Did it again, dear Ones: got myself too busy too late for this Christmass greeting to receive the attention you all deserve. To show, however, that my tardiness is overcome by my thoughts of you, I send the rushed greeting off with my best wishes for the renewed hope which fresh reminder of Emmanuel (God with us) brings. May you indeed have joy in love, sending out as much of it as you can, in sure confidence that it will return to you multiplied. More about my visit to the city of David (etc.) inside, for those who wish to plow through it...

Now that I've gotten you inside this card, I'll start by indulging myself. The above illustration [of a person hanging from a jail cell] was point to be on the front of my greeting this year, but I was dissuaded, cautioned by friends that anyone seeing it at this season of joy would be turned off. I'll concede the point, but now make mine:

Why such a symbol, at first seeming so negative, to accompany my greeting at this time of hope, new birth, starting over? I'll admit to being obsessed with jail suicide intervention. The illustration by Jim Venable, a newspaper artist, to accompany an article about LIFELINE this year, really turned me on. I believe the turn-on parallels (with all due respect) the veneration accorded the instrument of Christ's execution, the Cross. Just as, before Christ, the Cross was the instrument of death and a sign of Satan's reign, so the contemplation of jail suicide before LIFELINE had been to me only ultimate failure, despair, anger, and guilt. Now, however, that Christ has conquered death, his Cross is a sign of victory. Likewise, now that the LIFELINE program has grown and matured, has been implemented in two additional jails this year, the inmate LIFELINE members, the Samaritan volunteers who work with us, and the jail staff members do not run in fright or despair at a sign of suicide threat, thought, attempt, gesture, or act. They address the person, they steer towards his pain, they give him a hit of love and concern, and they help him to find some alternative to the final act After 23 months without a death by suicide at Charles Street Jail, we have just experienced one. What a comfort it was to have LIFELINE alumni from other prisons. Samaritan colleagues, and jail staff members, all call to remind us of the number of live bodies that are functioning due to our intervention. Yes, one death is a scandal: but the Jail is experiencing in the nearly 5 years since LIFELINE has been running only 14% of the deaths the statisticians say our institution should have. A rather lengthy introduction; now back to the year's chronology:

I was planning to go from Israel to Jordan, then on to Egypt: gunfire and border difficulties at the Allenby Bridge over the Jordan River interrupted my itinerary, forced a most valuable extra day in both Israel and Egypt. While touring around Jerusalem and Bethlehem, I was duly impressed and edified by all of the historic sites which had formerly been known to me only through books and pictures. We constantly repeat in our Creeds that we believe such and so historic events occurred: only, however, as I bent to kiss the silver star where tradition says Christ invaded humanity did I appreciate the impact of His leap from eternity. It was all potent: walking the Way of the Cross, kneeling in the Chapel of the Ascension, crouching to enter the shepherds' caves, taping and filming a multitude of different modes and rhythms and languages and costumes of worship in the Holy City. However, the single most overwhelming site to me was Gethsemane, where I found myself immobilized in the chapel of the Garden. I was frightened, knowing neither diet nor lack of sleep could account for my seeming paralysis. The guide told me to rest there while he went on with other tourists: when he returned an hour later, mobility had returned to me. Only as we drove back to Jerusalem did I realize I needed no earthly doctor: my memory caught up with the event: sure, it was at Gethsemane that the disciples fell asleep and the Boss asked them, "Could you not wait with me for an hour?"

The extra day in Jerusalem gave me opportunity to walk right around the wall of old Jerusalem, to visit the Dome of the Rock, and to soak in the waves of faith emanating from the Wailing Wall. Up at 3 the next morning to get out to the airport at Tel Aviv, where a diligent agent wrested the last available seat on a Nefertiti Airlines (!) flight to Cairo. Seems that flooding in the Sinai Peninsula was preventing thousands of travelers from taking the land route to Cairo. It seemed all of them were camped out in the terminal, bodies scooched so closely together that the crowds were impenetrable. a rather unique testimonial to Anwar Sadat: months before, travel Israel-Egypt didn't exist. In fact, Nefertiti Airlines was created (with recycled vintage PanAm planes) expressly to ferry people between the two former blood foes.

I had no way to anticipate Cairo; certainly, I didn't foresee the 9 tons of dust that falls daily on the city, nor the warmth of greetings all Cairenes extended me, nor the comfort of 95F (it being bone-dry), nor the hedonistic indulgences awaiting one at a Club Mediterranee (this being my first). The literature was accurate: Cairo's Club Med was in fact at a palace, the Manial Palace being one of King Farouk's former residences. Though I ventured out of the club daily for sight-seeing, activities within its walls never stopped. Food in such abundance and of such variety makes even cruise ships seem to be weightwatchers' lairs, by comparison. 200 fellow-guests from all corners of the globe assured unceasing variety and gaiety. I had the advantage at Cairo of having been introduced by a common acquaintance to a Cairene who loved his city, and delighted in showing it off. Into the Coptic Quarter, one of the oldest bastions of Christianity outside of Israel; down three levels below a synagogue to the former bed of the Nile where Moses had been found by Pharaoh's daughter; out to the Ginza pyramids and Sphinx both by day and at the piercing of night by a Son et Lumiere production.

An overnight train (only 3 months old, so the air-conditioning worked! took me down the Nile to Aswan. Cold beer and my cameras were my only companions in the wee hours of the morning, as I watched Egypt's history unfold outside the train. At Aswan, a huge monument to amity between Egypt and the USSR bore mute witness to the transient nature of political relations: chance meeting with a Nubian got me a boat trip out onto the lake, where I scurried around ruins of sophisticated civilization which antedated Athens' "birth of civilization" by millennia. Trained back up the Nile to Luxor for tramping through even more witnesses to the culture which is being slowly, layer by layer, reclaimed from the sand. Happily I thought to tape the Son et Lumiere show there, as it was narrated by members of the Comedie Francaise; it had to be the best-produced of any sound & light I've seen.

Leaving Egypt, I next touched down as Tunis/Carthage in Tunisia, thence off to Djerba, where another Club Med awaited me. Sure, a week at Djerba la Douce on a tiny island just off the coast of Tunisia is perfect for resting, right ? Wrong! Not only was the frenetic night Life of the Club a match for Cairo's but this remote spot was also a site for the mixing of six ancient cultures, the location for the oldest synagogue in Africa, the take-off point for an excursion into the Tunisian desert, where Berber tribespeople lived as they had for ages, in caves carved out of sandstone.

My bags were more reluctant than I to return to Western civilization: instead of accompanying me up to London, one flew off to Marseilles, and the other detoured to Rome. Fortunate they were coaxed on to London, as they contained the 30 hours of taped notes and the 3,000 slides the trip had produced. A few days in London with friends and family also gave me opportunity to address a group about jail suicides, prepping me for my return to the snow and cold of January in Boston. More than the year was new when I got back: At school, I hired a new person to work with us in the financial aid office. With her experience in the state scholarship program Barbara brought a gentleness and warmth which well counter my direct firmness in dealing with the students. In fact, the whole crew - 3 full time and 5 work-study students - is close. Given the attacks on funding of higher education being waged by Washington, our work is the more arduous. Were there ample money, it would be easy to satisfy every student's need; were there no dollars, we would have no work. Now, however, that dollars are getting scarcer, we in the financial aid community are having to be more diligent at finding funds sufficient to get the students through their educational process. At this time of the processing year, we've processed 5 times as many applications as two years ago, and 60% more than last year. The work is arduous: I'm fortunate to have such good colleagues to share it with. I repeat last year's note to any who are college material, but who aren't even applying, thinking there's no money to help them. Yes, the money is hard to find; yes, the application process is arduous and a pain. But, there is money out there if you work at finding it, and if you find the right people to assist you to get it.

In February, frequent trips down to Providence for evening Brown phonothons. The methodology of the phonothon for getting alumni commitments is being used increasingly. Whereas the solitary class agent would take a few prospective donor cards home, getting around to them eventually, the phonothon worker is inspired by fellow-phoners' enthusiasm; family and friends don't interrupt, and 20 calls are made in one night, rather than a half-dozen in two months.

As mentioned earlier, LIFELINE is spreading: having started at Charles Street almost 5 years ago, it began at the Barnstable County Jail on Cape Cod a year ago, with strong participation by the Cape Samaritans. Last Spring, both Essex County facilities north of Boston - Salem and Lawrence - visited the Boston program and now have their own LIFELINE programs, with the vitality of the Lawrence Samaritan branch to sustain them. Though I'm partial to my jail, I have been inspired and edified to see the evolution of the programs in the other jails. Some of their innovations have led us to imitate them. Wanting to get the message about the existence of LIFELINE out to other inmates, we sought a vehicle of publicity. One of the Samaritans has given us a Christmass present: funds sufficient to give inmates the most requested item (after a cigarette or a phone call): matches. With a LIFELINE logo on the cover, the message inside the book of matches says (in English an in Spanish):"Lonely? Confused? Suicidal? Ask for a LIFELINEr, a fellow-inmate you can trust." The only thing that will prevent the further rapid expansion of the LIFELINE program to other jails and institutions is the lack of sufficient Samaritan branches, as we've found the often silent presence of the Samaritans at the weekly meetings of the program to be a vital component for keeping the purpose of the program on track.

One of my LIFELINErs at Charles Street said, "David, I thought you said we see no pay nor reward for work with the program?" "Right." "Wrong!" Smoky went on to explain that, the previous evening, another inmate sweeping the tiers came up to him, said that one of the new arrivals - "the kind of *#*# you like to talk to" - was crying in his cell. Smoky went down to talk with him, found him to be indeed in crisis, spent an hour with him. The new arrival, obviously comforted by Smoky's presence, reached through the bars and passed something to Smoky. who immediately put it in his pocket. He told Smokv that, given Smoky's presence. he wouldn't be needing the article. When Smoky got back to his own cell. he pulled it out, looked at it, and found it to be a noose braided from a bedsheet. No reward?

Though Proposition 2-1/2, Massachusetts' own tax-cutting program, is eliminating much of the social service and training work in the system, have still had opportunity to go out to the Police Training Academy several times, there to spend a day with police and corrections officers, as well as juvenile workers, helping them to discover within themselves the equipment for dealing with suicidal people in their custody. further, now that suicide is coming out of the closet and is being acknowledged as a universal problem, we've had increased opportunity to make presentations about suicide to the public. After one talk show on TV, about the great increase in teen suicides, the Samaritans noted an increase in the number of parents calling, beginning to take their kids' mention of suicide or despair seriously. Frankly, I'd prefer to be conned dozens of times by the suicide gesture with is simply a bid for attention, than once to ignore the cry for help which might (even accidentally) end in death!

Am continuing to interview applicants for Brown University, particularly candidates from Boston Latin School, which is quite near Wentworth. I continue to be impressed with the fine qualities these candidates bring with them and regret that all can't he accepted. I hate to admit it, but other schools do provide fine opportunities for education. If fact, though Jessica applied to Brown, she's now into her next phase of education out at U.Mass-Amherst. The number of times she's canceled planned week-end visits to Boston signify either that she's working very hard, or that she's having such a fine time that Boston can wait - I expect and hope that they're both partially true.

As I was cleaning my apartment for a get-together last Spring, I reflected that it was the first social I'd had there in four years. Appropriately, the occasion for the cleaning was also the cause of its infrequency: LIFELINE was four years old, and a bunch of us got together to celebrate. Needless to say none of the people who do the work of LIFELINE daily could be with us. In June we had the first of what will be quarterly meetings: people working with all of the four LIFELINE programs got together to share common concerns, to explore solutions, and simply to befriend each other as colleagues. Though many of the experiences had been shared by each of the programs, we constantly remind ourselves that each person is unique; each cry for help brings its own bag of problems and resources.

The Parish of the Advent, where I've been every Sunday for 13 years now, and which is a stone's throw away from the Jail, is now exploring with me and the Bishop whether my work can become more closely integrated into the life of the parish. A sign of this was a visit to the jail by one of the clergy on the staff of the parish, the first in 10 years. Further, seminarians who are getting their parochial field experience at the Advent are now looking at the jail as one of the foci of their work with the Parish. Though few clergy are called to institutional chaplaincies (not much competition there), exposure to the special demands and limitations of ministry behind bars must benefit people preparing for formal ministry..

For reflection: I was present at the sentencing of one of my LIFELINE inmates, who had been convicted of a particularly heinous crime. The judge listened to the prosecutor describing the particulars of the crime, then heard of the life-saving work done by the inmate during his year at the jail pre-trial. He had a problem: he had to administer justice. What justice? to the victim, who had been terribly abused by the criminal; to the public, who cannot tolerate disregard for its laws; or to the individual, who appeared to have become humanized while at the Jail, notably through his commitment to the work of LIFELINE? No way could we get all three justice. I believe the judge showed remarkable insight in pronouncing sentence; he ordered that the criminal be remanded to prison for a very long term - thus giving justice to the victim and to society. He then added, however, a direction to the defense attorney that the latter immediately file a "revise and revoke" plea, whereby the court is requested to change a sentence. The judge said he would entertain the motion in a year's time, when the heat of the crime would cool, and when he could look anew at the individual, at the person who might possibly have changed himself while waiting at Charles Street Jail.

In May, I was invited to deliver a paper about the ministry I've evolved at the Jail and at Wentworth to several hundred deacons (Episcopalian, Roman Catholic, Methodist, and Lutheran) gathered at Notre Dame in Indiana for a national conference on the diaconate. Though the Deacon has existed from the earliest Church (the first martyr, Stephen, being a deacon), for most the diaconate is a very brief ministry, on the way to priesthood. Many people are now examining whether the deacon, whose traditional roles are pastoral (calling on the sick and institutionalized or incarcerated) and for service (in the beginning, the deacon was the almoner, the conduit of funds from the church to the destitute), might not have a real role in the modern church. As I work in financial aid and prison chaplaincy, almost by accident we're seeing one model for the deacon. It was dismaying to see at Notre Dame how many of the people had a notion, an idea of wanting to serve, but not a clue as to how they could implement their vocation. Not only Deacons, but all budding careerists, can profit from the experiences of those of us who have been there: I think there are few people truly happy with their roles in life who started out with a clear notion of where they were going or who, having an initial clear notion, ended up where they had anticipated. We've just got to go with the tide, planning what we can and turning crises that come up into opportunities, rather than allowing them to become disasters.

Me with a daughter graduating from prep school and entering college? Jessica has certainly grown faster than her father. Mum and Dad, Jessica's Grandmother from Brussels, other relatives, her mother and I all witnessed such a fine commencement at MacDuffie in May: here come all those just recently haphazardly- dressed, casually-living acid rock freaks, transformed by a full-length white dresses and bouquets of long-stemmed roses into the most elegant, graceful, dignified young women. As I told Jessica right after the event, until it I had thought nothing could equal her birth for its impact on me. Now, however, she wasn't a passive participant in the event: she had brought herself to this new stage in her life. Since she's not listening, I can tell you how fortunate I am to have her as my daughter. What a high!

Looking at the huge increase in numbers of financial aid applications at Wentworth this Summer, I thought I'd never reach the end of them, at least not before the available funds ran out. However, Wentworth has been fortunate to have a good increase in funding - both from the institution itself and from government (though I don't expect that trend to continue). Finally reached the end of the first cycle of aid packaging at the end or July - months ahead of last year - in time to take a break from Jail and Wentworth for a week in Washington, attending the national financial aid convention. A break? Sure: in the week, had a total of 3 hours to act as tourist, running pell-mell to catch as much as possible on this, my first visit to DC. The invasion by 1,000 financial aid officers was most timely: Congress was just in process of amending educational assistance regulations. We were mobilized, each of the aid officers being assigned specific Senators and Representatives to call on. We arrived on the Hill by the busload, each communicating our message that cuts to the degree then being contemplated would shut off higher education for a disastrous portion of their constituents. Secretary of Education bell, addressing the convention late in the week, conceded that we had beaten him: hour collective assault, though not getting all we wanted, lessened (at least for now) the degree to which aid is being slashed. It was quite thrilling, to see that we the people, properly organized and with an articulate message, can have an impact on our seemingly remote government.

From the Hill leapt onto the Boston Esplanade, where the Boston Ballet Ensemble (the Company's junior group) gave seven nights of free ballet to packed audiences. The weather cooperated, and my special effort for the ballet - organizing volunteers to provide opportunity for the audience to contribute to the Ballet - met with success. In past years, we had had T-shirts and other items for sale. This year, we were permitted to sell nothing: the more impressive our getting more money than any previous year.

A matter of timing: for the fifth time in my six years at Wentworth, had to move our offices, right at the end of August. Heat seems to be an inevitable accompaniment to furniture moving. Further to exacerbate the situation, with the arrival of 3,000 students on campus, the air-conditioning didn't work, to be followed in the Winter with heat malfunctioning for many weeks. But the move came off, and it now seems that we'll not be moving again for several months.

Was asked to give the invocation, etc., at the graduation of the Seniors from Wentworth in September. After all the struggles, all the crises, all the problems, it's good to see the new graduates leaving the stage with their new diplomas - sort of makes all the work worth it.

Off to a new territory the medical staff of our state prison hospital had me down for a day, to share with the people working in the addiction center. It was such an opportunity: after many years of doing things a certain way it's refreshing to hear from another perspective. One idea from LIFELINE that the staff thought they could imitate: with staff never adequate, and with the cutbacks of Prop. 2-1/2, they had real difficulty in observing the population adequately. As so many of the inmates at the addiction center are regular repeaters, I suggested they be asked to participate in the seeking out and identification of fellow-inmates who might need special attention. Word has gotten back that it's been tried and seems to be working out well.

Was happy to be able to talk on several occasions about the work done by the Samaritans, during the annual United way campaign, to groups of employees at a diversity of companies. Was especially pleased to get several groups of telephone company employees, as the work done by the Samaritans is so uniquely dependent on the telephone. It's interesting that, in Boston, the United Way reports that the Samaritans are one of the groups most often asked for speakers.

I've bee working with some of the Samaritans trying to get a handle on the specifics of suicides in police lock-ups. We have some notions about the identification of high-risk people, but data are scarce. Again, Prop. 2-1/2 is militating against any official increase of effort to control death of newly-arrested people. One back-handed support we got was a newspaper article, revealing that the family of an athlete who died in a West Coast police station was suing several officers and the department for $50 million. Although an officer might ultimately be cleared, in many jurisdictions the officer must pay for his own defense. Another boost: a study by the National Institute of Justice showed that the prime preventative to suicide behind bars is people who care, not all of the fancy gimmicks like closed-circuit TV (what good is a TV screen if nobody watches it?).

More phonothons for Brown in Boston in the Fall. It seems that people are realizing they have to take up some of the slack produced by Federal cut-backs. Both at the Ballet and with Brown, we've seen a substantial increase in voluntary support by private individuals and by industry. May this continue and expand .

Got away to Vermont again for a few days at Thanksgiving, a bit of rest in preparation for annual vacation. Happily, nothing stolen on my way home. After Midnight Mass on Christmass Eve at the advent, following celebration with Jessica and family, departure early Christmass morning from the Jail. First stop Caracas, where I'm meeting about the international suicide congress to take place there in '83, then wandering down the west coast of South America, ultimately hitting Patagonia and Tierra del Fuego at the southern tip of the continent, back up through the Lake District of Chile (by boat, but, launch, plane, etc.) into Argentina, and further up the east coast through Rio, finally up the Amazon River before returning to the beginning of next year's financial aid processing.

Sorry it's been so long, dear ones, but the year has given me so much to rejoice in that I would be a miser were I not to share it. Yes, I've gotten around, but the most thrilling trips are those into other people's lives. The helper who pretends he gives more than he gets is a liar: I know of nobody better fortified for dealing with the crises of life than me, having had opportunity to share their problems with Jessica, with my inmates and fellow-employees, and with my students. As always, one of the best parts of my annual trip will be when I get back and find that this letter has propelled you to write me. Much love!