I Went to a Prison, and I was Convicted

You read that correctly. I didn't go to prison because I was convicted of a crime, but this past weekend when I visited a prison, I felt convicted. And I didn't expect that.

This past year, my husband became involved with a prison ministry called Kairos. At least he tried to. They hold conference weekends for selected prisoners during which volunteers go spend a few days with them, sharing in discussion, reading the Bible, and providing special meals in order to create a community of Jesus Christ followers inside the prison. Unfortunately, the weekend planned for my husband to volunteer had trouble getting cleared with the prison and was cancelled.

Therefore, as another weekend approached at a different local prison, he was invited to attend the closing day event during which any volunteers or family could come. He invited me to go with him.

I'm going to be honest here. While I have on occasion prayed for those incarcerated, I didn't want to go. Just "not my thing." But I do love my husband and his heart for people, and I wanted to support him so I agreed to go with him. I'm so glad I did. Five hours of my day (2 driving there and back, an hour waiting to go through security, and 2 actually inside) was well worth it. Beyond worth it!

We were ushered into the chapel packed with people. On a stage-like platform sat approximately forty-eight men in blue scrubs. The pews were filled with rows of additional blue-garbed men and a variety of onlookers. We squeezed into one of the rows further back and within a few minutes, the Kairos leader addressed us, finishing by asking "who is the church?" The answer everyone seemed to know and respond with was "we are the church." Not denominations. Not specific rules or expectations aside from acknowledging that we all follow Jesus Christ.

Each "team" of six men on stage lined up, one group at a time and stated their name, their team name (based on apostles) and the number for that particular event--Kairos 81. Then a leader for the group answered questions on behalf of they team. What had they expected; what had they found; and what were they taking away from the weekend? What astounded me most about the exercise was how nervous, humble, and soft-spoken they all were. Clearly, the weekend experience had moved them.

But then they were given the opportunity to speak individually. No pressure. No one called on specifically. Only to share if they felt led by the Holy Spirit. A variety of men chose to address the crowd of onlookers. Each stating how they had never been more afraid and nervous. Think about that, considering what they had done to land them in prison in the first place.

"Broken," many of them stated. These tattooed (some head to toe sporting gang symbols), criminals unafraid to steal, kill, commit fraud, or multiples of such, stood up in front of strangers shaking with fear. They shared their hearts, life stories, and what God had done for them with such vulnerability and humility my heart broke. They claimed they were all desperate for love and acceptance and found it in a room full of strangers cheering them on. Just because a few dozen people were willing to be there to really see and hear them. For many of them, showing more love than their own families had according to their words.

I felt so convicted.

Those few vague prayers I had uttered for inmates felt so small. I hadn't wanted to attend. I was put off by the complicated procedures and regulations imposed by the prison for safety and felt nervous about not knowing what to expect. How wretched am I that I felt I would be inconvenienced to spend a few hours of my day when these men were hurting, broken, deprived of love and willing to weep and share their pain and joy with strangers?

One man shared that the story of Saul being blinded on the road to Damascus and later named Paul (the one who wrote most of the letters in the Bible) was more like him than we could understand. As a leader in a gang, he'd killed more than half a dozen people. He'd been given a death sentence that God graciously diminished. How many times had I felt justified in thinking that someone of that criminal activity deserved what he got? And truthfully, they do. But so do I. So do all of us.

Romans 6:23 in the Bible says "the wages (price) for sin (of any kind) is death." Except for the grace of God sending Jesus to die for us (take on our deserved price) we would all have a "death sentence." Just because my sin might not be obvious or outwardly murderous (haven't we all thought we hated someone enough to want them dead?), doesn't mean it's not as grievous as someone who took that path in actuality. The reality of truth stunned me. We can say someone else deserves judgment, but only God knows our hearts.

I've always had a keen sense of justice. Right and wrong. Good and bad. It's pretty clear cut. But this experience made me see how we must embrace justice AND mercy. Justice without mercy is self-righteous and harsh in a way that isn't God. Mercy without justice isn't truly loving. God says that his mercy triumphs over justice. It doesn't erase it, but it loves us in spite of our sin and is willing and able to lessen consequences when fitting for a repentant heart.

I left the prison with more compassion, asking God to make me more merciful. And more discerning about when and where mercy should be applied over justice. And to be careful of judgment based on my understanding of outward details. Whatever path we've taken in life, we are all desperate for love and acceptance. I'm so grateful that I've found that in Jesus Christ. So have these men.

I went to a prison and felt convicted. And that prison visit changed my life.