I said in a blog
recently that if the Gospel didn’t have anything to say into the life of a prisoner,
then it had nothing to say. The truth
is that working in the prison has in many ways strengthened my faith. Strengthened it because as I hear and see the needs of the prisoners and of the mess they are in, I am more convinced than ever that the Gospel is their only hope. Strengthened it because in only a year of
full-time work I have seen God move in more ways than I ever saw over a
similar period in church life. (And it is
has been humbling the way that the guys sometimes talk of the impact you have made – sometimes only
because of one conversation – and usually a conversation that I can barely
remember.)
[Just yesterday
I was speaking to a lad who had been upset by something and I was really trying
to challenge the way he responds to such situations. “This is just the way that I am, I can’t
change!” Not buying into that I pointed
out that it was this way of reacting that had got him into prison in the first
place. “Ah,” he answered in a flash and with a mischievous grin, “but
if I hadn’t come into prison I would never have met you!” It was difficult to know where to go from
that!]
But more and
more I see in the prison that Jesus really is their/our only hope.
In the midst of
violence, and the downward spiral of retaliation and fighting-back, Jesus' words
to turn the other cheek really begin to make sense. (The challenge is getting the guys to see
that this is really a courageous action and not a sign of weakness).
Combined with
that is the whole pride issue. Saving
face is number one priority. Image is
everything – not in terms of clothes, hair and looks – but in terms of acting
tough – even when you’re filled with fear. Jesus’ call to humility and death to this attitude of self then becomes
liberating.
In the midst of
such broken lives, thank God that He can and does bring healing. Without making excuses for their behaviour, I
have said before, and say again, many of these men - as well as being criminals -
are actually victims and casualties of our broken society – wounded by the brokenness of those
who should have protected and nurtured them.
In a prison-world
often lacking love (this same prisoner told me that he had never had a real
friend, only ‘acquaintances’) to know that there is a God (and a Church?) who
loves them – even when, as is often the case, they even loathe themselves - is sometimes too good to be true.
In the midst of
despair and hopelessness, to be able to point to a God who has a plan for their
lives, who can redeem any situation – who can even use all the past hurts and
mistakes to shape the future – to be able to speak of hope is like throwing a
life-line.
To those who
have often tried and tried to change and sort themselves out, and failed again
and again – to be able to tell them of the power of the Spirit and the God who
changes lives (‘It’s not about turning over a new leaf, but living a new life’
my old Minister used to say) means that they can look for help beyond
themselves.
Into lives often
looking for forgiveness, to be able to point to a cross and speak of
unconditional, outrageous grace is a privilege.
If it wasn’t for
the Gospel of Jesus Christ, these men would have no hope, and we would have
nothing to say.
Of course the
reality is that most of the prisoners don’t even want to hear – never mind
believe. And the reality is that
even those who believe, or want to believe, find it so hard to trust and put it
into practice. [Which is why I find
myself with guys like the one above, having to spell out that if he wants to
hand things over and start doing it the Jesus way – then this is what it means
in real terms in this situation – time consuming and sometimes exhausting – but
oh so worth it when they give it a go – and lo and behold it works!]
Yep, if we didn’t
have the Good News of Jesus to tell them, we would really have nothing at all
to say. And these men would be lost and
without hope in a world that has crushed them.
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