Mission USA -- Newspaper Articles

Forest Park Review
May 5th, 2004
Headline: Mission:USA—a real department of corrections
By Tom Holmes

Fifteen years ago, Glen Fitzjerrell, now a Forest Park resident, got a job right out of college working as a prison chaplain in Texas. While working at that job, he figured something out. He put it this way: “Jail and prison ministries do incredibly good work. In fact, I will say that they are the biggest and best force for change in the city. The problem is that all the work they do gets dumped out on the street when a person leaves prison, and often they don’t know what to do or where to go.”

Everyone knows that the transition from prison to the “outside” is very difficult for most ex-convicts. The same is true for their relationship with God and church involvement, according to Fitzjerrell. He therefore decided to leave his prison chaplain ministry in Texas and be reassigned by Youth for Christ to Chicago to experiment with what was then the new concept of prison ministry and street follow-up.

The result of Glen’s pioneering work is an organization called Mission:USA, the main program of which is called THE BRIDGE. The concept behind the program is that guys who have just gotten out of prison need a church which is emotionally safe for them and meets their needs. Some congregations feel called to minister to ex-offenders. What Mission:USA does is to provide a bridge between those two groups.

Every Tuesday evening in a building near Cabrini Green, a group of newly released prisoners and people wanting to leave gangs, as well as pastors from three churches in the Chicago area, get together. The three pastors each give a short sermon as a way for the ex-offenders to check them out. Mission:USA volunteers then provide a meal during which the pastors and ex-prisoners can explore the possibilities of getting together further.

This is part of what a flier says about THE BRIDGE:
Maybe you have a prison record, maybe you’re a gang member, maybe you don’t have fancy clothes to wear to church. Maybe you have an ugly past, a rough present and an uncertain future. Be certain of this: God wants you, and we’ve been where you’ve been. We’re here to walk beside you and help you find THE BRIDGE to a closer walk with God, a new church family, to a new set of friends….We’ve searched the city, and every Tuesday, we bring in three of the best pastors we can find to preach…It’s like church-shopping, where the churches come to you!”

Fitzjerrell commented that both groups need training for the connection to work. Congregations and pastors need to be trained in how to be open to these new people who were recently behind bars or in prison, on the one hand. And on the other hand, the guys who have just been gang banging or adapted to prison culture need to hear the gospel and be discipled.

Glen clarified that THE BRIDGE works with what he called the “superstars” from the population of ex-convicts and former gang members. Men who come to the Tuesday meetings are referred to Mission:USA from contact with prison ministries, urban and street ministries, local churches and residential ministries. “It’s almost like the NFL draft,” Glen said with a chuckle. “of all the ex-gang members and ex-inmates, we get the kind of guys on Tuesday evening who are already doing evangelism and leading Bible studies on prison decks.”

To go along with this organizational system for addressing the needs of ex-convicts and former gang members, Fitzjerrell has also developed a style of ministry with them that you might call “person-centered ministry.” It begins with the assumption that there are no bad human people, just bad behavior. Fitzjerrell explained, “As a Christian, I don’t have the right to be anti-human being. As a Christian, I’m more offended by what they do, than who they are. I don’t approve of gang violence. In fact, most gang leaders themselves don’t want their children to be in gangs. I care about these people. What we ask people to consider is, ‘Why not assume that these guys care for their children, fear God, and want a better life just like the rest of us?”

What Glen discovered in his street ministry is that gang members want the same things everyone wants. “Gang members want a better life for the guys, more security for their neighborhood and to care for their children,” he said. “But they believe that dealing drugs is the best way to get those things, and that gang banging is necessary to protect the drug trade to protect that way of life. What I say to them is, ‘I think there is a better way to get what you want.’”

To be able to say that to people who have lived a life of crime, however, means that you need to earn the right to be heard. To do that, Mission:USA begins working with people when they are behind bars. Then Glen and his team follow them when they are released from prison and are out on the street. They introduce themselves to gang leaders and get the leaders’ permission to minister on their turf. Once the gang leadership accepts Glen and respects his work, he becomes sort of like their chaplain and is called upon to pray with gang members when they are in the hospital and to speak at their funerals. “What we discovered,” he said, “is that a gang is a natural social network which we can work through.”

Fitzjerrell contends, “I really believe that the methods and approach we use demonstrates credibility on our part and earns us the right to be heard. Our goal is the same as that of most congregations, i.e., to do basic, honest-to-goodness, straightforward evangelism and discipling. It’s like anywhere else. After you establish a relationship with people, you can effectively help them grow.” Finally, Glen Fitzjerrell has a vision for Forest Park. “My wife and I and our associate, Mike Gonzalez, live in Forest Park and have our offices here. But most of our work is done in the city. I like the idea of using Forest Park as a location to do more of our ministry. It’s centrally located, and along with Oak Park and River Forest, it is a neutral island in the middle of a sea of gangs. I would like to get these guys who are moving away from a life of crime to get away from the environments they are used to.

“I realize some people might be afraid of ex-inmates and ex-gang members coming to Forest Park once a week to be ministered to. I respond with the analogy of a lightning rod. A lightening rod attracts the lightning that would have destroyed the building and manages it in a way that does no harm. Gang activity is a reality that can be faced and controlled, or it can burn you.”

Oak Leaves - December, 1998 (edited for length)
On a mission
Activist works to bring Christianity to gang members

By Todd Shields

Minutes after Glen Fitzjerrell turns off Austin Boulevard, leaving the tree-lined, suburban streets of Oak Park, the sky dims like a darkening movie theater and a cool rain begins. He drives a truck on Irving Park Road into North Chicago; through swirls of white vapor above the warm pavement this early fall afternoon. He pushes past Pulaski and Western avenues, past Chicago Joe's restaurant, entering the coarse, inner city toward Sheridan Road as its criminal threat and grit poverty become more evident.

Eyes peer from dark doorways and men in hooded jerseys loiter on every other street corner and gangway. Still a somewhat healthy neighborhood, families, homes and work are in full gear here. Tired, young mothers cart home groceries for dinner. Though cold showers provide relief from the heat, they rid the streets of what Fitzjerrell, a white man tooling around in a dangerous neighborhood, is trying to find hardened gang members. ”These showers aren't good. They're making everyone go inside," he says, turning into one-way streets, searching brownstone apartment steps.

Not make-believe "Some of the gangs in this area are from Belize in Central America or are transplanted Chicago South Siders. This is not make-believe out here and there's no suburban wannabe's. These guys will shoot and leave you for dead," he explains. "Or if they thought I was a prominent citizen and would be missed, they'd tie me up, stuff me in an apartment basement and hold me for ransom. They don't play around."

After another 10 minutes of cruising, Fitzjerrell gives up and drives south to Logan Square, hoping to find some Spanish Cobras. Neither priest nor minister, Fitzjerrell works to bring Christianity into the lives of these urban, street fraternities living in Chicago's most notorious neighborhoods and housing projects.

Committing to convert society's most apparent throwaways, he formed Mission: USA, a nondenominational, nonprofit ministry solely funded by private donations. Without a church or chapel, Fitzjerrell enlightens gangs from a vehicle, an apartment, in jail cells and on parkways. Since then, Glen has gained notoriety for Mission:USA's gutsy, street-level approach.

Religious mission "Mission:USA is like a religious mission for the gang culture," Fitzjerrell says. "There are missions for troubled areas in Africa and South America, for instance, but we have a big trouble spot right here in Chicago with the gangs. We try to plant a church without walls right here in the hood."

In 1991, after graduating from the University of Houston with a degree in history, he pursued a chaplain apprenticeship at the city's Harris County Youth Village Correctional Facility. Admittedly, neither an "academic type," nor one for soft-selling the virtues of Christ stuck behind a pulpit, Fitzjerrell soon learned he could address more serious problems in Chicago.

"While in Houston in my beloved Texas, I met a lot of gang members headquartered in Chicago. I thought that's where I could help the most, where I could strike at the root of the problem" says Fitzjerrell, a sincere and amiable man with a slight Texas twang, who usually starts sentences with "Wull, I tell ya…"

The downpour stops as Fitzjerrell enters Logan Square; however, he notices something else that sends his Latino fellowship into hiding.

'Sweep day'
It's "sweep day in the K-Town area. "Sweep day" is a city ordinance allowing Chicago police to go door-to-door, street-by-street once a week to arrest reputed gang members for loitering, mob action or any outstanding warrants. Squad cars cruise the streets and two officers wrapped in bullet-proof vests stand on a front porch, talking to a disheveled man who appears to have been rousted from bed or is very drunk.

Little kids, showing no interest in the patrolmen, race bikes up and down the sidewalks near Nixon School. They also are unperturbed by the thudding whir of a police helicopter high above the treetops. Fitzjerrell spots three men and a young boy near a backyard garage and eases to a stop.

"Hey man. What's up? The five-o (police) are in the hood, huh?" he yells, shifting his Texas accent to West Side street slang. They hesitate, recognize him and approach the vehicle. The apparent leader smiles at the preacher and offers his hand. The knuckles are tattooed "Life" in crude, black lettering, indicating an eternal pledge to the Insane Spanish Cobras, one of Chicago's oldest and largest street gangs.

A gang governor, Jose, 23, has been a Cobra since he was 10. Although he is struggling to end his membership through Fitzjerrell's guidance, he still commands much respect among Cobra underlings and elders. Any gang boss reaching that age without being murdered or sitting in prison is considered smart, tough and a survivor among peers, Fitzjerrell later says. Similar to an Englishman's reserve or an American' individuality, respect is a very weighty quality in describing a gang member's reputation.

Getting out
Fitzjerrell schedules a meeting with Jose and drives off. In addition to teaching the Bible's salvation, Fitzjerrell encourages gangs to re-enter high school, hold down jobs, obey probation rules and, if needed, attend drug and alcohol counseling. "Most guys know their lives are completely out of control. They have kids with other mothers; they have no jobs or education. Because of their criminal activity, most expect to be dead or behind bars before turning 21. After that age, lives are largely unplanned," says Fitzjerrell.

At times, he convinces a parole or probation officer to permit a gang member to complete a house arrest sentence by participating in a community service program under Fitzjerrell's guidance. The work could include stuffing envelopes for Mission:USA or speaking to a church group about the organization. "Community service in a Cook County Sheriff's program also could be picking up trash in the wrong neighborhood, meaning in enemy territory. That's not good. I can fulfill that obligation elsewhere," he explains.

Edward Zanghi, a parole agent for the Illinois Department of Corrections, has directed six "clients" to Mission: USA over the past few years. "So far, not one has returned to prison and I think it's because of Glen and Jane's work. He attributes Mission: USA's effectiveness to a high standard of hands-on accountability, in which the Fitzjerrells personally manage a parolee's rehabilitation. "They'll pick up people at their homes, drive them to a (Narcotics Anonymous) meeting, then drive them home. They are very responsible in making sure people actually go to church, counseling programs or job interviews."

Character witness
The Fitzjerrells frequently appear in court as character witnesses for gang members in trouble. They also take them to church and buy them Bibles. "They really talk to these men as individuals, rather than criminal gang members. They point out the wrong ways of gang life and actually show them how their behavior leads to crime. I wish we had more organizations like Mission: USA," says Zanghi.

In reducing crime, Fitzjerrell favors preventive programs as opposed to filling up and building more jails. "With today's high recidivism rates, if you think jail is a solution then you aren't thinking straight," he says. "In my program, if 20-25 percent of my guys went back to prison, I'd quit in shame. I'm neither critical of jails, nor am I a bleeding heart, but there are way too many offenders for lockups to handle. A decent kid goes in and comes out a criminal. I believe Mission: USA has a better solution."

Fitzjerrell says Mission: USA has converted about 35 gang members to Christianity just this year and another 65 have potential. He estimates total membership in Chicago's top four gangs-the Latin Kings, Vice Lords, Disciples and Insane Spanish Cobras-at about 25,000. The age range is 15-21 years, with leaders being 18 to 22.

"We need someone out on the streets who can deal with the heart and who can actually help out, hands on. Creating a miracle through a relationship with God and a sense of right and wrong - that's the business we're in," he says. "I show them how to change through Christ, jobs and education, then help them every day to get there." In formulating a ministry style, Fitzjerrell prefers honest dialogue with gang members, combined with Christ's methods of recruiting fiery followers who, in turn, become passionate disciples.

Straight talk
"How does a white guy from middle-class Texas come to gangland Chicago and expect to have an effective ministry?" he laughs. "I talk very straight with these guys, very blunt. It's a Texas thing because we get to the point. My preaching doesn't beat around the bush when I'm trying to reach them about changing their behavior."

Recalling the disciple Peter, the "blue-collar fisherman who Christ believed was the rock around which he'd build his church," Fitzjerrell says gangs have the same potential passion for a working-class, modern religious revolution. And if faced with saving the world through Christianity, "I would start right here in Chicago by finding 12 guys who, I think, can change everything," he adds, thumping the driver's wheel.

"The Cobras and others like them aren't ashamed of being in a gang, and they draw upon that same passion in accepting the Lord. They have a soldier's mentality for finishing mission with full force, right or wrong." While most ministries focus on evangelizing nonbelievers and hope an organized discipleship will follow, Fitzjerrell skips ahead to attracting disciples to Mission:USA.

In doing so, he employs the algebraic concept of an exponential growth curve, as did Christ, for time required to teach a few powerful followers is long, but results are fast and worth the wait. "I can evangelize gangs easily because most of them already believe in God. My real work is in the discipleship. Christ took 12 men, taught them for three years, then things really began happening. I try to do the same here."

Activist approach Fitzjerrell admits that gangs, in dealing drugs and protecting neighborhoods with appalling violence, draw little sympathy from law-abiding citizens. Yet, gang members acknowledge their criminal behavior, which is a useful starting point in the conversion process. "Gangs have a great deal of shame regarding the horrible things they have done, so much so they feel they are unredeemable," says Fitzjerrell. "I have to get rid of that guilt. It's amazing what happens when you get off fixing blame and, rather, fix the problem."

Preaching lessons
Once the Texan convinces gangs of his sincerity, he preaches the lessons of eternal life by a forgiving God. "Imagine the selling point of that offer to them. But some are still unsure of why God would want them back. That's where I say Jesus is the bridge, that they can undo all wrong, have a family, have a normal life and a loving God who will never leave them."

Even during the process of redemption, some members teeter between crime and Christ, but Fitzjerrell does not let go. For instance, gangbangers frequently huddle and pray before going on a drive-by shooting, hoping to kill the opposition. "Gangs know that God will not bless murder, but they pray not to get shot. The violence outrages me. Yet their praying essentially asks God to send me forth so I can introduce them to Mission: USA," Fitzjerrell says.

"Just like whole countries, gangs see themselves as nations. When attacked, both pray not against the act of killing, but pray for protecting their way of life," he says, further explaining that once an enemy gang gains control of a neighborhood, they often force families from homes using constant harassment and attacks.

Sitting in an Oak Park restaurant with Fitzjerrell, Jose has a habit of throwing quick glances at any brown-skinned customers passing his table. Three days later, in fact, Jose is jumped by a rival gang while walking alone on a gangland border street. A broken nose, a concussion and several facial cuts, he is hospitalized for five days. Fearing attacks there, most injured gang members register under false names.

"Stuff happens. I'm all right," he says days after being released, smiling and shrugging. This is Jose's second attempt in two years to foreclose his Cobras ties, a decision that, if otherwise he was not an influential leader, could result in a severe beating by his cohorts.

Street code
Part of street code called a "violation in," newly recruited gang members endure a two-minute beating. The same ritual, a "violation out," is performed on veteran members wanting to quit the gang life. "I can walk out because of my rank. Sometimes they look at me funny, which could be dangerous for them and they know it. They never ask me about leaving. They have too much respect," Jose says.

Because Fitzjerrell's purpose is convincing young men to exit the brotherhood, one would think gang leaders seeking strength in numbers will oppose his efforts. However, knowing that superiors see themselves as parents within the gang family, Fitzjerrell uses that relationship to reason with them. He frequently can talk a leader out of performing a violation out on a departing partner.

"Gang chiefs aren't barbarians. They want to see their people go to church and straighten out, but they also want them to stay in the group. I help them sort that out. For one, they know I'm doing the same for rival gangs."

Never threatened by gangs or caught in an attack, Fitzjerrell does not encourage trouble. "I go out in the hoods from 2p.m. to 9p.m. I'm very careful." Coming to Chicago, Fitzjerrell already had a few gang contacts set up by members in Houston; yet, initial trust started with formally meeting gang chiefs in Chicago.

"I asked permission to be in their hood. There's a part in the Bible saying you must show respect to those in authority and that's what I do. I've never been denied from working in a neighborhood," he says. He also convinced the gangs that he, too, was on a spiritual journey. "That initial bond with them comes from my humility in wanting to help and serve them."

Prompting Jose's religious transformation, as is true for many gang members he counsels, Fitzjerrell draws parallels between their troubled lives and those in the Bible. Biblical stories of loyalty, hypocrisy, faith, oppression and momentary weaknesses of leaders are familiar themes to gang members.

"Glen's method of explaining the Bible opens up a lot of doors for me. It allows me to identify with people in the Bible to the point where sometimes I say, damn, how did Glen know that?" says Jose.

The narratives demonstrate as well how pointless and at its worst, fatal, gang existence can be. "The biblical lessons I drive home show these guys are on the wrong end of life's propositions. I acknowledge that they are doing their best to survive, but in the long-term career of selling drugs and fighting, they'll die or go to prison. And when they are killed, someone else will surely take their place on the street corner selling dope."

Jose interjects, "I want to go back to high school and get my diploma, get a job, get away from the hood and find a soul mate. There are no choices for me as long as I remain in the gang. I'll take whatever the Lord throws me."

Losing friends
Over the years, Jose has lost six friends in gang-related slaying. He names each, drawing in a deep breath to voice the last one. "My brother is a Disciple, but blood is thicker than water. We don't bring the (gang life) home."

Though peddling crack cocaine and marijuana brings in money-Jose estimates Chicago gangs can sell up to $5,000 worth in three days or 12 guys selling drugs in a bar nets $500 each in a day-he says the pressure of street dealing is unbearable. Protecting turf with guns and avoiding arrests is daily. With Fitzjerrell's religious influence, Jose struggles between acting on his old, lashing-out instincts and the new, nonviolent precepts.

"Yesterday, we had to march on guys in the hood. I was split on pulling out a gun or resolving it calmly. Back in the old days, I would've turned around and started blasting away," Jose plainly says, between bites of lunch.

And in the midst of embracing God while maintaining a gang affiliation, does he sense a moral conflict in that decision? "I do. I'm still stuck on being fully saved, yet I realize change for me is coming. I have a conscience now. I'm not perfect and I never will be, but I can change because of him," Jose says, pointing at Fitzjerrell.