First Impression

First impressions don’t always stick.

On Thursday afternoon during meet and greet at the Torres* retreat, one of the men in white** caught my attention.  He was tall, fit, stern, tattooed.  He looked mean.  My first impression—Oh, I hope I never run into him. 

From Friday through Sunday, I was sitting so that I could observe the man who had frightened me the night before without him knowing I was observing him.  Other than being present, he did not participate in any of the activities.  What’s going on in him?

I had prayed for him the night before and I prayed for him as the retreat went along.  I sensed a deep loneliness.  I still didn’t want to run into him in a dark alley but my feelings toward him were changing.

During the afternoon on Saturday, I thought maybe I detected his lips move during a hymn.  Saturday evening, the men in white were afforded an opportunity to make comments about their experience of the weekend.  When it was his turn, he said “I don’t believe in God.  I’ve never believed in God.  But something is happening.”

In our final session on Sunday, the men in white were given one last chance to make comments.  When it was his turn, he cried and couldn’t stop.  A brother in white hugged him while they sobbed in each other’s arms.

*Torres is a Texas State Prison near Hondo, Texas.

**In Texas prisons, all inmates wear white.