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In response to the murder of their youngest child, Michael, five years ago, Ramon and Patricia Marquez became volunteers bringing compassion to youths in the juvenile justice system. “He was very protective and always wanted to do more for people,” Patricia Marquez told Catholic San Francisco. (Photo by Christina Gray/Catholic San Francisco)
June 17, 2019
Christina Gray
For some, “visiting the prisoner” may not be the most instinctive of the seven corporal acts of mercy. This is not the case for more than 100 Catholics recognized by the restorative justice ministry of the Archdiocese of San Francisco at a service appreciation awards dinner April 25 at St. Mary’s Cathedral. Alone or in groups of other volunteers, they visit city, county and state prisons, and juvenile justice centers to read, to pray, to sing, but mostly just to be with prisoners as they struggle with the consequences of their actions, and the uncertainty of their circumstances and human worth.
While Catholic San Francisco is not able to tell the stories of each of the individuals honored for their work in Catholic detention ministry, the following profiles honor the spirit of all who spend time with the incarcerated and reveal that the decision is often a personal one driven by an abiding faith.
Ramon and Patricia Marquez
‘We are part of one body. When one part hurts, we all suffer.’
Ramon and Patricia Marquez’ youngest child Michael, was by their account, a compassionate young man who even from a young age saw others as human beings, not as their circumstances or problems.
“He was very protective and always wanted to do more for people,” Patricia Marquez told Catholic San Francisco. “When we saw an ad in the paper looking for foster families he asked, ‘why don’t we take in someone and I’ll share my room?’”
Their response to his murder at age 22 almost five years ago was to model the open heart he offered others during his life by becoming volunteers with Comunidad San Dimas, a Christian youth detention ministry served by the Archdiocese of San Francisco.
“My husband said, ‘let’s do this together,’” said Patricia, who was raised in St. Stephen Parish by her late parents Deacon Gary West and his wife Julie, and attended St. Emydius School and Mercy High School.
Two Mondays each month for the past three years, Patricia and Ramon, who go to Mass together at St. Stephen since Ramon’s conversion 10 years ago, pray with other volunteers before meeting the youth in an open recreation room at the juvenile justice center. They bring the upcoming Sunday’s readings and Gospel, music and a message of God’s forgiveness.
“We are part of one body and when one part hurts we all suffer,” said Patricia. “These young people need to know that they have dignity and value even when people look down on them.”
Ramon considers the time he and his wife spend together with the incarcerated nothing short of a moral imperative of being Catholic.
“I’m just doing my little part,” he said, adding that “going to church on Sunday is not enough. Jesus calls us to act.”
He said he and his wife are sowing the seeds of hope and faith with them.
“They may not realize it now,” he said, “but as they grow older they may realize that a little seed was planted by someone in their heart and in their mind.”
Deacon Dana Perrigan‘What these kids need is what we all need.’
It’s been well over 50 years since Deacon Dana Perrigan was a wayward 14-year-old boy, angry and isolated in a cell at San Francisco Juvenile Hall.
He brings that boy and the man he became to his longtime role as a volunteer at Comunidad San Dimas, a Catholic ministry to incarcerated teenagers in San Francisco.
“I’m an old guy now, but it was one of the most grueling things I’ve ever experienced,” Perrigan told Catholic San Francisco. “My heart goes out to those kids because I know what they are going through.”
Ordained into the permanent diaconate in 2012 after a career as a journalist and currently assigned as Catholic chaplain to San Francisco’s youth detention ministry, Perrigan began volunteering at Comunidad San Dimas as part of the diaconate formation process.
For nine years he has been going three days a week to share biblical readings, play guitar and sing songs, talk and simply establish a relationship of mutual trust.
“It helps a lot when I say, I was sitting where you are,” he said. “The kids’ ears really perk up and they start to ask questions because I’m not just some guy coming in preaching at them and telling them how they need to act.”
He said the incarcerated youth are predominantly African-American or Latino and come from impoverished homes. “It’s rare to see a white kid in there,” he said.
Some of the youth ask Perrigan to come to court dates with them because they “don’t have anyone who can step up for them,” he said.
He credits his own grandparents for “saving” him after he was released from juvenile detention. With their help and a conversion experience, he turned his life around.
“What these kids need is what we all need,” he said. “But they are really up against it, statistically. The goal is to give them some hope for their lives.”
Esperanza NavasWorking with incarcerated youth ‘gives me life.’
Esperanza Navas, a parishioner of St. Peter Parish in the Mission District, began volunteering with Comunidad San Dimas, a Catholic detention ministry for incarcerated youth, after her only son was killed.
That was 18 years ago.
Her son had been a volunteer at San Dimas before he died and Navas wanted to continue doing “positive things” in his memory.
Navas visits the juvenile detention center in San Francisco each Sunday to bring young inmates the daily readings and to sit and talk to them about what the Scripture means to them.
“I tell them that is important to look for God,” she said. When they approach their release date she tells them that “if they do not have a plan they can fall again.”
Being a restorative justice volunteer is something that “gives me life,” Navas said, and keeps her positive despite the loss of her son.
She said she has always felt safe and never felt threatened by any of the inmates.
“Sometimes I am in a room alone with six young men, and I am not afraid,” she said.
After 18 years she has not grown weary of her service, either.
“The reward is so enormous that one does not feel tired of doing it,” she said.
Lorena Rojas San Francisco Católico editor contributed to this story.