Hope in the Jail

Finding Hope in the Jail

Can someone be a Lover of Soul and an Inviter to the Dance in a jail? About ten years ago I attended the deacons meeting at First Presbyterian Church of Garland. We read Matthew 25, the story of the Last Judgment, where Jesus speaks of the Son of Man putting the sheep on his right and the goats on his left.  The king will say to the sheep on his right, “I was hungry, and you gave me something to eat.”  I thought to myself, “I have fed the hungry many times.”  “I was thirsty, and you gave me something to drink.”  I thought, “I have given out many bottles of water to the thirsty.” “I was a stranger and you welcomed me.”  I have welcomed many strangers in my life.  “I was naked, and you clothed me.” I have taken countless bags of used clothes to the clothes closets. “I was sick, and you took care of me.” I have often visited the sick. “I was in prison and you visited me.” I have even been to the jail a couple of times to visit people I know who had been arrested. I must confess that I was feeling pretty good about being a sheep, one of the good guys, one of the ones who will be blessed.

            Then a strange thought floated into my brain.  “You’re to go to the jail.”  To the jail?  I have been to the jails.  I went twice, remember. Again, the thought came “You’re to go to the jail.”  I don’t want to go to the jail. The jail is a scary place.  Do you know what kind of people they have at the jail?  The voice was persistent. “You’re to go to the jail.”  Let me see if I can put this as plainly as I can.  No, I am not going to the jail.  “You’re to go to the jail.”

            I was no longer engaged in what was happening at that deacons meeting.  The thought of going to the jail grabbed hold of my mind. I kept resisting it. It was just so crazy. However, just a few weeks earlier I heard a Catholic priest say that only one institution has been given the command to love and it is not the Government. It is the Church and the Church must go and love inmates. 

            After wrestling with this jail call for several weeks, I decided to see what I could do at Collin County Detention Center. I learned I needed training to be a jail volunteer, so I signed up and attended the training.  While at the training, Skip, the man in charge of volunteers, told me he had a Friday morning time available for Protestant worship.  Would I be willing to take it? Fear washed over me. I asked, “what do I do in Protestant worship?”  Skip replied, “whatever you want to do.”  I agreed to Friday morning worship, not knowing what I would do or what I had gotten myself into.

            That first Friday I was a nervous wreck.  I planned to sing some songs, have a prayer time, then a bible study.  I had an hour and a half with the inmates.  I chose some songs from Casting Crowns, a contemporary Christian rock band I believed would speak to the inmates– East to West, Who Am I, I Will Praise You in this Storm, Voice of Truth. I also picked I Can Only Imagine by MercyMe. My hope was that the inmates would know these songs.  I brought in cd’s and song sheets.  After singing, I would ask the inmates for prayer requests. Then we would look at a Bible passage. Surely, I could fill and hour and a half.

            I remember standing in that room off the Library inside the Detention Center waiting for the inmates to come. Nervousness flooded over me again and again. Breathe. Breathe. Be present. It had been quite an ordeal just to get inside the jail with all the security, doors closing and locking behind you, walking down the long hallways. Jails have a unique institutional smell of people and sanitizers that is different than hospitals or churches. I saw the inmates enter the Library and head my way, me looking at them and them looking at me.  Lord help me.

            What I didn’t know, couldn’t know, was that this was my entry into a joy and a love and a hope.  Who would have thought someone, anyone would find hope in a jail? I experienced joy in the robust singing of the songs. I experienced love as we prayed together. But hope?  This is a jail room filled with men who are imprisoned not only in cinderblock cells but their own cells of their own lives.

            One time we were studying Romans 5:3-5.  “We boast in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not disappoint us, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us.”  An inmate raised his hand.  “Are you saying that hope is produced, not just given?”  I looked at the passage and said, “according to these verses from Romans, that is right.  Hope is produced.  Suffering produces endurance, endurance produces character, and character produces hope.”

In these inmates I had witnessed the suffering, some of it self-inflicted, some of it caused by the abandonment of family, some of it caused by a slow justice system. I had seen that suffering lead to great endurance, not in all but some, an endurance that kept these men seeking and struggling and yearning for life. I had seen that endurance lead to a character that would surprise many on the outside, a character that had deep wells of love and grace and mercy. I had seen that character lead to a hope that had no explanation.  Hope that was not rooted in what was going to happen or not happen in the external world but hope that flowed from within because God’s love had been poured in their hearts through the Holy Spirit.

One day we were singing a song by Evanescence called Bring Me to Life.  The first verse is How can you see into my eyes like open doors? Leading you down into my core Where I've become so numb, without a soul My spirit's sleeping somewhere cold Until you find it there and lead it back home. The refrain is (Wake me up) Wake me up inside (I can't wake up) Wake me up inside (Save me) Call my name and save me from the dark (Wake me up) Bid my blood to run (I can't wake up) Before I come undone (Save me) Save me from the nothing I've become. As we sang this song, a big, strong quiet inmate sat on the back row weeping. I wondered why this song brought him to tears. After we finished the song, he raised his hand and shared about his tears. Years ago, this was his four year old’s favorite song.  One time he was out on their apartment balcony doing drugs when she came out on the balcony.  He quickly hid his drugs as she sang to him, Wake me up inside. Call my name and save me from the dark. Bid my blood to run before I come undone.  Save me from this nothing I’ve become. The inmate said he now knew she was singing to him about what his life had become and what his hope was.  Christ, the one who could see down into the depth of his soul, wanted to bring him to life. Though she could not have known, she was inviting him into life, into hope. Out of the mouth of babes shall come great truth.

            “You must go to the jail.”  I thought those words were calling me to be obedient to the task of visiting the jail. Those words were calling me to know love and joy and above all hope inside drab, cinderblock jail. That is the mystery of God.