Going to Prison

For nearly 30 years, I lived within 4 miles of the Washington State Penitentiary in Walla Walla without ever visiting it.

In one sense (as in that of the 90’s “Offspring” song about crime and punishment featuring the very institution so close to my home) this is probably a good thing. I have never committed a felony that would punch my ticket to residency in the place who’s lights glow orange over the Walla Walla valley every night. Yet as a follower of Jesus, I feel sad and a little guilty thinking back on all the years of missed opportunities to be present among those who might be considered ‘the poor in spirit’ of our age.

Four years ago however, I joined a rather large collection of dedicated Adventists who visit ‘The Pen’ (as it’s colloquially called around town) on a regular basis. These men and women organize no less than 4 different weekly worship services as well as numerous other group and individual Bible studies throughout each week. The majority of the over 50 volunteers are retired, clear-eyed, and full of energy for what they see as highly evangelistic work. Their ministry is fascinating to witness; on a regular basis, inmates are baptized, become members of the local church of which most of the volunteers attend, and yet remain living up on the hill on the north side of town.

This coming Saturday, I’ll be at the prison again for what has become one of my roughly bi-monthly visits. And as the resident pastor, as usual I’ll offer the sermon in one of the unit worship services. The experience is typically very interesting and often incredibly life-giving to me. My personal motivations for going however, are a little different than from what I sometimes perceive among my evangelism oriented co-volunteers.

I go to prison because, in the words of Thich Nhat Hanh, “I am that too.”

To perhaps be more precise, I go to be reminded that (in the words of the Apostle Paul) I am “the Chief of sinners” ; no better (or worse) than any of those with whom I interact.

The men under the 24hr orange glow and I are the same broken human beings. Each of us experience shame and fear, anger and joy, loneliness and love. Each of us have stories to tell; each of us has wisdom to offer the world; each of us was made in the image of God; and for each of us Jesus came and died.

To each of us is available new life.

The primary thing that separates us is that their sins – their wrongdoings – their mistakes – their choices – happened to have broken laws, happened to have caused greater consequences on others than mine, or happened to have been witnessed by authorities or others in power. My sins have been much more banal; more hidden; less noteworthy. But no less real. Every time I visit the penitentiary, I am humbled by the Grace that has shown up in my life keep me from the types of (sometimes fleeting, stupid, drug or rage induced) actions that landed the men I visit on Saturdays in that place. I shudder to think of the hair’s width that divides my bad choices from theirs.

Of course other things do indeed separate us. Walla Walla as a city is nearly 50/50 in male/female makeup while the prison population in the state is 92% male (and 100% male in Walla Walla as female inmates in Washington now primarily live at a facility in Gig Harbor). 18% of inmates are black, while only 3.6% of the state’s population (and 2.5% in Walla Walla) fit that racial demographic. Penitentiary inmates are more likely to be poor than the general population and although there is contention in conservative circles as to whether poverty itself causes crime, the correlation is undeniable. This socio-economic aspect brings out all kinds of other differences between many inmates and myself, a middle-class Christian white man with a suit from Nordstrom’s and $25 hair gel: education, health & wellness, life experiences such as travel, community and family networking, access to technology and information, etc.

Perhaps because of these factors (as well as the basic fact that I am free to go home to my family after church while the men I visit are not) developing a certain degree of an ‘us them’ dynamic is unavoidable. More than once I’ve cringed at the spirit in which a few of my fellow volunteers (and me too at moments) have entered the prison as experts and superiors in relation to the offenders with whom we worship. By virtue of our freedom (and perhaps some of our other privileges), we talk as though we know more, are better than, and have pity for the pathetic creatures stuck amongst the bland beige concrete walls.

We look down on them.

Our behavior and speech sometimes has a glimmer of the taste of some mission trips I’ve taken part in: where we, the largely white, wealthy, North American Christians take our money, computers, brochures, and cameras for a couple of weeks to Africa or South America to evangelize people who were often already more devout, rugged, and committed in their faith than I or my comrades could’ve imagined or handled at the time. Any felt superiority, maturity, or spiritual authority is flatly out of place.

Sometimes I wonder as I speak in our little church gatherings on Saturday afternoons in the Washington State Penitentiary, if the humility of the men that carefully and respectfully listen to me could possibly be any greater. Not only have their worst possible moments been dragged out for public observation and judgment; but they have been reduced to the status of children or teenagers in terms of their rights and privileges in incarceration. And on top of it all, those who are followers of Jesus get to be lectured by a 30-something man who’s never had to visit the SNAP office, work through an addiction to alcohol or drugs, or even make a trip to the principal’s office let alone a trip in the back of a patrol car.

The superiority I sometimes sense on those Saturdays is mirrored and magnified by the explicit wall that offenders face when they’re released from prison. One giant hurdle for ex-inmates is returning to a workforce that can legally discriminate from hiring them on the basis of their prior conviction alone. This doesn’t take into account the years (5, 10, 15, or sometimes more) lost in terms of experience, networking, continuing education, and retirement investment. Economically, ex-inmates find themselves in very difficult situations, contributing to cycles of poverty and therefore future crime. This is to say nothing of their social quandary.

Culturally speaking in many American circles, we have little sympathy for those who have broken the law and landed themselves in the ‘clink’. “Should’ve thought before they acted.” I can hear my septuagenarian relatives chiding, Sean Hannity blaring in the family room as we eat dinner. “It’s their own fault they broke the law and I, as an employer, have every to right know who I’m hiring! I don’t want some thief or liar or miscreant working for me if I don’t have to! We ought’a just shoot ‘em all as far as I’m concerned. A bullet costs a lot less than a jail cell!” This spirit is especially extant for anyone who may have committed a crime related to sexuality or against a child. ‘No mercy’ is the banner cry against these individuals.

So under a din of judgment and shame (both explicit in public policy as well as implicit [or sometimes explicit] in the attitudes of community members and acquaintances) it’s no wonder many ex-inmates return to prison within just a few years. The recidivism rate in Washington State is just over 30% within 5 years of release; nationally it’s 67% within 3 years.

Recently an inmate in a neighboring county (Garfield) held for child-molestation filed suit against the county for multiple alleged sex-crimes committed against him while in custody. The comment section of the news article is horrendous in its venom against the man. I find the arrogant and congratulatory glee at another’s suffering in the name of justice to be perverse. Given that the sources of the Facebook feed comments I read on the article are largely centered around conservative SE Washington state, a great many of the writers are presumably Christians; which only fuels my frustration. As I read the over 1,000 comments on Facebook, I could not find a single one that captured the spirit of Jesus’ words in Matthew 6 “you have heard that it was said, ‘an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth’” (or rape for rape), “…but I say to you, turn the other cheek. Do not resist an evil person…” – or Paul’s words in Romans 12, “Do not return evil with evil; but return evil with good.” In our post 9/11 culture, we feast on the gluttonous sweetness of communal condemnation – all while blind to our own inner state of equivalent depravity.

Of course the vitriolic and violent pronouncements we make on ‘criminals’ are complex in their derivation. One potential cause has to do with mirroring our own self-judgment. It’s a classic behavior by bullies who think so lowly of themselves that they pass their own condemnation, shame, and negativity onto unsuspecting classmates in order to avoid having to face it. The ‘psychobabble’ word for it is “projection”. We deny something we don’t like in ourselves by pointing it out and judging it in others.

In this case, if I have at one point in my life I’ve been dishonest, cheated, or out of control, etc., but not dealt with it properly and still carry around the weight of the secret and guilt, it’s much easier to project my self judgment on “those nasty thieves/pedophiles/drug addicts” than it is to go back and deal with the darkness in my own life. It’s especially easy to do so if I lack the tools or the wherewithal to deal with my guilt and shadow in redemptive ways. Recognition & awareness is always a start; confession and transparency is a very common second step; often some sort of restitution is involved; receiving grace in the context of community is absolutely key; and sometimes forgiveness and reconciliation is able to take place.

Comparing classes or categories of ‘sin’ or ‘flesh’ and assigning informal ‘goodness ratings’ to people who’ve committed them only exacerbates our problems. While the consequences of things like murder or rape are unquestionably and unspeakably high, it’s folly to pat myself on the back as a ‘better person’ if I haven’t committed them. It’s nonsense for me to assume that I’m superior to a thief because my ‘crime’ is only manipulation of my family members and/or emotional blackmail!

In fact, one of the things that Jesus spoke the most about (and showed the most anger against) was this sort of comparative spiritual arrogance. I think about the “seven woes” in Matthew 23 where Jesus rails against external piety coupled with internal/unseen depravity. I think of His “Parable of the Pharisee and the Tax Collector” from Luke 18, where the universally hated (yet penitent) tax-man stands in right relationship before God rather than the proud and judgmental (but altogether otherwise pious) religious leader.

It’s a dangerous thing to imagine ourselves as better than others. It’s even more dangerous to live in an culture that blindly (and communally) celebrates it.

And this is why I’m going to prison this Saturday. And this is part of why Jesus’ King in Matthew 25 admonishes the goats for neglecting the task. We on the outside must be reminded of our sameness with those in incarceration.

We must know deeply that ‘there, but for the grace of God, go I.’

Only then might we have a prayer at becoming the hands and feet of Jesus — the grace of God in living form.