by Fr. Gordon J. MacRae on December 23, 2009 · 12 comments
. . . Many of the Christmas cards that now adorn my cell wall tell of a Light shining in the darkness. You have cast a light into the darkness and spiritual isolation of prison this year. It’s a light magnified ever so brightly, in my life and in yours, by Christ. The darkness can never, ever, ever overcome it. . . . When a young prisoner came to Dr. Frankl in the throes of despair, he was cautioned not to “waste grace.” Dr. Frankl advised him that his days of suffering must be offered for the family he may never see again. It’s a difficult concept for someone on the wrong end of injustice, but the young man was transformed by that advice. . . .
by Fr. Gordon J. MacRae on December 16, 2009 · 12 comments
. . . When These Stone Walls was first considered, I was a bit nervous about an expected onslaught of negative, hateful comments. It’s astonishing that in the five months of this blog’s existence, only three such comments were aimed in our direction. One was from a self-described member of Voice of the Faithful that was little more than a name-calling rant. One was from a contingency lawyer who made enormous profit from keeping the accusations against priests going. The third was from a from a man who was charged with trying to blackmail a Boston priest in 2003. Voices like these have been given the loudest and last word in virtually every media article about accused priests since 2002. On These Stone Walls, you have overwhelmed and supplanted such comments with voices of reason, mercy, and truth – voices of faithful witness to the Gospel. This Christmas, the angels we have heard on high are you, the readers of These Stone Walls. . . .
by Fr. Gordon J. MacRae on December 2, 2009 · 16 comments
. . . Then the other prisoner was back! “This was in the book,” he said as he propped a photograph against my small TV screen. It was the photo of my mother and Frances that I had lost four years earlier – the photo I searched for in vain when my mother died. Just as Mass began on my mother’s birthday – at the very moment I was offering the Mass for her and her sister – their last photograph together found me. An accident? Mere coincidence? It’s a greater leap of faith to dismiss such events as coincidence than to accept them for what they are: personally miraculous gifts of actual grace. When I looked at the photograph, it was as though someone had lifted a tiny corner of the veil between life and death. I saw something in the photo I hadn’t noticed before. The two sisters stood side by side – my mother on the right – on the shore of a new life, being prepared for the Presence of God. I never saw my mother look happier. I never saw more contentment and hope in her eyes. I never felt so happy for her, so filled with promise that her journey is near its end: Home, her New Found Land. . . .
. . .Many of you have expressed interest in offering a spiritual communion for Fr. MacRae. Beginning today, the First Sunday of Advent, These Stone Walls will sponsor a Spiritual Communion Page.
We encourage you to join us in a weekly Holy Hour. If you’re able, your Holy Hour may coincide with a weekly opportunity that Fr. MacRae has to celebrate Mass in private in his cell. The weekly Mass is celebrated each Sunday between 11 pm and midnight Eastern Standard Time. . . .
by Fr. Gordon J. MacRae on November 25, 2009 · 11 comments
. . . G.K. Chesterton once famously remarked, “In America, they have a feast to celebrate the arrival of the Pilgrims. Here in England, we should have a feast to celebrate their departure.” Despite their disdain for Catholicism, it is one of the great ironies of American history that the Mayflower’s Puritan Pilgrims owe their very survival in the New World – indirectly at least – to the Catholic Church. It’s a reality that would have made the pilgrims wince, but there would have been no Thanksgiving without Pope Paul III and a group of Spanish Jesuit priests. It’s a complicated story, but it’s worth telling. . . .
by Fr. Gordon J. MacRae on November 18, 2009 · 15 comments
. . . In the end, what was meant to be a sign of unity in the Church was transformed into an open battle in our seminary. The rector, a Sulpician, was a priest from my diocese. He was particularly incensed when I – the only seminarian from our diocese there – signed a petition challenging his authority to bar Catholic seminarians from attending a Mass with the Pope. On October 7, 1979, more than 200,000 people gathered on the National Mall in Washington, DC to welcome the Holy Father and celebrate the Eucharist with him. . . . I was horrified at the way they were singled out and ostracized, and I wasn’t having it. On that day, I parted ways with the “trendy dissent” crowd. . . .
by Fr. Gordon J. MacRae on November 11, 2009 · 25 comments
. . . Then, suddenly, EWTN was gone. Early in 2008, EWTN converted to a digital signal ahead of the national transition that was to take place. To the dismay of many Catholic prisoners, EWTN was lost to us. The local cable company promised to restore it after the national transition to digital television, but that has not happened. EWTN is no longer available in the prison, and is deeply missed. I am approached daily by Catholic prisoners asking how we can restore EWTN. Without EWTN for daily Mass, I was stranded again. A friend challenged me to do all I can to regain the ability to celebrate the Eucharist. I wrote for an appointment with the current prison chaplain who told me he would approach prison officials for approval to have Mass supplies if our bishop also approved it. . . .
by Fr. Gordon J. MacRae on November 4, 2009 · 15 comments
. . . When I looked up at one point, I noticed a small wooden tabernacle on a shelf in the corner of the office. The tabernacle was hand carved by a Catholic prisoner, and was incredibly beautiful. Sitting there with the deacon’s essay in my hand, I noticed a small Sanctuary Lamp that was lit. I realized with a great jolt that the Blessed Sacrament was in the tabernacle in the deacon’s office. I felt overwhelmed, and tears came to my eyes. For the first time in over five years, I was in the Presence of Christ in the Blessed Sacrament. The chaplain smiled, apparently thinking that I was reacting to his essay. . . . I awoke at 3:00 AM smelling smoke. A prisoner with a book of matches was trying to ignite my blankets while I slept, insisting that Satan awoke him in the night and asked him to do so. . . .
by Fr. Gordon J. MacRae on October 28, 2009 · 7 comments
. . . We of “a certain age” remember all too well the Beatles’ famous song, “Hey, Jude.” Be careful! Some of the lyrics may escape you, but the melody is addictive. It can easily become “stuck in your head.” I can hear it this very moment playing on neurons that first fired forty years ago. Was the song about the same Jude – the Patron of Hopeless Causes – whom we honor today? I was a teenager when I first heard the Beatles’ “Hey, Jude” in the late 1960’s (UGH! THE SIXTIES!!!). I remember thinking, at age fifteen, that the song was about St. Jude, Hope for the Hopeless. I liked the song, and even took some comfort from it for that very reason. It sounded like a prayer, and it seemed fitting that the Beatles, whose popularity edged toward idolatry – like a lot of the 1960’s – might pray. Prayer or not, it has been sung like one since . . .
by Fr. Gordon J. MacRae on October 21, 2009 · 7 comments
. . . An avid Clint Eastwood fan, my sister rented the video of the 1979 film, “Escape from Alcatraz,” and we watched it together sometime in 1984. In a memorable scene, Eastwood’s character had his first meal in the Alcatraz prison’s dining facility. It was spaghetti. Clint Eastwood watched as another prisoner fed a bit of spaghetti to a mouse hiding in his pocket. Edified by this snippet of humanity in such a place, Clint dug into his own spaghetti. The camera zoomed in, and both Clint Eastwood and the viewers caught sight of maggots squirming on the tray. Clint wasn’t the only one eating his spaghetti. My niece – then five, and now married with daughters of her own – came into the room just at that scene. She squealed, “EEEEUWWW!” and ran off. It was a month before my sister could serve spaghetti again. . . .
