It’s understandable. Thanks to social media and around-the-clock news, we’re hyperaware of every little thing that happens. When facing something tragic, we know we want to say something. But what? Responding to each situation with a well-thought-out and sincere reply would take quite a bit of time. And what would we say anyway that would make the situation less difficult? 

So we go the thoughts-and-prayers route. It’s fast. It’s easy. It’s all-encompassing. Thoughts and prayers provide us with something—anything—to say when we know we want to say something but don’t know exactly what that something is. So we type out the words again: “You’re in my thoughts and prayers,” or “I’m keeping you in my thoughts and prayers.” 

And then, because of this fast-paced world bringing us all these situations, we move on. We mentally check off that we’ve done what we should or could. Our thoughts and prayers are put in reserve until we’re faced with the next tragic situation or social media post. 

The Next Steps 

I am in no way downplaying the importance of expressing our concern for people and troubling situations when we learn about them. Letting people know that we are thinking and praying for them in a time of need is important. 

But it’s the follow-through where I think we drop the ball. Behind these posts are real issues that do not disappear with just thoughts and prayers. For instance, in the aftermath of a death—no matter the manner—there is a void left behind for someone. What do we do with that? 

More than Just Words 

We need to take the next step. For instance, I have a co-worker who has a list of all the people for whom she has promised to pray, and she shares it with the rest of our staff every morning when we gather for prayer. It is an ongoing reminder to all of us to pray for those in need. 

What if we took those prayers one step further? If you know the person/people for whom you have offered thoughts and prayers, follow up with them. Calling or sending a quick text or email to say, “I’m just checking in to see how you’re doing,” can go a long way. 

Or you could take action. Make a donation to an organization that is somehow related to the situations you are praying for. Or work to enact change regarding situations on a larger scale, such as school-related violence or mental health issues. You can do so by making your voice heard. That might be by voting, taking part in rallies, or writing letters to people in leadership roles. 

Whatever it is, do it. We’ve got plenty of thoughts and prayers floating out there. The question is, how do we put them into something more concrete? Because apparently what we’re doing now doesn’t seem to be working.

A sticky note containing this quote by Anne Lamott hangs on the wall just under my computer screen, where it is always in my sight. Yet, even with seeing it every day, it still hasn’t sunk in for me. Well, the first part has. That’s my go-to when my computer, phone, cable box, or any electronic product doesn’t work the way it should—unplug, reboot, refresh. 

It’s the second part—the part after the comma—that I can’t seem to grasp. And, apparently, I’m not alone. According to a recent Pew survey, fewer than half of American workers take all of their vacation days. I am not at all surprised. 

But even if we do, chances are work and other life responsibilities are not far from our minds. I say that from my own personal experience. 

A Failed Attempt 

Recently, my family packed up our van and headed to the beach for a brief getaway. It was a much-needed break. Life had grown hectic and stressful for all of us—work, school, college decisions, etc. 

One morning, I rose early and made my way down to the beach for a walk. Eventually, I sat down on the sand with every intention of just breathing in the salty air of the ocean and listening to the waves. The sun was shining and beginning to warm the sand. I thought I might be able to find a little bit of peace and serenity. 

But after I sat down, I found my mind running through all of the things on my to-do list that awaited me back home. I wondered how much this break would set me back—both at work and at home. I wished I had either my phone or a pen and paper to capture the tasks flooding my brain. The list started to seem insurmountable, and I was right back to the place that had spurred this getaway in the first place. It got to a point where, for a moment, I could no longer even hear the sounds of the waves crashing. 

As I tried to regain my focus on the present moment, this column began to formulate in my head. Now, to be fair, being a writer means you are on call 24/7. You are at the mercy of your creative mind, and inspiration and insight can show up at any time, vacation days or sleep be damned. Usually, that’s not a problem. But it becomes one when it is buried under a mound of other things already calling your name. 

Not Alone 

But I’m not alone in feeling like this. I have had numerous discussions with friends and family about their need/want to unplug and step off the merry-go-round of life, even if just for a moment. And the Pew research I mentioned before supports that with cold, hard facts. 

The question is, though, what are we going to do about it? We all know the way we’re living is not sustainable, right? We should follow the lead of our technological companions and unplug, reboot, and refresh—even just for a few minutes. Everything seems to work better after that. 

I now had years’ worth of stuff, including three full sets of china in the attic, three generations of photos and albums, an abundance of pots and pans and other cooking supplies, holiday decorations, including three Nativity sets, and more. I struggled with making decisions about things that meant something to my parents but didn’t necessarily to me. My sisters helped when they could, but they faced the same conundrum: Do we keep these things just because they were Mom and Dad’s? 

Now, before you start to think that my parents had an overabundance of useless stuff, don’t. Their possessions were the result of a life fully and well lived. Take a moment to stop and think about all the things you have in your house—things that are meaningful to you and that you want to be surrounded by. They bring you joy. 

At times, I found myself holding on to my parents’ things . . . just because. Because I felt guilty. Because I thought maybe I’d find a way to fit them into my family’s life. Because I felt like, “Who am I to decide what stays and what goes?” It was a heavy load to bear. 

The Flip Side 

Suddenly, I found myself looking at my own things very differently. The same critical eye I was developing concerning my parents’ stuff started to creep into my life. And not in a good way. 

For example, the trophy my daughter won in her soccer tournament became one more thing that, at some point, someone will have to get rid of. Sure, there is the chance that she will want to proudly display her sixth-grade soccer trophy in her home one day, but my gut says I doubt it. Everything became, in my mind, just one more thing that at some point would have to be donated, discarded, or stored. 

It became, for me, an extreme form of Swedish death cleaning, where you go through all your stuff and pare it down, so your family or friends don’t have to. I didn’t want my kids to have to go through these things and make tough decisions about them. I knew the weight doing so brought with it. Each time I would do some normal decluttering, I would ask myself, “Is this something one of my kids would want or are they just going to throw it out?” If I thought they wouldn’t want it, it went. 

Both/And 

After I lamented how I should never have had my first half-marathon shirt and medal framed, my husband, Mark, offered a bit of advice. He said that if I got rid of everything, I wouldn’t be surrounded by anything that I loved or cherished. And he was right. 

I will never be able to completely spare my kids from having to go through some of our stuff. In the meantime, though, I’ll attempt to walk the line between keeping too much and keeping too little, helping them along the way when I can.

I remember walking into the cafeteria that morning with money in my hand. I was going to repay a classmate who had loaned me money at lunchtime the day before. I looked around for her and then began asking if anyone had seen her yet. No one had, even though classes were about to start. 

I noticed that it looked as if a game of telephone was making its way through the area where all the freshmen were sitting. One person leaned over to the next, and on it went. Some people began crying while others stood with a look of disbelief on their faces. I wondered what was going on. 

Eventually, the news made its way to me and my group of friends. We learned that our classmate, the one I had been looking for, had died by suicide that very morning. We were all stunned. How could this happen to someone our age? Death was for older people, not us. 

We spent the day in a haze of emotions—sorrow, confusion, disbelief, even anger for some. 

A Haunting Reality 

So why am I telling this story? It’s to show that suicide deeply affects everyone it touches—even peripherally and years later. As a parent, I worry about a lot of things when it comes to my kids. One thing that I’m most aware of is their mental health. Ask any teenager how he or she is doing, and chances are you will receive the standard answer of “I’m fine,” leaving us parents to search for clues and insights. 

Things such as COVID-19 and its isolation, social media, bullying, school—and what lies beyond that—are weighing down our kids. I’m not saying that there haven’t been stressors on previous generations, but the numbers show that right now there is something to be concerned about. 

Behind the Numbers 

According to the National Alliance of Mental Illness (NAMI), suicide is the second leading cause of death among people aged 15–24. Also, nearly 20 percent of high school students report serious thoughts of suicide, and 9 percent have made an attempt to take their lives. While those statistics might vary slightly depending on which research source you’re reading, they all reach the same conclusion: Suicide is a real problem. 

Those numbers are startling. While they are important for providing awareness and information, they are not the true story. The true story is that behind each one of those numbers is someone’s child, someone’s sibling, someone’s friend, someone’s classmate. Those numbers represent someone who is dearly missed. 

If you or someone you know is in crisis, call or text the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline at 988. You can also contact the Crisis Text Line (text HELLO to 741741). Both services provide 24-hour, confidential support to anyone in suicidal crisis or emotional distress.

This parish-based agency in Chicago offers hope to those jailed in both body and spirit.

Seventeen-year-old Jaime Chavez swaggers into the agency living room as if he owns it. Wearing a bulky jacket and a loose-fitting shirt, he moves with a confidence indicative of a modern teenager. With a wide smile and a shiny earring, Jaime’s trendy exterior is belied by his reserved, humble voice. He is, in many ways, the typical American teenager.

But Jaime has lived in a place that is miles from typical. On two different occasions, Jaime spent a month in the Cook County Juvenile Temporary Detention Center in Chicago, Illinois, for gun possession. Stripped of his belongings, separated from his family and sharing space with strangers, Jaime edged dangerously close to being a seasoned regular at the Cook County Detention Center.

“It’s definitely not cool,” he says, “knowing that you won’t be going home the next day. The first time I went in there, it was bad. The second time I figured, ‘What am I doing here?’ I saw myself coming in and out of places like that. I didn’t want to end up in jail.”

Sustaining Jaime through his ordeals were a rejuvenated faith, a flair for poetic self-expression and hope for a life better than the one he was living. Backing him were the people of Kolbe House—the Chicago Archdiocese’s prison and jail ministry.

The Healing House

Jaime is just one of thousands, on both sides of the prison walls, who have been rescued by the more than 40 workers and volunteers of Kolbe House. Located just two blocks from Cook County Jail, Kolbe House is an inconspicuous building that rests in the heart of a restless neighborhood.

Dangerous and diverse, manic and multicultural, this busy area seems anchored by Assumption Parish, headquarters of Kolbe House and its prison missionaries. It’s an engaging place. Though it is not a halfway house, it has the feel of a well-lived-in home. And like many homes, it’s bustling with footsteps and voices of workers breezing in and out of assorted rooms. This is a home with a frenzied family-staff. This is an agency on a mission.

It was named after St. Maximilian Kolbe, the Polish Conventual Franciscan who was imprisoned in Auschwitz and murdered in 1941. Kolbe House—the only agency of the Archdiocese of Chicago that deals directly with inmates—started in 1983 to reach people whose lives have been damaged by crime. The agency and its workers labor with the same drive and selfless abandon as the martyred saint.

It’s been an uphill battle from day one. Starting with no operating budget and existing primarily through donations, Kolbe House has stayed afloat even when financial cutbacks and wavering fiscal support threatened to sink it. Kolbe House workers have pressed on in their mission to offer spiritual liberation to the physically captive and help to restore their beleaguered humanity.

By offering Masses, religious services, spiritual counseling and Bible study, workers and volunteers offer a refuge to the incarcerated. Simply being present in the jails affords inmates a much-needed—and often missing—lifeline.

Father Arturo Pérez-Rodríguez came to Kolbe House in 2003. He believes that providing these essentials is vital to inmates’ lives and to their faith journeys. “I love this because it’s direct ministry. It’s important to just be with these people without judgment of them,” he says. “We take these people for who they are and where they are at. We offer a spiritual grounding for their lives.”

Father Arturo has experienced divine moments inside Cook County Jail. God’s grace, he believes, is found in all corners of the facility. “There’s a real sense of the presence of God in their lives,” he says. “It’s exciting for me in the way that they talk so openly about faith. For me it’s quite inspiring.”

Mending the Broken People

Father Larry Craig, director of Kolbe House since 1983 and pastor of Assumption Parish, has been the agency’s driving force from the beginning. Working in prison ministry for 37 years, Father Larry has seen it all: bureaucracy at its ugliest, inmates at their weakest, families inching toward emotional and financial ruin, and the faith that sustains them all. Looking more like a philosophy professor than a priest, Father Larry is a tall, imposing man with forceful eyes, shrouded in a mane of silver hair. When speaking about the thousands of men, women and children he and his team have aided, his posture softens.

“The Church believes that we’re all part of the body of Christ, and that body needs all of its members,” he says. Acting as a voice for those whose own voices are often ignored, Father Larry and his staff seek to heal the wounds of prisoners. In their often-tattered faces, this priest sees the face of God.

“God becomes human in relationship to other humans,” he says. “That’s where we uniquely experience God and that’s where hope and conversion become a support for life.” Along with aiding in matters of the soul, Kolbe House helps in matters of physical survival as well.

To the recently released—as well as the families of those doing time—support often comes in the form of money for rent, heat or electric bills, clothing or food. Sometimes parolees simply crave a sense of belonging.

“We hope that people who are isolated or alienated feel welcomed back,” Father Larry says. “People who are released from prison can be rescued. They can feel like they belong.”

Making a career out of helping to mend broken people, Father Larry handles inmates and their families with compassionate candor and a listening heart. “We know where they’re coming from so we try to jump right in and say, ‘O.K., this is what I think is happening here. Now let’s see what we can do about it.’”

A Harsh Sentence

Chicago resident Dino Pavlis has had the good fortune to be on the receiving end of Kolbe House’s assistance. Married to Irma for 10 years, Dino has watched as his wife endures inside Cook County Jail for the last 17 months. Since she has yet to stand trial, Dino, who is Catholic, cannot discuss her case.

What he is open to discuss is the emotional wreckage with which he struggles every day. Dino’s association with Kolbe House, as well as Irma’s relationship with Gilda Wagner—one of the agency’s part-time prison chaplains—has helped to ease the sting of separation between husband and wife. Sharing space with more than 40 other inmates, Irma, 33, must navigate through a claustrophobic and sometimes dangerous environment. She finds peace through her weekly visits with Gilda. These visitations provide the inmate with a gentle, human closeness, something Dino can no longer provide.

“When I visit, I can’t even touch my wife’s hand because of the glass,” he says. “What helps me is that I know there’s somebody to visit Irma on a regular basis and who brings the Eucharist. For my wife, who’s very Catholic, the Church provides a physical presence.”

Inside prison walls, kindness is elusive, from inmates as well as guards. “Not all the guards are bad but, as a general rule, they have this grouchy factor,” Dino says with a smile. “And of course she’s dealing with aggression from the other inmates.” Dino says his wife survives the routine of prison life by reading in private and attending Bible study groups and prayer services. Latching on to a small cluster of other Catholic inmates also helps. In a caged life, Irma’s faith is her great escape.

“Celebrating a weekly Mass is very important to her,” he says. “It gives Irma a spiritual base and allows her to transcend her physical realities.” For Dino, support groups hosted by Kolbe House help to ease his own realities. Irma, in the end, isn’t the only one serving time: Dino is also locked away in his own prison. If jail is punishment for the convicted and the accused, then the penalty of waiting and living without is handed out to the families. Dino is all too aware of his own harsh sentence.

“I’m barely surviving this, but I’m O.K.,” he says. “I take great comfort in Kolbe House.” Befriending the Friendless Comfort is a luxury rarely afforded anyone rocked by crime and punishment.

Perhaps the place where comfort is most needed is death row. The long arm of Kolbe House extends there, too.

Charles Walker was a murderer. In the summer of 1983, Walker—drunk and in search of cash—approached Kevin Paule and Sharon Winker as they fished at Silver Creek near Mascoutah, Illinois. Tying the couple to a tree, Walker shot them both in the head and walked away with $40. Convicted and sentenced to death, Walker came to know Deacon Ron DeRose from Kolbe House. Deacon Ron—a volunteer since 1988 and fulltime chaplain since 1995—began a spiritual mentorship with Walker. In his jovial voice, Deacon Ron remembers fondly his experiences with the death-row inmate.

“It was wonderful to be able to pray with him, to be able to hold his hand as the last hours, the last minutes of his life ticked away,” he says. “We laughed, we cried, we prayed. Charles had made his peace with God.”

After refusing to move forward with his appeals, Walker welcomed death. On September 12, 1990, he was executed at Stateville Correctional Center. Deacon Ron—along with Deacon George Brooks, director of advocacy for Kolbe House—has seen the range of grief that haunts the inmates of death row. Weathered by the memories, Ron still looks back on his experiences with a peace-filled heart.

“All I can say is that there were holy moments. It’s been a wonderful journey through the last 10 years. I’ve had some wonderful, colorful, spiritually moving experiences,” the deacon says. “Being with people at that moment when they, in their brokenness, reach up a hand to God—it’s been awesome. I found people who were truly repentant for what they had done.”

What Deacon Ron has kept close to his mind and heart is something many cannot acknowledge: These jailed men and women, guilty or innocent, are still of value. “These inmates are in a system that takes away their dignity, their sense of self,” he says. “We help them to understand that they still are somebody.”

Starting Over

Jaime Chavez is proof of that. While serving time in the Juvenile Detention Center, Jaime happened across Making Choices—a Kolbe House published newsletter of poetry and artwork created by those in and out of jail. Filled with candid prose and illustrations, the publication was a creative endeavor that guided the young poet out of a shadowy place.

Unbeknownst to Jaime, salvation lay hidden in the pages. “I read the Making Choices newsletter on the inside, and it got me interested in what Kolbe House was doing,” he says. Jaime began attending Masses and poetry workshops while serving time in the detention center. After he was released for the second time, Jaime saw an opportunity to begin again.

“I came to the Making Choices group once I was released,” he says. “Kolbe House got me interested in school and then helped me to enroll. Now I am in my first year of college.” Jaime Chavez, once a high school dropout with a criminal past, has reinvented himself. The people of Kolbe House—who helped Jaime obtain his G.E.D.—were a main ingredient in that reinvention. But his work with them isn’t over. For this young student, an ongoing involvement with the agency is an essential factor to his success.

“They keep asking me about school. They help me when I don’t understand something, like registering for classes,” Jaime says. “It keeps me motivated and gives me people to talk to. Also I feel I can’t do things wrong because if I do, I’ll disappoint them. They care.”

To Rescue and Heal It may seem like thankless work: counseling criminals, advocating for those condemned to die, helping their families. On the contrary, for the workers of Kolbe House, this is their calling: a grace-filled opportunity to rescue and heal. And they have learned as many lessons as they have imparted.

Father Arturo is often astounded at the inner strength that many prisoners have. ”I’m amazed at the peace that some people are able to have at spending 30 years in jail,” he says. “They know what they’re going to confront. They’re fearful about what they are going to confront but they’re grounded.”

Deacon Ron has been equally moved by those he has encountered in his ministry. Even in the most desolate of places, grace abounds. “I find God is working very powerfully behind those walls. The strength of faith that I see in some of these people is genuine,” the deacon says. “Anytime a person’s life is in crisis, the future is uncertain and the present seems unbearable—those are the times when people reach out to God.”

In the heart of an often-depraved environment like a maximum-security prison, thousands of inmates over the last two decades have sought healing and forgiveness, companionship and compassion. Kolbe House workers have been there to witness it all.

What began as a dream in the spring of 1982 is now a blessing to the many who toil behind bars. The people of Kolbe House journey into the darkest of places—armed with patience and eager hearts—all working in the spirit of the biblical passage: “When I was in prison, you visited me.”

And Restorative Justice for All

The wide arms of Kolbe House embrace all those rocked by crime. Though their primary focus is support for the incarcerated, Father Larry Craig and his team advocate for victims as well. “We do in fact minister to victims of crime and their families,” he says. “We continue to be concerned about the accused, victims, those who work in the system, etc.”

Kolbe House favors restorative justice, which is healing the wounds of victims, offenders and communities that have been damaged by crime.

“We are, of course, very interested in restorative justice—whatever it takes to restore the balance between humans,” Father Larry says. “We give food, clothing and referrals to whomever comes to our door. Our pastoral counseling extends to all such people.”

Father David Kelly, C.Pp.S., who works at Kolbe House part-time, helps at the Precious Blood Ministry for Reconciliation in Chicago. Father Kelly works with families of the imprisoned as well as victims of crime. He is also involved in initiatives on the juvenile level that are related to restorative justice. Deacon George Brooks, director of advocacy for Kolbe House, also tackles this issue on a legislative level.

Though Kolbe House aids both victims and perpetrators, Father Larry believes that, on many occasions, only a fine line separates the two. “There are very few, if any, ‘good guys’ or ‘bad guys’ in the world,” he says. “Everything is a bit gray. Most of the detainees themselves have been victims of crime at some point in their lives.”

Learn more about Kolbe House here.

Why did he choose the name Leo XIV? Will he follow the late Pope Francis’ lead or will he chart a different course? How will he address certain Church issues, like women in ministry? Who are the Augustinians, the religious community to which he belongs? People even wanted to know if he is a fan of the Chicago Cubs or White Sox baseball team. 

In this edition, we will look at some of those issues and recount some highlights of the conclave and election. We will also share people’s reactions to the election and their hopes for the future of this papacy (see “A New Pope, a New Ministry.”)

At a Mass prior to the conclave, Cardinal Giovanni Battista Re, dean of the College of Cardinals, expressed his hope that whomever the cardinals elected would be exactly “whom the Church and humanity need at this difficult and complex turning point in history. . . . Let us pray that God will grant the Church a pope who knows how best to awaken the consciences of all and the moral and spiritual energies in today’s society, characterized by great technological progress but which tends to forget God.” 

In the end, we must remember that it was the Holy Spirit who led the cardinals to elect Pope Leo XIV. And it is in the spirit of St. Peter and all the previous popes that the current pope will serve as an example of how to live out our faith. 

God bless Pope Leo XIV!