How Murphy Davis Tore Down the Prison Walls
The founder of the Open Door Community brought joy and hope to her work with people on death row. Also in this issue: Martha Hennessy on growing up with Dorothy Day, a CW "country club," and more.
Beauty and the Beloved Community
“The world will be saved by beauty,” Dorothy Day said, a line from one of her favorite writers, Fyodor Dostoevsky—and one that I increasingly lean on, the times seem so dark.
I was reminded of her words as I read Rev. Lauren Ramseur’s essay on Murphy Davis, the founder of the Open Door Community in Atlanta, in the latest issue of that community’s newsletter. The piece includes her account of how Murphy once transformed the busy visiting room of a death row prison by her singing, interrupting—for a few moments—the systems of injustice at work there.
Our final words from Dorothy Day at the end of the newsletter echo Murphy’s visitations—bringing light to the ugliest places the system has created, places barren of dignity and beauty.
Years ago, when I was writing and editing a high school textbook on Catholic social teaching, I did a survey of the students using the previous edition of the textbook. I visited classrooms, too, to get a sense for how they were receiving it. To my surprise, I found that these high school juniors and seniors were largely feeling disempowered and hopeless, in part because the textbook was long on describing social ills and short on beauty.
One of the most important changes we made to the next edition was including stories about young people who had done something important to change the world for the better. We also solicited artwork from Catholic school students across the country, filling the new textbook with their vision of a better world.
We need activists to create the Beloved Community, this new society in the shell of the old, but we need artists, too—in the broadest sense, activists whose main work is to bring beauty into dark places.
Jerry
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FEATURED
Murphy Davis Tore Down the Prison Walls with Songs of Hope
Murphy Davis (1948-2020) was a Presbyterian pastor and a well-known death penalty abolitionist; she inspired Sr. Helen Prejean, who considered her a role model. Inspired by her time at the New York Catholic Worker, she and her husband, Rev. Ed Loring, founded The Open Door Community in Atlanta, Georgia, in 1981.
This essay was adapted by Rev. Lauren Ramseur for the September/October 2024 issue of Hospitality, the newsletter of The Open Door Community. It is from Lauren’s introduction to A Bag of Snakes, a collection of writings by Davis and Loring. It is reprinted here with permission from the author. For copies of A Bag of Snakes, contact The Open Door Community.
Everywhere Murphy Davis went around her home at the Open Door Community at 910 Ponce de Leon Avenue in Atlanta, Georgia, she was teaching those around her. People came to learn from her, to learn with her, or just to soak in the joy of her company. I was and still am one of them. Always a student and a teacher, Murphy carried deep wisdom that came through education and reading alongside standing at the foot of the cross as she pastored men on death row. That wisdom was born of suffering through her accompaniment work, through her battles with cancer, and through soul-challenging advocacy to enlighten the heart of the legislature of the horrors of state-sponsored murder. Despite those soul-crushing challenges, her faith grew into a radical hope filled with joy and encompassing grace, formed through God’s love and her commitment to scripture and community. Her life and now her writings continue to bear witness to what the Holy Spirit can do with a faithful journey of solidarity and great courage in a human life.
The rides to Jackson, where death row is located, were some of my most treasured times, as an hour of uninterrupted time with Murphy and Eduard was a rare thing when you lived and worked in community. Once the long road stretched before us, Murphy and Eduard would share their journey with the men of Georgia’s prisons and death row over their decades of work. It was through these stories that I first began to carry in my own bones a deep love and commitment for those who are imprisoned. Under Murphy’s tutelage, I found the hope of the Gospel that is the resurrection of life even in the face of the most brutal death that the systems of oppression can dole out.
After long waits to get through security screening, we would trek through the underground hallway into the Jackson prison. The hallway was lined with pseudo-inspirational posters, extolling the virtues of “integrity,” “success,” and “leadership” to the prison staff making their way inside this hellhole. It was a bizarre juxtaposition of forced positivity and optimism as people entered a giant locked steel box, where on the best days they would control the movement and the bodies of other fellow humans, and where they were all, guards and prisoners alike, locked in cages together. On the worst of those days, the same employees, who were told to have integrity and be successful, would coordinate and carry out the murder of one of those humans with whom they spent the majority of their daily lives. Once through that portal and up the stairs, we passed the warden’s office, which always elicited stories of the battles with power that had been fought there just to be able to make pastoral visits. Then we entered the large visitation room where families gathered on weekends, breaking the bread of life made manifest in the form of Snickers and Cheetos from the vending machines. The room was empty on weekdays when pastors and lawyers visit, but the spirits of that family love remained there, as persistent as Murphy herself. Somehow, there was always a trustee there buffing the floors as if they were assigned to scrub away that love so it couldn’t get any further inside.
On one occasion, Eduard, Murphy, and I were all visiting in the long narrow room, spread out the required six feet apart from one another as we each visited our friends. It was a joy to visit together because we would set up four visits each, and as every person entered the visitation room, Murphy would have the opportunity to speak with and bless each of them like a pastor standing at her church door. Instead of four visits, she would get twelve; like the Biblical story of the loaves and fishes, Murphy’s visits were multiplied through the love of community. On this day, when the singing began, the room was packed with our visits and public defender lawyers meeting with their clients. I don’t remember who Murphy was visiting with that morning; it must have been Troy Davis or Jack Alderman who asked Murphy to sing. Murphy was a gifted preacher, an exceptional writer, public speaker, and advocate, but on top of that, she had the amazing gift of music. It should come as no surprise that the visitation room for death row was not usually a place where singing happened. It was not on the list of approved actions in that space. But when Murphy and Eduard visited, there would be laughter and singing, because when they came, they brought church with them. Murphy and Troy sang out, “Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound… .” Conversations quieted as the surprising sound of that joyful noise made its way down the corridor to death row. And then the singing grew, and how could anyone not join in with Murphy’s beautiful voice leading us? The attorneys’ conversations stopped, and they too began to sing and soon the entire visitation room erupted in song, “and grace will lead me home.” For those minutes, none of us were in prison anymore. The walls of death row came tumbling down, and we were at church together singing mightily of the unending grace of God that held us all in Her hands.
Our God is a God of Liberation and when you sing with Her, there is freedom even in the places where the systems of death seem to have the tightest rein on human life. Murphy sang with our Liberating God, so beautifully and with such a welcoming grace that you could not help but join the song.
So often now in my work accompanying children in prison and detention in Virginia, Murphy’s grace shows up alongside us. Each December we assemble 300 care packages for children in detention and prison, and once again Murphy’s love is multiplied through the love of community. She shows up for me with courage when our visits get canceled, and we must navigate complicated relationships with prison officials to gain access again. Voices of Jubilee began as a Gospel choir in a children’s prison, the Bon Air Juvenile Correctional Center in Richmond, Virginia. One of our youth told us that when he was singing with us, he felt like he wasn’t in prison anymore, and I heard once again Murphy and Troy singing, Eduard and Jack joining in, and God’s faithful song of hope tearing down the prison walls.
In her writings, Murphy meets us, telling us the truth that shakes the shingles from our eyes. She is an open door inviting us to walk beside the Shepherd, and though we walk through the valley of the shadow of death, she invites us to BE NOT AFRAID. Murphy invites us to take a seat at the welcome table, under the shelter of Grace’s wings, and to join her in the long struggle and unending song of Liberation. Murphy Davis, ¡Presente!
For more information about her life, see: Murphy Davis | Presbyterian Historical Society and Murphy Davis | Americans Who Tell The Truth.
Martha Hennessy on Tamar & Dorothy’s Impact
“You spend the rest of your life figuring out what hit you, having known Dorothy Day,” Martha Hennessy, Dorothy Day’s granddaughter, said in a podcast earlier this year.
Theo Kayser and Lydia Wong interviewed Hennessy for Coffee with Catholic Workers in May of this year. We’ve posted the transcript of their conversation at CatholicWorker.org.
Here’s an excerpt about how she was influenced by the Catholic Worker, even before she became more directly involved with the movement:
Theo Kayser: You lived all those years not at the Catholic Worker, but do you think that its influence affected the way you were living your life or the way you saw the world?
Martha Hennessy: Totally. You know, you don’t get away from living with women like Tamar and Dorothy without having significant impact.
So, my parents moved to Vermont when I was two. I was born on Staten Island. And, you know, they had this dream of life on the land, which was certainly Peter Maurin’s vision. So my connection to gardening and nature—very, very strong.
I grew up with that. Tamar was an amazing gardener. My father was all thumbs. All he could do was break all the hoes, killing the snakes. That’s how the family story goes. Irish Catholic.
So, you know, the way we lived was directly related to the Catholic Worker life. You know, I was always aware of current events. My mother and grandmother paid attention to the news, paid attention to what was going on in the world.
And that sort of entered into my psyche as a child, very young child, coming to understand and be willing to understand and see the suffering of others. That came to me at a very young age. I clearly remember, you know, hearing about Biafra starving.
And then, of course, the Vietnam War. My brother was sent off to war. This was no, this was no theory. This was like real life practice, the pacifism, anti-war stance. So all of those things were part of my life. You know, when we were in New York, we were protesting in the streets against the Vietnam War while our brother was over there fighting.
So our life in Vermont was beautiful, was idyllic. But Tamar was amazing. You know, she ended up raising a lot more than nine kids. Often, we would have kids come home with us at the end of the summer from the Tivoli farm, kids whose families couldn’t take care of them. They would finish growing up with us in Vermont. So Dorothy did say to Tamar, you truly are running a house of hospitality.
And of course, we always had visitors coming and going, you know, through the house in Vermont from the Catholic Worker extended community. So I would say, and also, you know, we were ostracized in the neighborhood. You know, the people in Vermont considered Dorothy to be a communist.
You know, she was shouted down when she tried to speak in Chester, Vermont in the 1960s. So, you know, we grew up with the ostracization of the family because of the work she was doing that was so radical. And I think that probably every major decision that I made in my life, you know, especially in regards to vocation, you know, choosing the profession of occupational therapy was certainly influenced by my mother and grandmother’s values. You know, I didn’t want to work with machines. I didn’t want to work with papers. I wanted to work with people.
So, I would say the influence is very deep, very pervasive, and very constant. And as my sister Kate said, you know, you spend the rest of your life figuring out what hit you, having known Dorothy Day. So of course, you know, our relationship with her is very different, obviously.
You know, even at a, you know, absorbing her spirituality at a cellular level. It’s hard to explain.
Among other things, Hennessy also described meeting Ruth Bader Ginsburg and Rosalind Carter in 2002 when she spoke at the ceremony inducting Dorothy Day into the National Women’s Hall of Fame. You can listen to the episode or skim the transcript at CatholicWorker.org.
How Henri de Lubac Confronted “Supernationalism” and Authoritarianism
Henri de Lubac (1896–1991) was a French Jesuit priest and cardinal, renowned as one of the 20th century’s most influential theologians.
Some might ask why we continue to do this work. We try to focus on what Henri de Lubac, SJ (as well as Fr. Onesimus Lacouture, SJ, and Fr. John Hugo of the Retreat given at the Catholic Worker) taught about our supernatural destiny. Their teachings encouraged living with a focus on our final end – following the Nazarene in our daily lives with a supernatural motive, faith lived according to the Gospel that will hopefully lead to the beatific vision with saints and the heavenly hosts. Living with an awareness of that destiny can change our lives completely, as can meditating on the mystery of the cross and the resurrection and how God’s grace can transform our human nature and all of humanity in Christ, in spite of disturbances and tragedies and the difficult challenges in daily life.
De Lubac and the Retreat given by Fathers Lacouture and Hugo taught that our “supernatural final end has implications for human life, perfecting it into a ‘new creature’- making it holy. “(Peters, p. 237). These priests clarified that a life of faith with a supernatural perspective in mind could not be confused with trying to identify the nation-state and its institutions as sacred, on a par with salvation history.
In the light of that supernatural destiny and the plan of God for the salvation of all people, it is hard to understand the turn today toward supernationalism, harsh authoritarianism, rejection of whole groups of people, and Machiavellian plots, far from the prayer of the Nazarene that we all may be one in His name.
The importance of the theology of Henri de Lubac cannot be underestimated in these times when there is a concern about dictatorships and conflating Christianity with extreme nationalism. The threats of authoritarianism and exclusion of people on the basis of ethnonationalism of today remind us of the crises of the twentieth century. De Lubac’s insights and his courage were remarkable in confronting those realities. It turns out that theology does make a difference in real life.
Read the full editorial by Louise Zwick on CatholicWorker.org.
Des Moines Catholic Worker Operates a “Country Club”
In the latest issue of Via Pacis, the newsletter from the Des Moines Catholic Worker, Frank Cordaro offered a rundown of what’s happening, including this report on hospitality:
The Bishop Dingman House is our “flagship” house. It’s where we do our daytime hospitality and is open Tuesdays, Thursdays, Fridays, and Sundays from 3 to 7 p.m. and Saturdays from 12 to 2 p.m., a total of 18 hrs a week. We serve around 700 meals a week, up from 500 last year.
During this short time, we try to serve our guests the best we can by meeting some of their basic needs like eating, using a bathroom, picking up extra food when the house has it, and getting clothes and stuff from our in-house storeroom.
We do not try to fix people, only serve and help when we can. I’d like to think that, for 18 hours a week, we are a ‘poor-man’s country club’ where our guests can be treated like customers dining out. And the Catholic Workers are here to serve.
Thank God for Miguel Jimenez, a friend of Araceli’s, who’s been a full-time live-in volunteer at the Dingman House.
Also in the issue, in "Welcoming Aland to the Community," Mohammed Salah shares the story of his son Aland's journey to the United States from Iraqi Kurdistan, his experiences navigating the visa process, and the joy of having Aland join the DMCW community.
You can read the entire issue here: August 2024 Via Pacis.
THE ROUNDUP
“Pretrial Punishment,” by John Cole Vodicka, discusses the systemic injustices in the criminal legal system, with a particular focus on the case of Mario Noel, a young immigrant who has been unjustly held in pretrial detention for over a year due to racial and economic biases. The article appears in the September/October issue of Hospitality, the newsletter of Atlanta’s Open Door community. Read the issue here.
The Dorothy Day Guild’s website is now available in Spanish! Magdalena Muñoz Pizzulic, a member of the St. Peter Claver Catholic Worker in South Bend, Indiana, helped Casey Mullaney, coordinator of the Guild, make the change. Mullaney wrote in the Guild’s newsletter that they were so proud to be about to offer increased accessibility to the site and they hoped to continue translating their resources into other languages as well. Read the Dorothy Day Guild’s Newsletter here.
Dorothy Day: Radical Devotion is the very first graphic novel that our book reviewer, Rosalie Riegle, has ever read. It took some getting used to, she reports, but in the end, she recommends it as a great starting point for people interested in the life of Dorothy Day…and hopefully it whets readers’ appetites to read even more about her, and to get involved. Read her review here.
Austin Cook, of the Des Moines Catholic Worker, preached a sermon at the Johnston River of Life Church in Johnston, Iowa. He reflected on his personal journey to the Catholic Worker and the biblical lessons from the prophet Isaiah. Watch him preach here.
We’re moving the calendar to the catholicworker.org. Click on the image above to learn about Catholic Worker events near you.
A FEW GOOD WORDS
“On Pilgrimage” by Dorothy Day, September 1956
In her column, Dorothy Day describes a visit to a prisoner on death row in Philadelphia. This is one of Dorothy’s most searing social critiques. “Where does cruelty begin and end?” She asks later in the column, and she says we cannot blame “the system.” “We must change the system,” she writes, “We need to overthrow…this rotten, decadent, putrid, industrial capitalist system which breeds such suffering.” Read the opening anecdote of her column below and read the full column here.
There is a huge truck entrance to the Eastern State Penitentiary in Philadelphia, and the visiting hours from 1:30 to 3:00 had begun when I arrived there a few weeks ago to see the Prisoner.
He has been condemned to die, and we at the Catholic Worker got acquainted with him when he wrote to us offering us his library, his furniture, and even his eyes, when his sentence should have been carried out. His case was an appeal, and that appeal has been denied, and now it goes to another court, and as long as he has money to pay a lawyer, his case can go on.
There is another convicted murderer in one of the Pennsylvania jails who has been appealing his case for the last eight years. It is terrible to visit a jail. Men are not made to be confined like animals behind bars. Once a man escaped from this particular jail buried in a truck full of hot ashes and another time some men escaped through the sewer. But they were all caught.
Once inside the huge entrance, there are showcases to the left where dolls and animals and boats and other things carved out of wood by the prisoners are on display. There is another gate going inside, and here I caught a glimpse of green, a privet hedge, which seems to grow everywhere even in our own stony backyard. "Is there any green,” I asked the Prisoner later when he told me about his two hours of exercise a day. "The men have stuck watermelon seeds in the cracks of the wall, but when they grow they are pulled out," he said…
The Prisoner I came to see was a tall. well-built man, intelligent looking, blue-eyed, fair skin, down which little drops of moisture trailed. It was a stiffing day and as we talked a storm came up. Then one could hear the deluge through the three barred windows in back of the room. Thunder roared every now and then through the vaults…"How the time must drag.” "No, it goes very fast. You do not know where the days go.” And the.. you remember the sentence of death, and you know the time slips by inexorably.
Roundtable covers the Catholic Worker Movement. This week’s Roundtable was produced by Jerry Windley-Daoust, Renée Roden. Art by Monica Welch. Cover photo from Sugar Creek courtesy of the Marquette University Archives.
Roundtable is an independent publication not associated with the New York Catholic Worker or The Catholic Worker newspaper. Send inquiries to roundtable@catholicworker.org.
beautiful and poignant, as always. thank you 🙏🏻