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192 ˜ A Work of Hospitality, 1982–2002
searched and often hounded by the guards and by their rules and machines as
we enter, not the belly, but the jaws of the beast. Female visitors are more humiliated
than men in this clearance process. This is the most male institution on
earth, even more so than the dressing room of a pro football team or the Army
barracks after a battle. Of the two thousand people inside the beast, only a few
are women—and these are staff, guards, and visitors.
Our visits had to be approved twenty-four hours earlier by the chaplain’s office.
After clearing two metal detectors and, if we cannot clear the machine, a
strip search, we wait while the prisoner is brought by a “transit guard” to the visitors’
area. This takes from fifteen minutes to one hour. All of this time counts
as “visitation time.” The clock begins running at a stated time and the visits end
at a stated time, no matter when the visits actually begin. One some occasions,
our visits are disrupted so that we have no more than thirty minutes together.
At other times, a second prisoner is never brought to the visiting area, and we
are left without explanation.
III
One of the most joyful and graceful experiences in death-row visitation are
the contact visits. We are thankful. We are under the surveillance of cameras and
guards, and we are locked in the visitation area; however, the guards remain outside
the visitation space. We are afforded time and place for private conversation,
prayer, and Bible study.
Pastoral visitors and lawyers are not allowed to purchase anything from the
vending machines unless the prisoner is under death watch and his death is only
a few hours away. This is the most difficult part of our time together. Justice is
important; supper is essential. Without breaking bread (cheese crackers) and
sharing soft drinks together we do not have the material sharing of food that is
the fundament of Christian community. On the weekends, family visitors are
able to purchase from the vending machines, and tokens of the Beloved Community
are more visible. A growing number of death-row prisoners are Catholics.
A priest or deacon from outside the prison serves them the Eucharist every
week in their cell block, in the belly of the beast. We rejoice even as we yearn for
a shared meal with our beloved friends and, for the most part, fellow baptized
disciples.
In addition to bans on food, ministers and lawyers cannot bring their children
to visit. In 1980, the warden at Jackson instituted the “Hannah Rule”—
we’ve called it that after our daughter, who was an infant at the time—which
disallowed the practice. There is no exception when the death watch is in force.
Children re-create and redefine space; they are as necessary for hospitality as
bread and wine. The presence of children scares the ubiquitous acolytes of death.
The prisoner who leaves his cell block behind and journeys to the “meeting