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Hospitality to the Imprisoned ˜ 149
imagination—then Yahweh will come like a fire. . . . And friend, it will burn!
The fire is already burning. We’ve denied it; we’ve been quiet; we politely pretend
it’s not there, or that it won’t touch us. But it’s burning.
We’re running from a lion—straight into the jaws of a bear. We’ve been zealous,
even frantic, to keep our neighborhoods safe, and now in the sanctuary of
our home we put our hands on the wall and are bitten by a snake. Such are the
consequences of a corporate life based on greed and fear, on a willingness to keep
quiet and to give our silent consent as the poor and people of color go down the
tubes; and then to pretend it has nothing to do with the rest of us.
It doesn’t take much imagination to realize some of the things we must do
to create a safe society. We need to house the homeless, to provide care and a
healthy, safe environment for every child; we need to feed the hungry and to see
that everyone has access to health and medical care. We need to stop the proliferation
of violence and weaponry in the U.S. military, on the streets of every
city, and in the American home. We need to persevere in seeking the language,
the behavior, and the public policy that will move us past the racism, the violence
against women, the homophobia, and the class hatred that divide us more
deeply every day.
But the language of reconciliation and justice doesn’t seem to sell in the political
marketplaces. Keeping quiet in such evil times is the smart thing to do!
Why is it smart for you and me Why does it make so much professional sense
to turn our heads from the reality of prisons in our midst Why do the people
you and I know not talk about it Why is it impolite to begin to ask questions
about Episcopalians and Catholics and Presbyterians in the court system of your
county—or whatever county What is in this bag of snakes anyway
It’s your question. It’s my question. It’s our question.
Why
Dollars and Sense, by Murphy Davis
J u n e 1 9 8 9
In the past two months the state of Georgia has released, with a flurry of
publicity, some three thousand prisoners. Each was given a clean set of clothes,
twenty-five dollars, and a bus ticket to somewhere, or to nowhere. Nobody
wanted to release them, but the governor, because of serious overcrowding in the
prisons, agreed to do it to avoid a suit. In a recent two-week period the Fulton
County Jail released more than one thousand prisoners. Each was given two dol-