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roof over their head, the violence and the daily im-
pact of poverty—I have to admit that I was tempted
to say, “What can we do?” However, in conversa-
tion with the principal of the school—a 78-year-old
nun—we are working on a plan.
Reconciliation is a ministry that demands
that we be willing to be stained by the blood of
Christ—to touch the wounds like Thomas, to walk
alongside the harmed on the road to Emmaus, or to
stand at the foot of the cross. It is not an easy place
to be. It is messy and at times very lonely. You want
to say enough is enough!
The ministry of reconciliation is at the heart of
the gospel. It demands that we go to the margins or
stand in the breach and witness to God’s love. The
margins can be the kid who sits in the classroom
shunned by other students or the neighbor who
never seems to come out of the house.
Whenever I go into the Cook County Juvenile
Detention Center, I go to two places for sure: in-
take, which houses the recent arrivals, and segrega-
tion, which houses those who have been deemed
“bad.” You never know what you will encounter—
anger, fear, loneliness, or all of the above.
A young man who had just been brought into
the Juvenile Detention Center asked if I would call
his father. He wanted his father to know where
he was. I assured him that his father knew, but he
wasn’t convinced and so I agreed to call. Before I
left the unit, he called out again from inside his
cell. I approached and—with a look of despera-
tion—he asked if I was really going to call. I as-
sured him I would.
When I did call on my way home that night, the
father was obviously relieved and overjoyed to hear
that his son was ok. I could feel the relief in his
voice to finally hear some word about his boy. He
w