Chaput celebrates Mass behind bars

As church settings go, it was grim - high cinder-block walls, surrounded by tall fences and coils of razor wire.

No light shone through stained-glass images of Jesus. And no choir boys appeared in white, their places assumed by unsmiling officers in black shirts who kept watch on a congregation arrayed in a prison gym.

Into that environ stepped the archbishop of Philadelphia, who on Thursday offered a message of faith, hope, and charity to inmates at the Curran-Fromhold Correctional Facility. The hour-long Mass drew about 80 inmates, all wearing standard sky-blue shirts and navy pants, the only adornments the tattoos on their arms and necks.

"It's a special event," one inmate enthused.

"It's a show," another griped.

Archbishop Charles J. Chaput came as part of the archdiocese's Prison Ministry Program, which carries out the biblical mandate to visit people in jail. The archdiocese maintains a presence in prisons within its boundaries.

"God loves us," Chaput told the men, who sat before him in plastic chairs. "He loves us each individually, whether we're sinners or not, whether we're in prison or not."

Prison staffers attended the Mass, too, stopping Chaput afterward to pose for pictures. Inmates shook his hand, seeking a word of comfort from the leader of their faith.

Almost all the prisoners present had "CATH" stamped on their identification wristbands.

"I'm a devout Catholic," said Larry Evans, who is awaiting sentencing after pleading guilty to retail theft. "A place like this, you're looking for any sign of hope you can get."

What's known in system parlance as CFCF is a collection of squat buildings on State Road in Northeast Philadelphia, the largest prison in the city system and home to about 2,760 male inmates.

It's named in honor of Holmesburg Prison Warden Patrick Curran and Deputy Warden Robert Fromhold, who were stabbed to death in 1973, the only city corrections staff known to have been killed in the line of duty.

On Thursday, the prison walls were softened by angelic voices from the Visitation of the Blessed Virgin Mary Church in Kensington. Band members weren't wary about being in prison, but were nervous about performing for the archbishop.

"We want to do our best," singer Guisela Rosario said.

The service, in Spanish and English, offered a parable about Jesus healing a leper, allowing the man to rejoin society. Many people might view them as lepers, Chaput said, people to be shunned and ignored, to suffer in prison.

But God's love, he told "my dear brothers," is with them in freedom or confinement. "He loves you personally and intensely."

Some stared raptly. Others slumped in their seats, eyes closed. Several said attending the service brought light to darkened lives.

"It helps," said Gene Gallo, whose criminal history includes robbery and drug offenses. "It gives you faith."

The archbishop's chair had been restored in the prison system's furniture shop and, on Thursday, was presented to Chaput.

He thanked them. "It's beautiful," he said. "And it's comfortable."

Chaput reminded the men that Pope Francis is coming to Philadelphia in September.

"I hope you're out of prison," he said. "And if you are, I hope you'll attend. I know he'll be thinking of you and praying for you. And that you'll think of him and pray for him."

All stood during the sign of peace, the men shaking hands and hugging. The line to take Communion reached halfway up an aisle.

Back in their seats, several men knelt in prayer and reflection. A couple covered their faces with their hands. One wiped a tear.

"I finally get to meet the archbishop," said Jose Cruz, 51, awaiting trial on sex offenses. "It's great."

His dream: to join in welcoming the pope to Philadelphia. He's counting the days and thinking he'll be free by September.

"I"m hoping to be out there," Cruz said, "to see him."