A couple of weeks ago, The Catholic Times ran a story and photos about Bishop Earl Fernandes visiting two Ohio prisons for Christmas Mass. If you recall, he went to the Chillicothe Correctional Institution and the Ohio Reformatory for Women (ORW) in Marysville.
I was part of the Mass in ORW, and my role as inmate musician/cantor allowed me a unique perspective. I had wanted to write the original Times story, but for days and days I was so overwhelmed with heavenly emotion I couldn’t find the words. And anyone who knows me knows I’m never without words!
It’s taken this long to get my thoughts and feelings in order well enough to share, but the Holy Spirit guided me through the process – and gave me plenty of words.
Mass was supposed to be celebrated on Saturday, Dec. 24, but the “Arctic Nightmare” cancelled everything in Union County that day. The Mass was rescheduled for one week later, Dec. 31, which was a miracle because nothing gets rescheduled that fast, so this Mass was destined to be special. I believe God knew we needed it, and He was going to make it happen.
On Saturday morning, the chapel was alive with activity well before the sun came up. The sacristans were making last-minute preparations, and our prison chaplain, Father Joseph Trapp, was fielding phone calls from everywhere. The energy of anticipation was infectious.
I was trying to practice at the keyboard but was becoming more excitedly nervous by the minute. I couldn’t sit still long enough to play more than a few lines of music. I’d play a little, have to wipe my sweaty, shaking hands, try again, get up for a drink of water, try again, hug one of my friends.
It should’ve been easier because I’d chosen all my family’s favorite Christmas carols, which was my way of keeping them close during Mass, but I was a giddy mess. The pressure (which I probably put on myself) just kept growing. I mean, the bishop, the warden, the deputy warden, more than 70 of my peers and a half dozen outside volunteers were counting on me to lead them in song. Yikes!
Prior to Mass, Father Trapp and Bishop Fernandes made their way to the altar and lectern to discuss logistics, and because the keyboard is next to the lectern, they stopped to say hello. I’ve never been so tongue-tied in my life! I think aliens took over my brain because my usual friendly, outgoing confidence was replaced with a weird puddle of extreme shyness.
I finally got a grip enough to talk about music issues, and I was slightly perplexed that Bishop Fernandes was willing to go along with whatever I wanted to do in terms of the Gloria, Our Father and Lamb of God.
I said, “But you’re the bishop, shouldn’t you decide?” He smiled and countered with, “It’s your Mass, you decide.” So, I took a deep breath and decided: We’d sing all of them. He happily agreed, but I was ready to faint.
Finally, we began Mass with O Come All Ye Faithful, and I wondered how the music even happened because all my fingers had morphed into thumbs. By some miracle, my voice had the volume and oomph necessary to lead our congregation. By another miracle, my nerves slowly subsided, and I regained some composure as the service continued.
There was a particular moment during Bishop Fernandes’ homily that I finally relaxed. It was when he told us that after his installation in May, he went to Rome for 10 days of “bishop school!” The way he said it struck me as funny, and (thankfully) everybody else giggled, too.
He went on to say that after school one day, the 12 new bishops met with Pope Francis. The pope told them to make sure they went into prisons and spent time with prisoners. He wanted us to know we are not forgotten, we are loved, we are children of God, and He has a plan for each of us.
The bishop said God wants us to be the best children of His we can be despite our circumstances. That we can grow, learn, change our thinking and change our lives. He said God loves us and wants us to receive His mercy and carry it with us every day, whether in prison or in society.
There wasn’t a dry eye in the chapel after Bishop Fernandes finished speaking. It was the most powerful, encouraging message he could have given us.
The next musical hurdle came at communion. I’d forgotten to ask if I should go first to receive the host or wait until last or go sometime in between, and I didn’t know what to do! Bishop Fernandes ended my internal conflict when he left the altar, came to the keyboard and offered me the Eucharist as everyone else was getting in line.
Receiving the Body of Christ from the hand of our bishop was the most holy moment of my life. The smile on my face was reflected on his as I said, “Amen,” and I felt the very real presence of Jesus.
Overjoyed as I was, I still had music to play, and it was time to sing. I’d selected Angels We Have Heard on High and Away in a Manger because people know most of the words by heart. Surprisingly, most of the congregation opted not to sing (they were busy receiving communion or praying), so it became an impromptu solo of sorts. I credit the angels for helping me and making the song so blessedly smooth.
Before Bishop Fernandes gave us the final blessing, he thanked the warden and her staff for allowing him to come here. His sincere gratitude for coming to prison would make Pope Francis proud. We then sang Joy to the World with great joy indeed. Mass officially ended, everyone was happy and I almost wept at the gravity of what just took place. We were so blessed!
After Mass, there was a small reception where Bishop Fernandes talked with us individually or in little groups. I was among the last to visit with him because I had to put away the keyboard and help the sacristans clear the altar. But when we did get to chat, our conversation is one I’ll never forget.
He was so attentive and sincere, I felt truly heard and seen (through the residual shyness). Then he blessed my little, one-decade wooden rosary that I pray with every day while I walk or run.
All too soon, it was time for him to leave us. I still feel honored, humbled and happily jumbled by our incredible Christmas Mass with Bishop Fernandes. His message of mercy and hope is forever imprinted on my heart.
Michele Williams is an inmate at the Ohio Reformatory for Women.
