Dust in the Ray

THIS BLOG WAS WRITTEN IN FEBRUARY, 2015.

            I read an interesting short story the other day. It centered around a guy thinking his life was being led the “right way.” He was honorable, he was a good citizen, he was lawful. And, as such he could pass judgement on all the wrong he saw. There he was one morning, ready to take on the world when he saw it. There in the kitchen a ray of morning sunlight shone through the window. In the ray he saw thousands of particles of dust, usually invisible to his eye – in a room he knew was spotless, just like his life – and yet there it was in that ray clear for all to see. He realized in that ray his life was exposed. The ray was pure; it was God’s light. And the dust was all his arrogance and pride and judgment – he really was no better than those he’d held in judgment.

            I read that story and smiled. I got the metaphor of the ray. How odd I would “get it” in here during a week when my mind was bombarded by commentary and talking heads telling me who “loved” this country; who was law-abiding, who spoke for God. I thought all about it as I did another week inside, paying “my debt” to society for breaking the law.

            So the former mayor of New York says the President isn’t “like us.” He doesn’t love “America the way we do.” What spurred those comments? The President stated that what is happening in the Middle East is no more representative of Islam that the Klan is of Christianity. And you know, he’s right. No “religion” has morality cornered. History is replete with people doing horrible, awful things in the name of God. How often, in our visceral reaction to the beheading of a journalist or the burning alive of a Jordanian pilot, that we immediately utter how barbaric “those people” are. Yet, we forget that it wasn’t that many years ago when an angry white crowd in St. Louis threw a small black baby into a burning home; it wasn’t that many years ago when the churches in Alabama and Mississippi shielded killers – Klansmen who lynched and tortured simply because of one’s color. Do we remember how the churches in Germany were co-opted by a murderous tyrant? The ray of sunlight exposes the dirt.

            There is a tension at work between faith and devout citizenship. Too often, we think being faithful means supporting. The status quo. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. wrote:

            “The church is not the master or servant of the state, but rather the conscience of the state. It must be the guide and critic of the state, and never its tool.”

            Put another way, civil life doesn’t necessarily equate with spiritual wellbeing. Or, as C.S. Lewis remarked, “Almost all crimes of Christian History have come about when religion is confused with politics.”

            You cannot read the New Testament, those magnificent parables in the four Gospels, and come away with a self-righteous attitude that we are good and they are bad. We care called to live in tension with society. Coziness with the state – any state – and the church may be good for the state but it is bad for the church.

            Throughout his entire adult life Jesus’ ministry was to the outcast, the downtrodden, the sick scum on the fringe. His anger, so seldom vented, was directed to who? The Pharisees – those who lived by legalistic interpretation. Jesus understood that proof of spiritual maturity is not how “pure” you live, but how aware you are of the impurity in your own life. We aren’t “pure;” we are covered in the dust. As Phillip Yancey says, “what trivial matters we obsess over, and what weighty matters of the law – justice, mercy, faithfulness – might we be missing?”

            This isn’t about Rudy Giuliani – though I wonder why when he talks about his “love” for the country he neglects to point out how over and over he sought and received military deferments to avoid service during Vietnam, how his “moral compass” didn’t preclude adultery. “You can know the law by heart without knowing the heart of it.”

            I lived a life of a legalist. I saw the world in black and white, right and wrong. Trouble is, without being right with God – and by right I mean understanding what He really is about – you can’t begin to see the wrong in yourself. “Father forgive them. They knew not what they do.” Here He is, wrongly accused, convicted, tortured, and now death’s throws and He is not calling for retribution; He isn’t even calling for justice. He is calling for mercy.

            I think a good deal about mercy – for those who wrong us; for terrorists and for those of us doing time; mercy; because we realize while we may not be “them,” we aren’t that far removed from them. That was the point being made with the adulterous woman’s accusers: “If you are free of sin, then carry out the sentence.” And the crowd, they saw the dust and dirt and grime of their own lives in the light; and they were humbled and they left.

            “Don’t the Bible say we must love everybody?”

            “O the Bible! To be sure it says a great many things;

            But, then, nobody ever thinks of doing them.”

            That dialog came from Harriet Beecher Stowe’s pre-Civil War master piece; Uncle Tom’s Cabin. One hundred and fifty years later has anything changed?

            Every day in here I deal with broken, lost, sometimes violent men. And I ask myself in moments of silent meditation, “why” – why this? Nothing the state does or can do can clean the hearts of those of us in here. Our nation can drop tons of bombs but hearts will not change. The conclusion of the adulterous woman story is revealing. After the crowd leaves only she remains with Jesus. “Woman, where are all your accusers?” “They have left.” He looks in the face of an obviously remorseful woman, a woman who has seen “the dust” of her life in the ray. “Then neither will I condemn you.”

            Why am I writing about dust? I guess because my faith journey has led me to realize Atticus Finch was right. We have to try and walk around in the other guy’s skin; we have to show empathy, mercy, kindness especially so to those who wouldn’t show it to us. For far too long I lived in the shadows of cleanliness. The light exposed the dust. Those of us who profess faith would do well to remember that when any representative of the state tries to tell us what is right.

 

Ignoring James

A friend pointed out the other day that I seem to focus a good deal of attention on the New Testament Book of James. I thought about her comment a few minutes and realized she was right. James wrote a straight-forward, short letter to believers that says, “You want to call yourselves followers of the Risen Christ, then do this …” He doesn’t pull punches. He tells his readers there will be trials, tough times, pain and difficulty, but you go forward, “consider it all joy …” because these tests produce endurance. I still remember the first time I read those words when everything (no exaggeration, I mean everything) was lost. James’s words couldn’t be any clearer, I thought to myself sitting in that cell at the jail. Suck it up, tough it out, endure, persevere, overcome … have faith.

James is so blunt. Perhaps that comes from being the Lord’s half-brother (think about that: “Mom always treats you better … like you’re God!”); or perhaps James just understands that to be a believer you can’t just “talk the talk.” No, you have to “walk the walk.” As he puts it, “But prove yourself doers of the word, and not merely hearers who delude themselves.” I thought about those words the other afternoon as I once again saw the hypocrisy in our politicians’ words.

“Obama would rather spend money on food stamps than a strong military.” Those were the words put forth by former Vice-President Dick Cheney reacting to budgets and troop reductions in the Pentagon proposed by the Obama Administration. And, I thought of my Bible reading and remembered a number of instances where Jesus fed the masses and ministered to the poor. I couldn’t think of a single instance where the Savior told his followers to spend more on weapons. I thought about the Book of Judges’ Story of Gideon. How God told him to only use 300 soldiers, not 10,000, so that God could show by His power our enemies are vanquished. We profess we are a Christian nation yet we somehow think by our own hand, our own might, our military strength we live free. We are deluding ourselves. James reminds us to care for “the widows and orphans.” We are judged by our compassion and our mercy, not our human might.

Then there was the member of the Virginia House of Delegates who recently commented on the failure of a bill that would have drastically cut phone rates for inmates. Phone call rates for those behind bars – and their families – are beyond usurious. A twenty-minute, in-state call from the facility can run over $15.00. Why? Because the state signs exclusive, kickback contracts with one of three “corrections telephone system providers.” That provider then kicks back a percentage of the annual revenue to the state. Virginia derives $3 million from their sweetheart deal with CTL.

What did this politician say when pressed for comment on a bill that would have 1. made phone rates in prisons and jails the same as competitive rates on the streets, or 2. specifically earmark all monies “earned” by the state under the CTL contract for prison education and re-entry? He said, “They broke the law, they can pay the higher rates.”

Really? Let’s see … there are thousands of men and women sitting in jail cells who have not yet been convicted of anything. And for those who are convicted, over 90% will return to their communities. Most are from poor families (I know this will come as a shock to the delegate, but income disparity, education level, and race play significant rules in who ends up in prison). The Commonwealth talks out of both sides of its mouth. On the one hand, they spend hundreds of millions of dollars annually to prepare incarcerated men and women for release and reintegration in their communities. And they know family connections are a major factor in a released offender’s success. On the other hand, the state has in place policies which bleed poor families. Outrageous phone rates lead to less family contact.

But this isn’t about economics; it’s about hypocrisy and “being a doer” of the world. This same delegate talks about the push toward marriage rights for gays as an affront to what God believes marriage should be. Well, here’s the thing about tossing your alleged Christian views into the mix. Most of the time, your views line you up with the Pharisees, not Jesus. I’d like the delegate to point out any case in the New Testament where Jesus turned his back on those who were different. He didn’t. In fact, he drew the outcasts closer. It was the Samaritan woman whom He explained to about the “water of life.” The lepers, the mentally ill, the blind and deaf were made whole. It was a law-breaker (the adulterous woman) through whom Jesus taught us to avoid judgment because in God’s eyes, we are all sinners. And, it was the thief on the cross who full of remorse for his wrongdoing was given eternal life.

We live in a world that professes one thing and does another. Jesus never denied aid to a hurting person based on their race, creed, nationality, or sexual orientation. Jesus never sided with those living by their definition of the law; He sided with those living the law in their hearts. And so it goes today. Are we really much different from Palestine in AD 30?

“If anyone is a hearer of the word and not a doer, he is like a man who looks at his natural face in the mirror; for once he has looked at himself and gone away, he has immediately forgotten what kind of person he was.”

James was pretty clear with his admonitions to believers. Seems like its time we start paying attention to what he said.

Asking About Blindness

There’s a story in the New Testament I’ve been trying to get my hands around for the past few weeks. It concerns Jesus and the disciples coming upon a blind man. The disciples ask “Was it the parents’ sin or his own sin that led to his blindness.” “The Message” records Jesus response in these modern words: “You’re asking the wrong question. You’re looking for someone to blame. There is no cause and effect here. Look instead for what God can do.”

            Asking the wrong question. Look instead for what God can do. The words have rolled around my brain for a few weeks. It was with those words in mind that I thought about a response to comments from “Anonymous” on May 3 (see Waiting blog). It struck me funny because the tight knit group of young men in here, who follow what I write and why I write it, had a definite opinion of what my response should be and it was different than what I thought. I told one young guy in particular – who urged me to go forward “with a vengeance” – that you have to step back and see the big picture.

            It really comes down to three P’s: Paul, Punishment, and Perseverance.

            People think they understand another’s circumstances completely and they know exactly the proper response for any situation and they are sure they would do “the right thing.” It’s human nature really. We see our neighbor’s failures, foibles, and weaknesses, and know we wouldn’t do that. Worse, we decide in the rightness of ourselves and therefore lack empathy for those who stray. “Break the law you’re going to be punished.” Simple words, yet wrong.

            I spend a good deal of time reading Paul’s letters to the various small, struggling churches around Asia Minor. I’m amazed at his transformation from law enforcer to grace proclaimer. And, I can’t get over the fact that this man, with the blood of innocents on his hands, was the primary catalyst for the growth of Christianity beyond the relatively small, sect-like following of its post-resurrection numbers.

            Paul was a bright, well-off man of the community. He knew the law and understood that it had to be enforced. Go outside its terms and be punished. His was a simple, cause-effect view. And then he came face to face with God and realized it wasn’t law that propelled us forward, but grace, God’s unfathomable mercy and love that no one deserves, yet gets. Irony of ironies (to me anyway) Paul carried that message of reconciliation, forgiveness, hope, and love all from prison. And, he never shied away from what he had been. He freely admitted his past.

            To the writer of the blog posting I simply say everything you write about my past is true. We could argue technical terms, and I could present a strong defense justifying my behavior. (Then again, I don’t think you are interested in the whole story.) But the fact is, I stole. Fact is, I knew what I was doing was wrong; knew I’d get caught, knew I’d probably lose everything. I don’t shy away from my past sins or “the whys.” Like the story of the blind man, however, I think you are asking the wrong question.

            Then there’s “punishment.” Let’s make sure we understand, I don’t think there is no place for prison. Prison can be a useful tool. But, I did have to laugh at the naïveté of the writer who said, in effect they’d conducted an informal survey of friends and acquaintances and “there is a strong consensus what prison is like.” No there isn’t. Until you experience it, you don’t have a clue.

            And that’s not really the point. I write about the failures of prison because they are so painfully obvious. Forget the philosophical argument (should society, in the name of justice, allow barbaric, cruel inhumane treatment to enforce judgments?), as a practical matter prisons fail. Fact: two of three released inmates return to prison within three years (so much for deterrent effect!); Fact: incarcerating non-violent, low custody offenders leads to worse criminal behavior in the future; Fact: it is expensive and not cost-effective.

            There is a reason conservative Republican politicians are jumping on the band wagon of prison reform. It is the elephant (no pun intended!) in the room when you discuss failed government.

            Now, if your goal is purely and simply retribution, then prisons are great. They destroy lives, tear families apart, lead to generational and community distress; make people bitter – both inside and outside the walls. Prison creates an attitude that seeks to deny responsibility for one’s actions.

            The problem with prison is it leads to more problems than it solves. Over 90% of all the incarcerated will return to society. How they leave this place is largely determined by the treatment they receive while in here, the support from family and friends on release, and education and job skills they possess. Abuse a man – or woman – in prison and you risk spending millions over the course of that felon’s life on additional prison terms and resulting costs on welfare, drug treatment, and more.

            This is neither a left or a right issue. Conservative politicians use catch-all phrases like “tough on crime” with a one size fits all (“lock em up and throw away the key”) approach. Liberals become apologists for bad behavior excusing gang violence, drug dealing, and other crimes blaming irresponsible behavior on a racist society.

            The truth is, prison is expensive, ineffective, and – with the exception of the extremely violent and sociopathic inmates does more harm than good. Prison lacks morality. It is not effective punishment. It is primitive, purposeless, and poisons society’s core values.

            Finally, perseverance. I’ve done a fair number of stupid things in my life. Even though I never, however, did anything with the intention of hurting anyone, I broke the law and accepted (contrary to what the writer said) with no question, my punishment. Easy? No. Suffering? Neither the writer, nor family and friends, know the extent of what I’ve been through (which also caused me to smile when my anonymous poster told me to “suffer in silence.”) I have been blessed in the experience and believe there in a purpose and a reason for it. If nothing else, I write to put real flesh and blood on a group of people long neglected: the imprisoned.

            There is a reason the Psalms, the Old Testaments Prophets, and even Jesus refer over and over to the plight of the “prisoners.” And before I’m told those “prisoners” are a metaphor for someone other than a lawbreaker, remember Paul’s admonition about the law: all fall short.

            People have the capacity for great good and great evil. I have witnessed incredible acts of kindness by men whom most readers (like my anonymous poster) would label beyond redemption. At the same time, I have seen “good, law-abiding” friends and family show unforgiveness and lack mercy and empathy to an extent usually reserved for your worst enemy.

            I began with a story about Jesus and the blind man and asking the wrong question instead of looking at what God can do. It isn’t a physical deficiency that holds us back; it is the hardness of our spirit. The greatest gift I’ve received in this trial is seeing the world through opened, “freed” if you would, eyes. That’s why I’m able to smile when I read the anonymous poster’s response and why I look forward to exchanging personal correspondence with the writer.

 

Empty

Easter, 2012.  Another “new” season and yet, so much this year is like the last three Easters.  All of them spent incarcerated; all of them spent removed from what I knew, what I cherished.

Each year as Easter approached I’d try and find meaning, try and understand why, why was I going through this, why had I lost so much, where was the loving God I prayed to each day in the midst of struggle?  On a simple level, I knew I was guilty.  I was paying the price, serving the sentence, imposed by a legitimate court following my guilty plea for the theft of two million dollars.  And, I knew I deserved to be punished.  I knew all along I was breaking the law.  I knew I’d lose my wife and friends.  I knew it all.  Yet, the punishment was worse than expected.  The swiftness and finality of rejection beyond what I could imagine.  I was paying more than a just price for my conduct.

I have felt so alone, so abandoned, rejected, and betrayed that no one, I feared could comprehend the depth of my suffering.  I would cry out, over and over at night alone in a stank cell, “help me, God.  Please help me.”  And my tears, my pleas would fall on deaf ears.  Everything I had feared my whole life, everything I believed about myself, that no one did love me, that everyone was dependent on me giving them something or they would abandon me, proved true.  It was, on more than one occasion almost too painful to bear.

On more than one occasion, especially in that first year of living in a jail cell with no physical contact with friends or family other than the all too infrequent thirty-minute “how are you doing?” through Plexiglas, I actively planned my own death.  Death, I believed, was better than prison, divorce, rejection.  I was empty.  Nothing could change my circumstances.  It is the worst position to be in.  Hopelessness kills.

Each year, as the Lenten season began, I vowed to renew.  I’d sacrifice some silly pleasure and devote myself to meditation and prayer.  I’d try and meet God halfway, try and understand what all of this meant, try and hope when every rational fiber in me said hope is gone.  Easter would arrive; I’d hear the words from my years of church attendance ring in my head.  “The Lord is Risen”, and the rote response, “He is Risen indeed”, and I would wait expectantly for the miracle to unfold.  I wanted, I craved that “come thou long expected Jesus” moment, the one that would restore me to family and friends.  It never came.

Tough.  Painful.  Lonely.  Survivable?  I wasn’t sure.  I cried to God, I argued with Him; I tried everything I knew and then I concluded nothing I could offer or promise would matter.   My life was beyond my control.  The only decision I really had to make was, do I hope or do I just go on. 

I thought of a man in Texas as I tried to figure out what to do.  He served over fifteen years in a Texas prison, convicted of murdering his wife.  He told anyone who would listen he wasn’t the killer.  He loved his wife, he told the jury.  But the evidence, the prosecution argued, was overwhelming.  It was cold-blooded murder.  Life in prison was his destiny. 

I heard Michael Morton speak about his time in maximum security, how close he came to breaking.  There was the time his son turned twelve and wrote him and announced “I don’t want to visit anymore”.  And the pain from that letter seared his heart.  It got worse.  At seventeen, his son wrote again.  “I’m going to be adopted” by the family raising him.  He was changing his name.  “My heart broke”, Morton said.  He gave up.

Then a miracle happened.  The Innocence Project heard about his case.  They petitioned the court to examine the prosecution’s file and discovered evidence exonerating Morton that was withheld at trial.  And then DNA evidence proved conclusively Morton was not the killer.  Another man, already doing life in Texas for murder, had killed his wife.

Michael Morton walked out of prison a free man.  But, he wasn’t truly free until he was able to forgive all those people who put him in that hell, all those people who abandoned him.  Nothing he went through made sense and yet, in God’s infinite wisdom it all made sense.  He had survived the valley, stared into the abyss, and was made whole.  More importantly, Michael Morton found peace.  He mattered and what he’d gone through mattered.

This Lenten season I embarked on another time of renewal and spiritual cleansing.  I gave up potato chips – my weakness in here, and coffee.   Each morning I began with reading one or two Psalms and an Old and New Testament lesson.  Ironically, three times I read Psalm 77, a Psalm of crying out to a silent God and then finding strength remembering His prior amazing deeds.

More ironically, I read the story of Joseph, sold into slavery, imprisoned for thirteen years, and then he saved both Egypt and the Israelites.  “You intended it for evil, but God intended it for good.”  I read the Exodus story.  God heard the cries of His people and sent Moses, a murderer of an Egyptian, abandoned by his own people, to go and announce to Pharaoh, “God says, Let my people go.”

And I listened as I prayed waiting for God to tell me what this all means.  I heard silence, but the silence gave me comfort.  I cried out some nights, I hurt, I was lonely, but somehow each morning the silence sustained me.  Did anyone know what I was going through?  Did anyone care?  I read the Gospels and saw it, the suffering, the rejection.  His twelve most trusted friends; one betrays him, ten run and hide, afraid for their own lives; only one – John – shows up at his execution.  He knew what I felt.  He knows what I’m going through.  He is with me.

This morning I awoke to a cloudless Easter morning.  I went out and ran.  Over and over I heard the words from the Gospel of Luke, “and they went to the tomb and it was empty.  And the angel of the Lord said, “He is not here.  He is Risen.”  I thought about that empty tomb.  I thought about all I’d been through these past four years.  And I realized I’d never felt closer to God than I did this morning.

I don’t know what tomorrow will bring.  I don’t know when this trial will end or what will be in my future.  I know what I pray for each day.  There is hope in suffering; there is hope in emptiness.  “The tomb is empty.”  There is hope.

Joseph

So what do I write about Christmas?  Tough subject because Christmas is a time of family, and hope, and wishes fulfilled.  And prison?  Prison’s just the opposite.  It’s solitary and lonely and hope seems to be just beyond your grasp.  Fulfilled wishes?  More like unfulfilled.  Guys treat Christmas as just another day, another knocked off their remaining three, or seven, or ten years left to do.  Christmas in prison.  It’s hard to put into words everything that goes through your mind.  Memories of Christmases past, longings for Christmases in the future.

The country folk singer John Prine has a song, “Christmas in Prison”, that I find myself singing as I run. 

“It was Christmas in prison
And the food was real good
We had turkey and pistols
Carved out of wood
And I dream of her always
Even when I don’t dream
Her name’s on my tongue
And her blood’s in my stream.”

Christmas dreams.  What do I write, what do I put down on paper to explain exactly what I’m feeling as the day approaches?

Someone sent me pages of quotes from my favorite Christmas movie, “It’s a Wonderful Life”.  I love the character George Bailey.  And, like I did when I was out there, I choked up as I read George calling out to his guardian angel,

“Clarence! Clarence! Help me, Clarence.  Get me back.  Get me back.  I don’t care what happens to me.  Only get me back to my wife and kids.  Help me, Clarence, please.  Please!  I want to live again.  I want to live again.  I want to live again…Please, God, let me live again.”

Who can’t relate to George Bailey, at the end of his rope when nothing in his life, when everything in his life, seemed to come into crystal clear focus?  Everything was gone.  Everything was out of his control.  All he had left was that deep felt, primal plea to God “let me live again”. 

Christmas in prison and you’re alone and you’ve lost everything you worked for, everything you lived for.  What do I write?  And then Joseph came to mind.

I’m not talking about Egypt Joseph.  I’m talking about the largely forgotten Joseph.  And yet, without him I’m not sure there’d be “The Christmas Story.”

This guy asks a girl to marry him.  He’s doing alright for himself; he owns a small business, has a trade; he’s got his life planned out.  Only the girl comes to him and says “I’m pregnant”.  That is a major problem.  They hadn’t slept together, so it obviously isn’t his child.  So I imagine that conversation, how disappointed Joseph must have been.  All those plans, all the preparations he made, wasted.

Joseph does something out of character for most people.  He decided to keep things quiet, not embarrass the girl.  She’ll go home and he’ll say “things just didn’t work out”.  And then, he has a dream.  In his sleep an angel visits him and tells him to still get married.  “Don’t worry”, the angel says.  “It’s God’s child.”  The angel even tells Joseph what to name the baby.

Here’s the crazy part, the extraordinary part – Joseph listens.  He decides if God chose him to marry this girl, that was good enough for him.  Ever hear that voice deep in the back of your head, the one that tells you the right thing to do even when conventional wisdom tells you otherwise?  For years I heard that voice and I ignored it.  Then I got arrested and started following those little instructions even though it cost me everything.  And I learned on the outside my life appeared worse, but on the inside I’m stronger and I sleep better.  Funny how that voice works.

Joseph listened to the angel, but that wasn’t the end of the story.  He’s largely forgotten in the New Testament story and yet, without him I wonder if Emmanuel, “God is with us”, would mean the same thing. 

Christmas in prison.  What does it mean?  Sometimes we find ourselves in places we never imagined with dreams lost and we wonder what should we do?  And the voice tells us to “do the right thing”.  Life doesn’t suddenly turn out wonderfully.  In fact, things may get worse.  We have more in common, I think with Joseph than we do with George Bailey.  But like both men discovered, the Christmas message is alive, it’s real.  God is with us, even in prison.

So what do I write about this Christmas?  How about this? It’s a wonderful, blessed time, even in prison because I know the real message of hope exists.  As John Prine sang,

“It’s Christmas in Prison

They’ll be music tonight
I’ll probably get homesick
I love you
Good night.”

MERRY CHRISTMAS.

Ryan, Magnetic and Others

In an excerpt from the late Steve Jobs recently published autobiography he explains his disagreement with Christianity.  Too many Christians, he suggests, don’t try and live like Christ and follow His teachings and instead focus on tenets of faith and belief.  I think Mr. Jobs may be on to something and it got me thinking about a lot of guys I deal with in here.

Ryan is in the top bunk next to me.  He’s rather short and a workout friend.  He’s built like a hobbit on steroids.  He also is an active practicing “Christian”, or so he describes himself that way.  He is constantly reading Bible commentaries, pouring over King James interpretations of verses, and looking up precise meanings of words from a Bible dictionary he keeps at hand.  He also attends Bible study and services three times a week.  And yet, Ryan is one of the most angry, distrustful, arrogant people I have ever met. 

“I don’t trust any of these scumbags,” Ryan told me the other day.  When I smiled he asked me what was so funny.  “I’m trying to remember where in ‘The Sermon on the Mount’ that line appeared?”  His curt response:  “Jesus doesn’t expect us to put up with a-holes.”  Somehow I think Ryan missed the entire point of the New Testament.

Then, there is “Magnetic”.   He’s a young kid who has become a philosopher.  He knows virtually everything (just ask him).  He’s toying with the “5%ers” philosophy (hence the name “Magnetic”, there is also “Unique”, “Dominion”, and “Sincere”, in the building.  They pick and choose various pieces of each religious philosophy like ordering ala carte at a restaurant).  Magnetic spoke often of “black Friday”, the day in the future when the oppressed masses overthrow the white majority.  “You’ll be fine Larry.  You care about us.”

Magnetic spouts forth Bible verses (and passages from the Koran) to support his logic.  It blew up in his face recently.  The college students (regular program) had intro to sociology.  Magnetic was enrolled in the class.  The Professor had effeminate mannerisms.  Magnetic announced in class that “God hates” homosexuals and therefore, he didn’t have to listen to anything the Professor said.  The instructor left word for the school principal.  “I won’t tolerate ridicule like that.  He’s out.”  The principal concurred and Magnetic was removed from college.  Yesterday he was moved.  Before he left he asked me if I thought he was wrong to try and uphold a “Biblical principle”.

I thought for a moment about my response.  I reminded him I’m in prison for a “theft”.  “Thou shalt not steal.  My marriage – a church marriage – failed miserably.”  So I asked him, who am I to judge whether that instructor is living right?

I think a great deal about the lessons, the requirements of faith, and the more I think about them the more I realize I didn’t know a thing about what God really requires of us.  Over and over I hear the words from the prophet Micah, “What does the Lord require of you?  Do justice, love kindness, walk humbly before your God.”

Guys in here – Ryan, Magnetic and hundreds more – put on a show.  They “philosophize” about the big complex questions of existence; they memorize prayers and verses; they recite rules and principles of conduct, and they miss the simple message Steve Jobs addressed:  they forget to live like Christ. 

And as I thought about that I realized prison isn’t so different from the real world.  If only we were more compassionate, more forgiving, more merciful.

The other week I received a letter from a man I’d never met.  He’d heard of my situation from a mutual friend and wrote a letter which contained among other things, an interview with the former Catholic Bishop of Richmond, a tireless advocate for prison reform.  It was a warm letter and touched me deeply.  This man and his wife did not know me, yet they wrote to bolster my spirits.  Perhaps Steve Jobs was a little too quick to miss the efforts of some to live a little more like God intended.

Bob's Singin: Is Anyone Listenin?

My cousin wrote me and mentioned her stepson and his wife had been to see Bob Dylan in concert and he was “unintelligible”. I’m a huge Dylan fan and used to say you could understand anything in life with a Dylan song or baseball.



I think about Dylan lyrics quite frequently in here. Somehow a great deal of what Dylan wrote makes sense when you’re locked up, deprived of your freedom.


Here’s a thought: incarceration is an inhuman punishment. With very few exceptions (sociopathic personalities), the vast majority of men and women in prison could be rehabilitated without incarceration or substantially shorter sentences.


For most men and women locked up, prison is a debilitating mind breaking, soul breaking experience. I read an interesting article recently by an African American Washington Post writer bemoaning the fact rappers who have done time talk about how “bad” they were in the system. Fact is prison alters you in so many ways; for most men and women, the changes are for the worse.


“How many roads must a man walk down
Before you will call him a man
How many seas must a white dove sail
Before she sleeps in the sand
How many times must the cannon balls fly
Before they are forever banned . . . .”


There are some who fight the despair and refuse to give up their freedom of self, of consciousness. They fight against becoming institutionalized.


I have had the privilege of meeting a small group of men like that. They accept responsibility for their crimes, yet never give up learning, never give up striving, never give up hoping for freedom. Though some are murderers, some armed robbers, and drug dealers; they are more humble, compassionate, and caring than any other men I’ve known. They have become more than brothers to me.


Prisons are poorly run and insufficiently equipped to handle the vast majority of societal ills that are comingled behind their walls. Even at a place like this, a lower custody, dormitory style center, the inmates act with each other and staff in a Darwinian ballet. The strongest prey on the weakest; intellect only sometimes overcomes physical strength; the sick and infirmed get worse.


But, prisons are big business. In 2011 it is estimated the federal and state prison systems will spend over $55 billion to operate its prisons. That is more than is projected to be spent by U.S. Forces in Iraq.


“How many years can a mountain exist
Before it is washed to the sea
How many years can a people exist
Before they’re allowed to be free
How many times can a man turn his head
And pretend that he just doesn’t see . . .”


We claim to be a moral country, a moral people, yet we maintain a criminal justice system that leads the world in the number of people behind bars. I wonder how a nation, so committed to spreading freedom and justice worldwide can fail so miserably ensuring it within its own borders.


A majority of Americans consider themselves “Christian”. They fail to realize that the religion they profess to follow is diametrically opposite the lifestyle they lead. Consider that the vast majority of the New Testament, that portion of the Bible dedicated to spreading the word about the resurrected Jesus was written by men in and out of prison. Almost every one of Paul’s Epistles were written behind bars. An elderly John wrote the Book of Revelation while imprisoned on the Island of Patmos doing hard labor. Peter, Stephen, James and hundreds others were imprisoned, tortured, and killed by the powers that be.


We forget that those men who today we consider saints, were “back in the day”, criminals, human garbage, troublemakers. They challenged the societal norms and domestic order of the world’s only superpower, a nation-state more dominant than any in the history of humankind. They challenged a religious order and doctrine that placed greater emphasis on law than grace, a religious establishment that arrogantly held its followers superior to any other.


Do you every wonder why Jesus told his disciples to forgive “seventy times seven?” Do you ever wonder why He told the crowd how they treat “the least of my brothers” is how they shall be judged (and He included those in prison)? Do you ever ask yourself why Paul, in prison, told the Ephesians to “forgive as Christ forgave you?”


These men, these saints of the faith most Americans profess, were societal outcasts, misfits, problems. It was easier for the Roman and Jewish authorities to imprison them, stone them, hack them to pieces, or crucify them than deal with them.


I live with twelve hundred misfits, degenerates, drug addicts, murderers, drunks, mentally challenged men. We are part of 40,000 Virginia outcasts, part of three million criminals, losers, problems, kept confined in despicable conditions. Most have given up and accept that being treated like this for what they did is Karma, their fate. But some refuse. They don’t sit quietly. They shout out “I am a child of God, I will be free!”


“How many times must a man look up
Before he sees the sky
How many ears must one man have
Before he can hear people cry
How many deaths will it take ‘til he knows
Too many people have died
The answer, my friend is blowin in the wind . . . .”


Bob’s singin and I’m hearing every word. It is a call to action, a call to change, a call to address the ills we see. Prison reform must occur. Too many lives are being squandered; too many resources being wasted. The choice is up to each person. Do we do what we profess and ‘trust in the Lord with all our heart” or do we keep doing the same thing, locking people up, damaging them, making them worse. There has to be a better way.


The price we will pay for keeping things “as is” will be more in prison, more broken families, more children raised without fathers, more disparity.


Bob’s singin. I wonder how many are listening. We need to change now or “a hard rain’s gonna fall.”