October 30, 2025
“I was in prison and you visited me.” ~ Matthew 25:36 NRSV
Clarence (2nd from left, me, my friend, and two other Angola guys)
This post has been circling the landing field for almost three months. There are reasons for the delay. I spent nearly a month traveling from the beginning of August until mid-October, including a week in Maryland to visit Seth and his family, four days in North Carolina to serve as a Spiritual Director for the Wild Goose Festival, a week in Banff with 7 of my book club friends from Hawaii, and two weeks in Greece and Turkey with Rod. It wasn’t until October 13 that Rod and I were able to move into our new apartment. We lived for 158 days out of suitcases, which tops the 150 days that Noah and friends resided in the Ark. To say I have felt ungrounded and unsettled would be an understatement.
But the real reason is that it took me these months to process all that happened during my visit to Death Row. Some of it was sweet. Meeting my guys in person, hugging them, sharing lunch with them were sacred, holy moments.
Some of it was scary. Noting that the security guard posted in the visitation room kept nodding off was unsettling. Getting caught between the door to Death Row and two gates that were locked between me and the waiting bus to freedom felt like an eternity! Returning to the prison entrance and not finding my friend waiting for me, as we had arranged, became more frightening when one of the guards, upon hearing my inquiry about her absence, said, “She left hours ago.” Thankfully, she had moved her car to a shady spot and was waiting for me. Not having anything personal, including my wallet and cell phone, emphasized my powerlessness.
Some of it was serious. Due to confidentiality, Clarence and Anthony had no idea I was working with another Death Row inmate. The secretary made a mistake at the very beginning of the visit, calling for Clarence and Anthony to come to the visitation room at the same time. They both walked in, looked at each other, and at me, with what seemed like horror. Their shock resonated with shame in me, something at which I, and the penal system, excel. I had to think quickly on my feet, explaining the clerical error to Anthony and asking him to return at noon. Irrational as it was, I felt like I’d been caught cheating on them.
It took a tremendous amount of emotional energy to remain focused on Clarence as I silently prayed that Anthony would come back. It took courage for Anthony to return at noon. And it took the remainder of the afternoon to provide a place for him to process it. On the way back to my friend’s home, we debriefed and released some of the emotion with laughter and some with tears.
This is serious stuff. It was genuinely frightening to realize how fragile these relationships are. The guys live in a world that is not safe, where trust in friends, family, and systems has been shattered. My relationship with each of them continues. I am grateful for their grace to me, and for God’s grace that has enabled me to hold space for them.
Please pray for them, for all those who are imprisoned, and for me. ~ Anne
Wayfinding 