The Encounter

The Encounter

by Chaplain Rebecca Lewis

I was between programming at the prison and went to the officers break room to get a cola.  The day was sunny, but not too humid.  Inmates were walking around going to rec, coming from the chow line, or back to their unit.  Closed movement hadn't been announced.  I had thought to go back to the chapel, but couldn't force myself yet to enter it's coolness.  If I went inside the grill, terminology for the entrance to the inmate side of the compound, I'd be besieged with needy  inmates wanting this and that.  I needed to chill.  So I got off to the corner of the grill just outside the secure area in the shade, leaned on the wall and started sipping my cola.  The movement of the inmates reminded me of a busy city street with the comings and goings.  The three sidewalks streaming from the three two story units merged in the middle and every now and then familiar greetings, unusual handshakes, pats on the back or even man hugs were exchanged.  I tried to focus on individuals or small groups, but soon the movement mesmerized and it again turned into a constant flow of imprisoned humanity, popping up every now and then for individuality, then deflating back into the human river.

Then an angry man emerged from the stream and headed in the direction of the Lieutenants office, which was right in front of where I was standing.  My first inclination was to retreat into the shadows to be left alone, but that feeling only lasted a moment as the still small voice reminded me of my purpose in being here at all.  God sets us up for these encounters.  He positions us then sends the person in need our way.  That's how I saw it and stood my ground.  The man stomped my way, brow creased with anger a mouth tight lipped, hiding clinched teeth.  His eyes were cast down, as were his shoulders, completing the picture of a man pressured to fury, a human bomb waiting to explode.  Yet he was oblivious to me until he was a few feet away when he looked up.  I saw the conflict in his face as he fought through the rage to assess who I as and how I was going to receive him.  Was I another adversary which needed to be braced against, another set to assault his emotions in this place?  So I smiled.  Again the conflict wrestled with his face as some of the tension in the brow relaxed and a slight light in his eye glinted of hope.  It was as quickly gone.  But I followed the smile with, " Well it looks like you're having a bad day."  Risky.  Using humor to attack pain always is.  But it was as if a wand was waved across the tension in his face.  It turned into a hint of guarded relief.

He smiled quickly then his brow furrowed as he said, "Yeah, that Lieutenant is just picking on me.  He  stopped me for nothing and started harassing me and I lost my cool and he told me to go wait by his office until he came."

"Well that couldn't have been fun especially in front of all the other men passing by."  Another attempt to reduce the intensity.  "So you been here long?  I don't think I've ever see you around before."  Diversion.  His face was in conflict.  Should he stay in the fight frame of mind or welcome a real conversation with someone who was treating him as more than a number.  He chose the conversation  and we engaged in talking about his family and the length of his sentence.  But after a while it was time to come back to the issue at hand.

"Let me give you a tip.  When the L.T. comes just listen and say,  'Yes sir.'  In this environment there are reasons a L.T. will do a random dress down with an inmate in front of others.  It's the nature of the beast.  But you also don't know the purpose and unfortunately arguing with a L.T. will only provoke the situation." 

He listened and I continued.  "I also don't believe this encounter with me was accidental either.  Do you have a Faith you follow?"  He spoke of familiarity with God, but I could tell by his terminology he had no real relationship.  I spoke of a God where there are no coincidences and the oddity of my presence at this time and place and how I believed that this event occurred so that in some way God could meet him in this place.  "Satan meant evil to you, but God means this for good."  He listened.  He did not respond.  He relaxed.  He smiled.  His face was changed.  Rage had been overcome and in it's place was the ability to breathe and see a bit clearer regarding his situation.  Our encounter illuminating the awareness of the reality that God was even in this place seemed to change his whole countenance and provide hope.

The move was over.  I looked up and saw the Lieutenant coming across the compound.  He saw me too.  His stern no nonsense look changed as he saw me talking to the inmate he was coming to berate for motives justified or not.  I reminded the inmate of what I said about how to address the Lieutenant.  He smiled and said okay.  I greeted the Lieuneant, who happened to be one of my favorites, as I walked toward my office and saw him relax as he looked to me, then past me to the now very calm inmate.  He was perplexed I think.  I think he sensed something had occurred here.  I believe God's grace washed the anger out of him too.  As I walked away I heard the L.T. address the inmate civilly about his behavior, and I heard a few "Yes sirs".  Then the inmate was sent on his way toward the chow hall.  Odd these encounters.  It's that brush with the intricate plan of God in peoples lives.  If we are listening we can participate in the awesome eternal work God is doing at that moment in time.  It comes out of nowhere and if we are perceptive and willing, we just might be part of it. 

Happy Go Lucky

Happy Go Lucky

by Chaplain R. Lewis

     He was a happy go lucky guy.  Yes they do laugh in prison.  He was trying to get a transfer closer to home so he had been keeping his nose clean and was just doing his time, but with a comical flourish.  A regular in the chapel, he knew all the answers.  Literally, he thought he had it going on.  He was a Christian and his game was his religion.  He participated in all the chapel services, dramas, Bible studies and regularly chatted with me in the office.  He had a funny sense of humor.  He made me laugh with his wry take on human behavior, even his own.  He could moralize, using that sense of humor, about his current situation which, this time, had been going on for numerous years.  He would come up with wonderful adages.  I could use many as illustrations in my sermons.  One of my favorites was in reference to his attempts to clean up his life now that he was a Christian. 

"Well Chap", he said grinning philosophically, leaning back in the chair across from me, "I may run up on the curb and lose a hub cap every now and then, but that wakes me up and I get back on the road." 

Great, huh?  If only he didn't take so lightly his mistakes.  He'd just laugh off his dipping his toe into sin, not necessarily unrepentant, but not realizing that repentance means a godly sorrow at sin and a turning away from it.   People in pain sometimes soften their failures with humor and that's not so bad, if  it doesn't turn into laughing off a lazy Christians' choice to give in to a sin.  

A lot of these guys just substitute God as a pain killer for themselves.  They are actually attempting a course change.  They use religion as a blueprint to attempt to steer the boat in another direction while still maintaining some kind of control.  Then they wonder why they keep getting sucker punched.  Maybe it's because they get into God rather than God getting into them.  They aren't too familiar with trust and relationships and that is key to their lives turning around.  It's not about religion, it's about relationship with God.  It's tough letting someone else steer the ship. 

He got his transfer.  I hoped funny guy would have that epiphany and quit gaming with his religion.  Then God could really do something with his talent for humor.  A year later I heard he'd been found in a prison hallway half beaten to death.  I guess someone didn't think he was so funny.     

Swinging from the Bars

Swinging from the Bars

by Chaplain R. Lewis

She sang it with gusto while swinging from the bars like a monkey.  I was on my rounds in the segregation unit in a large county jail.  She was the first cell on the left so there was an immediate decision to be made.  Ignore her behavior or join in.  I joined in.  Well why not?  I liked the song.  The steel walls were a natural sound reflector that acted like a sound system.  Her rendition echoed down the range sparking both laughter and backup singers amongst her peers.  My joining in the song encouraged the ensemble and for a short period of time what is ordinarily a long row of separate cells housing disciplinary problems within the jail, became a happy little song fest. 

Blueberry Hill lady ended her take on the song in a particularly long note and a flourish, with her clinging to the top most bars of her cell.  The party came to an end.   It quieted down pretty quick as reality zoomed back in on the women in the cages.  She climbed nimbly down from the bars, a smile remaining on her face.  This obviously was not her first rendition from her perch.  There was a grinned skepticism on her face as she landed in front of me.  She seemed surprised her behavior had not put me off.  It probably usually did and kept people from talking to her by design.  Coo-coo had been working as her escape from pain for a long time.  Not this time.  We didn't get into anything particularly deep.  We just chatted and I prayed with her before I continued down range.   I don't know about her, but I'd had a good time and left the range pretty upbeat. 

Weeks later I was at my church, the so called seminary high church I was attending at the time. When the meet and greet time came in the service we all proceeded to shake hands greeting other members and visitors.  A well dressed attractive woman walked up to me and shook my hand. 

"You don't remember me do you?" She said smiling,lingering in the handshake.

I had to admit I didn't as I looked keenly at her trying to figure it out.

"I found my thrill on Blueberry Hill."  She sang conversationally leaning in.  She thanked the astonished me for talking to her that day.  The method had always put off people like me and when I joined in her song, she felt like somebody just liked her for herself.  She had done a  lot of thinking after I left and found the strength to go back to her Christian roots and just turn things over to the Lord and quit the charades in her life.  All that from me singing Blueberry Hill with her?

Ministry to inmates is not always sharing the four Spiritual Laws, or the Roman Road or the Faith talking points.  It's often just meeting people where they are in their lives, not where we are in ours and letting the presence of God do his work in his own way.  At times we will have that opportunity to lead someone to Christ when it's time.  But don't put God in a box.  Sometimes God has Blueberry Hill and a segregation house concert in His repertoire. 

Oh, and on another note.  That well dressed person sitting next to you in church just might have been swinging from the bars in a jail cell just a few days before.  But that's another subject I suppose.

Dreadlocks and Christ

Dreadlocks and Christ

by R. Lewis

    

     He was a formidable black man with waist length grey dreadlocks.  It must've taken him years to grow them that long.  I always wondered, cringing, how long it had been since they'd seen soap and water.  Nothing personal but I was just not into that hair style.  He was an intelligent guy and if you didn't believe it, hang around long enough and he'd tell you so.  Though he was the strong leader of his religion, he was in command of the several belief systems which allowed him to ensnare weak minded inmates who followed their religion just enough to make them either miserable or trouble makers in the chapel.  He taught a pluralistic faith mixed with strong measures of racial activism which made the practice of his Moorish  Science Temple of America, an Islamic brand of religion, not entirely true to its roots.  His take on it made it a mish mash of many religions with racism, radicalism and plain bad behavior as he applied it.

     He was also pretty high up in his gang.  Power and territory are major identity issues in prison and because group activity is  greatly curtailed, the only place these leaders can show personal influence in a group setting is as a religious leader among his own faith in the chapel.  He wore his power well, not afraid to come up against the chapel staff demanding rights and privileges far and beyond what could occur in a prison chapel setting.  Standing against staff brought admiration from followers who were always looking for that person who would fall on their sword for the gang.  He was comfortable with his role and wore it like a favorite pair of jeans.  

     I had numerous run-ins with this man.  I always had to call on the Lord to give me wisdom and patience because several times I'd felt a Moses moment coming on.  You know those moments when we'd rather strike the rock rather than speak to it.   I engaged the systems disciplinary codes several times when he stepped over the line and he was carted off by officers to the segregation area for periods of time.  You cannot back down from people who are commandeering the chapel for personal power issues.  When he didn't cross the line verbally I made many attempts to reason with him, even having religious discussions with him.  I must have been able to keep up with him because he seemed to enjoy these dialogs on racism, politics and faith, as did I honestly. 

     I always believed with my head that the word of God would not be wasted on anyone.  But sometimes I really wondered if anything ever got through to this guy at all because his habit was to keep the chapel in an uproar inciting his religious group routinely over some perceived discrimination.  He admired strength, which is a badge of courage to the inmate, and I could tell there was a grudging respect for me as I held his feet to the fire each time in a firm but fair manner.  So even though I had to send him to the hole, the slang for disciplinary segregation, to his credit he'd always come back and keep up the communication with me.  But inmates like him always made my day tense, keeping me on alert.  And yes, there were pleas at times for the Lord to change my occupation.

     Over time I ended up working at the higher level prison across the street.  A year passed and I had occasion to fill in for the chaplain that had taken my place at Dreadlock Mans location.  I was standing in the office talking to an inmate chapel clerk when in walked Dreadlock Man.  I acknowledged him with a nod and continued my conversation.  I had the fleeting thought that I was sure glad I was not his chaplain anymore and didn't have to deal with whatever problem he was coming to talk to the local chaplain about.  He cordially listened to the clerk and I and when there was a break in the conversation asked if I remembered him.  I said of course with a smile and turned to face him, not thrilled I was going to be drawn into his present complaint.  Before he could say anything else, the chapel inmate clerk happily spilled the beans,  "You know he's accepted Christ don't you?"  On the outside I didn't blink, smiled and congratulated him, offering to hear his story.  On the inside I felt like the surprised Rhoda of the scripture, when she answered the door and found the answer to prayers standing there released from their prison by God.  It was an ice down the shirt moment as the Lord chided me.  Don't ever think even the most angry and confused man cannot come to know Me.  He reminded me when people fight so hard against Gods people, chances are they are in the midst of a spiritual battle for their soul. 

     No one can predict what a persons final decision will be in relationship to God calling.  We just have to be wise in our responses, remember our mission and hold the fort, especially dealing with ornery inmates in the prison chapels.  Sometimes we will be treated to the joyful results on the other side of that persons encounter with Christ.  But whether that's the case or not, just remember the old saying when dealing with inmates: God may be late, but He's always on time.

      By the way I'm wondering if God thought it was important enough to talk to him about those dreads.  Probably not.   

Wait: Promise in Process

Wait: Promise in Process

by Chaplain R. Lewis

     Wait is the hardest answer to prayer.  Being steadfast to stand fast, waiting for God to show what He is doing is not exactly in keeping with the quick fix society we live in.  Many times God has to herd us into a waiting pen, maybe through persecution, indecisiveness on the part of others, or waiting for that door to walk through found.  We grudgingly admit we are not in control of our situation.  The vision of our purpose has hit a wall, our nose is to it, and we are a bit blooded.  Our spirit is confused and struggling.  In our heart we have a sense of mission.  But the evidence around us is not promoting the picture we have painted for ourselves as far as fulfilment is concerned.  Often in these situations we materially lack for nothing.  We are fed, clothed, have shelter and even some of our wants are being fulfilled.  Yet, the wall is still there.  At these times after God has gotten my attention, I feel like a spoiled anxious child, but that doesn't ease me into contentment and  resolution.  I am still in unrest.  The dilemma remains and I keep scrambling to get over the wall at any encouragement. 

     I recall during a time like this coming upon Psalm 105.  The caption in my Bible read, "Remember, God keeps His promises."  I remember thinking, "Well, maybe He does, but what if I did not understand what his promise for me was?  What if this sense of mission is just an ego thing perpetuated by my own desire to be in control?"  I read further.  It told of Josephs' struggle in his captivity and his rise.  "The Word of the Lord tested Him."   I found myself asking, "Do you really believe this stuff?" Did I believe when none of my expectations were being fulfilled? 

     My expectations.  I listed in my mind just what my expectations were as I thought about Joseph.  Joseph had seen others bow before him  He made the mistake of telling others and was mocked and scorned.  But in his heart he knew what God had told him.  Not the specifics, but the knowing, a feeling of his destiny, his calling.  He must have been confused when the next few years brought him from a place of belonging to slavery.  He experienced a brief rise to prominence, then suffered under false accusations leading to imprisonment.  I wonder if he ever asked, "God could I have been that wrong?" 

     Yet the Word of God tested him.  He became a servant of God, not an aimless man of faith spewing out religious tenants, because Joseph allowed the scalpul of God in his life.  There is a time of waiting and in the waiting a paradox of activity.  He engaged those around him, like the cupbearer, in looking for God to act on his promise.  In the waiting there is a doing that prepares us for the coming out of our personal bondage.  We realize the bondage was all part of the exercising of our faith, making us trust God in ways freedom can't.  A broken and contrite heart can only come from seeing your reflection in the light of Gods mirror. 

      In my search I saw the early Joseph, the prideful self seeking pious Joseph,, that tended to step on the hearts of others in the name of God.  I saw the awareness of calling, but also the presumption of status at the end of the mission.  Gods mission could only be fulfilled in a purified vessel well aware of the true source of power.  If Joseph had not been forced to wait for purification, he may have ultimately killed his brothers in a fit of piety.  God tempered Joseph's high mission in life, by creating in him a humble and contrite heart.  That is what kept him pure, focused and strong when he did get his place of leadership in fulfillment of his vision. 

      How does this apply to inmates?  Many inmates think that upon their conversion they are to be immediately delivered from every habit and promoted to position of leadership.  God can and does give us a vision at times, but it's a vision that he often only gives us in pieces as to it's application.  It's important to teach them sanctification is a lifetime process.  He has to lay foundations and adds to our spiritual conversations with him with each encounter we have in applying our faith to our circumstances.  Just like a lot of those we minister to in prisons, we know the scripture and can quote it from front to back.  But knowing how to quote scripture is a far cry from applying it daily to our lives.  Teaching them that sanctification is a process will keep fewer of them from tossing their Bibles in the trash can when the instant fix doesn't come quick enough for them.  It's a walk with God, not a skydive.

Like Father like Son

THE COUNSEL OF A FATHER

by Chaplain R. Lewis

Thirty-eight years left to do in the joint.  A lifetime.  He will die in prison.  This father speaks from the chaplain's office in prison to a son lying in a hospital bed somewhere in the free world shot by a relative.  The son is feeling betrayed, sorry for himself and angry, not understanding how close he came to dying.  Interesting how people skip the obvious to lay blame elsewhere.  The son's rage is apparent from the reaction of the face of the father talking to him.  Lying in a hospital, snatched by the hair from death and yet his sons' only determination is to get well enough to return and wreak vengeance on the man that put him there.  He's sold out, in a trap of his own making, a rationalization, an accepted lifestyle, a downhill spiral in sand too loose to get traction.  It's a decision which will end in emotional, spiritual and eventually physical death.  It almost did this time.  But he's not listening. 

The father pleads with his son to straighten up, take responsibility for his actions and let go of hate.  He continues to speak with his dad, but his physical pain merges with his bitter and vengeful heart.  His father strains to hang on to any thread of influence he has left with his son.  It is a long conversation of a father trying to pour into his son a warning and a lifetime of regrets.  The plea of the father is intense and I see him growing older and hunched as the son responds with accusations and deeper determination to get even with the one who shot him.  His anger is deeply rooted and the pleas of his father bounce off him back into the broken heart of his dad.  The years of living on the precipice, daring death, denying God, flash in the dad's mind as the realization hits him that the sins of the father do impact the son.  He tells his son he loves him and will pray for him.  Pray for him. The phrase seems unfamiliar, the use of which is reaching into a place not visited much himself.  He slowly hangs up the phone.  The phone call has aged him visibly.  He is silent, shoulders slumped, hands clasped, head down.

What do you say in a case like this?  What words of comfort or encouragement will ease the pain of  this father who has wasted his years pretending how he lived was his business.  How does a man who will die in prison reach out to a son he has taught to hate and is now following him down the same road to destruction?  He is imploding right in front of me.  Seems futile.  That's when I realize once again no man comes to God just anytime he wants to.  The more he refuses the call of God, the harder the heart gets.  But God is not willing that any should perish, but that all should come to know him.  The Holy Spirit can reach into the very pit of a man's hell, melt a hard heart and save his soul from death.  It's that counsel I give this father, who says he has himself in the past months begun responding to the voice of God.  I sense he is not far from the kingdom.  But he does not accept Christ now.  He is again teetering on a precipice of indecision, a position with which he is all too familiar.  He can go either way.  Perhaps God will use the love of this father for his son, to cause him finally to say yes to Christ for himself.  He is beyond human counsel.  He must first practice what he has just preached to his son.  No longer can he hope his son will do as he says, not as he does.  It's far too late for that.  He rises to go and leaves the office without making a decision.  I pray on behalf of the father and son.  The battle for the souls of these men is not over.  It is in God's hands.  It always is.

We meet God in the strangest places.

Meeting God in the Darkness

by Chaplain R. Lewis

So the people stood afar off, but Moses drew near the thick Darkness where God was.  Then the Lord said to Moses, "Thus you shall say to the children of Israel: "You have seen that I have talked with you from Heaven.  You shall not make anything to be with me, gold or silver or gods of gold you shall not make for yourselves." Exodus 20:21-23 

We all have our prisons. For some it's just literal. But face it, the lessons we have to learn are the same whether we are incarcerated literally or in private personal prisons.  These are dark places where we don't think God can find us or even want to.  Wrong.  It's only dark because we don't realize God is in the darkness too.  The moment you comprehend this, your understanding of God will expand and perhaps relief will come to your soul.           

The people were responding to fear, but the wrong kind. Some were in rebellion, some were traumatized from Egyptian abuses, others were afraid of the future not knowing this strange land and the new responsibilities.  I imagine some were aware of their own sin and were ashamed to come before God.  They were afraid.  They were used to Egyptian gods who had to be appeased and wanted someone in the middle as a mediator.  God was busy teaching them who HE was.  He wanted relationship with them without a human go between.  He was teaching them he was a just God and obedience is foundational, but he was taking them deeper in the revelation of who HE is, to the place where obedience leads to understanding the God who is revealing himself to his beloved creation as redeemer and God of Love.  To do that he had to build a trust in them that would lead them to be still and know the God who not only commands the light but has power over the darkness, the things they could not see or understand.  God spoke to Moses from the darkness and Moses walked toward God.  Moses saw only God, not the darkness. 

We become afraid when we have equated other things as being equal to God in the task of helping us in our pilgrimage. But as our trust in God grows, we learn when God calls from even in the midst of darkness that God is light and in HIM is no darkness at all.  Fear of a Holy kind then invades our spirit.  The fear of God, that Holy awe, permeates and abolishes the terrifying, consuming, destructive fire of human earthbound fear that defeats us.  It is replaced with the awe of our Holy God.  When we fear God, we stand amazed in his presence, and realize that this God didn't have plans to destroy and start over when we sinned, but revealed himself to us further, by sending a Redeemer.  Christ, though he is equally God, took upon himself the form of man, so we would see he did provide that mediator who speaks for us.  But Christs sacrifice is far more that any human Moses factor.  It is complete in that it goes further, removing the human mediator standing between us which has caused us to "stand afar off" from a God who would embrace us.  We now can see only God, though surrounded with our life stories of abuse, injustice, failure, even death.  The cross of Christ forms in us the awe of God and, like Moses, we then can respond and walk directly to God even if He is surrounded by thick darkeness.