this happened.

The Chardon High School Massacre—6 Years Later

It doesn’t even count as mass murder,

Only three children dead, another paralyzed,

Another gravely wounded, a sixth nicked.

The shooter, T.J. Lane, an insecure boy from a destroyed family,

Shot up his table in the cafeteria before classes began.

A 22-caliber handgun—almost quaint in this brave new world

Where children are mowed down with weapons of war.

At least two hero teachers, Frank Hall, chasing down the shooter,

And Joe Ricci, running in to a hallway where bullets were flying,

Rescuing Nick Walczak, the boy permanently paralyzed.

Three boys lay mortally wounded, Danny Parmertor,

Russell King, Jr., and Demetrius Hewlin.

Joy Rickers wounded, Nate Mueller grazed.

Two funerals at St. Mary’s Church, across the street from the high school,

Thousands of people forming a human chain to protect the funeral mass

From threatened protest by Westboro Baptist Church.

The community did everything it could think of to support the students,

Their families, and the families of the deceased, but . . .

The spirits and bodies and dreams and hopes of so many

Were shredded by unfeeling bullets fired

By the desperately unhappy boy, who

Will spend the rest of his days in prison.

                                    Robert M. Coughlin / February 27, 2018

Two Poems for Ash Wednesday--one old, one new

First, an old one--thinking about my Mother and her last Ash Wednesday on Earth:

The Last Ash Wednesday (February 2003)

After teaching my classes,

I drive over to Kevin’s house

Where Mom now lives after moving from Euclid

Our family home for fifty-one years.

It’s getting harder for her to go out,

So I come to her house,

Burn last year’s palm fronds in the ash tray

And anoint her forehead with the Sign of the Cross.

I find myself unable to utter the ancient words,

“Remember, Woman, from dust thou art,

And unto dust thou shallt return.”

The words are too painful, too real,

The abiding dust

too close.

Then Mom anoints my own forehead,

Again leaving the words unspoken:

No one can ever know . . . .

After the little ceremony,

We both laugh, and Mom says,

“Let’s drink a beer!”

“Not on Ash Wednesday,” I tease.

“The hell with that!” she retorts.

“I’m old enough now to be above the rules!”

We both laugh, and I pop open two beers.

We drink to Mardi Gras and to Lent,

And to the ashes on our foreheads.

                                                             Bob Coughlin

                                                                        February 21, 2007

                                                                        Ash Wednesday



And this evening, I went to St. Gabe's in Concord Township for mass and ashes. To my astonishment, there were about 400 people there. I thought about how much I love my Church and my fellow Catholics (and, by the way, I love people in other traditions very much too). This poem came to me after mass:

Thou Art Stardust

As a child, Monsignor John Fleming

Made the sign of the cross on my forehead

With the ashes of palm fronds, saying,

“Remember man, from dust thou art,

and unto dust thou shalt return.”

At St. Gabe’s this evening, 400 people came on a Wednesday

For mass and to celebrate this strange ritual of ashes—

Almost astonishing in this year of cruelty, 2018.

I wished I could have spoken different words

While anointing their foreheads with the cross—

Something like, “You, my friend, are stardust! Never forget that!”

Or, “You are my beloved son, daughter,

Mother, father, wife, husband, friend!

Anoint your beloved’s forehead

With your burning love!”

This Ash Wednesday, I think of

All those I love, the dead and the living,

From my Mom and Dad, long in the ground,

To my little grandchildren, one brand new.

You are stardust!

I love you!

                        Bob Coughlin

                        Ash Wednesday / February 14, 2018

[By the way, two inspirations for this poem, besides the reality of being there tonight at St. Gabe's--Chet Raymo's writing; and Joni Mitchell's song "Woodstock." Raymo, an astronomer, once wrote that every molecule in our bodies was forged in a star. We are quite literally stardust.]