Incarcerated Freedom – garbage and glory
- Dawson State Prison
“Empty your pockets!” declares the guard, as we’re hurried into the shipping depot. “No phones, cash or contraband! And have your I.D.s ready at the checkpoint when you’re called!” he retorts, as we empty out our pockets.
“I know the routine…” I think to myself. “I’m almost a professional inmate, at this rate…” Four prisons! And strangely, I feel oddly at home every time… Not that I’ve ever been incarcerated, but there is something almost ‘homely’ about it when you begin to realize the Lord’s calling on your life.
We proceed through a wide, sold-steel gate to another gate as the door slides shut behind us. It’s what they call a ‘sally-port’ – only one door can be opened at a time, as to prevent any escape attempts.
“Let’s pray,” declares the chaplain, as we gather inside. “Father, go before us…”
I remember this prayer because it’s what we pray at all the institutions we go to – that the Lord would go before us and grant us even the authority to be there! That authority of course, comes with a grave responsibility. It’s almost like being a solider gearing up for war; (or so I’d imagine, never actually having been a soldier myself…) you pack on your flack-vest and tear through the gates with your Abrams tank and assault rifle like no one could possibly touch you! There’s little exhilaration and boldness than walking into an institution armed to the teeth with the full armor of God and knowing you've been granted by the highest authority in the universe to be there! I never walk in places with more confidence than I do when I enter a prison facility. It’s not because of any pride on my part, but because I know I’ve been granted the authority to be there! My God is Bigger and Stronger than the biggest and baddest inmate of any of Satan’s minions he could throw at me, and my job in that moment is to strip him of his soldiers, because my Father outranks their command!
“Ten to an elevator!” declares the correctional officer (CO, for short), as we all shuffle inside. The doors open at the fifth floor and I am met almost immediately by my dear friend, Champlain, John Lee Luck. I give him a big hug! Pastor Luck and I met at my first prison in Huntsville, TX. He had been incarcerated for years before he became a Christian. John had been part of a prison gang when he was locked up and was covered to the hands with Aryan, white-supremacist, prison tattoos. Yet despite all of this, he would be the last person you would ever suspect to be an ex-con. John is the nicest, most Spirit filled Christian I know and the Lord was sovereign and gracious to save him out of his life of crime and addiction.
“John,” I smile broadly, “I was assigned to the 4th floor,” I begin to tell him, as the smile on his face grows sharper. “Steven!” he responds, “if the Lord wanted you on the 4th floor that’s where the elevator would have taken you!” He assures me.
You see, I had stopped to wash my hands as we were waiting for the elevators and my team went on ahead of me. We each got apportioned to different floors, as to cover adequate personnel for each pod. However, my new assignment it seemed, was now the fifth floor, pod C.
A pod is a ‘common area’ consisting of inmates from general population, all of whom share a living quarters together. Each pod is its own community behind lock and key, and once a volunteer gets assigned to a pod, you’re locked in that particular area until it’s time to leave.
“Clear!” yells the guard from behind the Plexiglas command center, as he opens the door to pod C. I step inside – still armed to the teeth with my God – as I take a look around. Immediately, I see two young men sitting at a bunk together. I go up to introduce myself. “Hey fellas…” I begin, “how’s it going?” The one closest to me looks up from his intertwined fingers crossed in his lap. “My name is Steven!” I declare, as I extend my hand out to him. “How are you?” I implore. “…Fox!” he replies. “Fox?” …I was a little confused. “My friends call me Fox…” he explains. “That’s quite the nickname…” I think to myself. “It’s nice to meet you!” I respond, as I lean forward to shake his hand.
It was about this time that the word “soul” became visible across Fox's right knuckles, followed by the word “lost” tattooed across his left. In fact, Fox seemed to have a lot of tattoos and most of them were words. “Nice tattoos” I comment, as I extend my arm to introduce myself to his bunk-mate sitting next to him.
Now, Fox may seem like the ‘type’ you would expect to see in jail. A seemingly hopeless young kid whose family is incarcerated and whose been locked up for most of his short, adult life… the sad fact is that though these adults need to take responsibility for their actions, they often lack mature role-models to help model how to be responsible and productive members of society.
Well, Fox and I got to talking, as well as his bunk mate – a young man by the name of “C.” They hadn’t really grown up in 'church' but they had been exposed to enough of it to have left a bad taste in their mouths. They explained to me how the legalistic vibe of their church backgrounds had left them somewhat cold to any ‘religious’ observances.
“I could understand that…” I exclaimed, and after a few cordial background stories we finally got to talking about the misconceptions of “rules” in the Bible and how God intends parameters for our protection and for our joy. I read them the story of the Prodigal Son – pointing out the fact that the father was overjoyed to have his son back home again, despite his rebellious behavior.
They had never heard the story before, but were intrigued in the curious observation that the father wasn't angry about the son having wasted all his money. I just smiled and told them that God is a good Dad and that the lesson was learned by his son learning the hard way what was best for him.
At this point, I began to see some of the confusion melt away in their minds as they each began having their respective “a-ha” moments – so I decided to let them chew on that realization for a while as I went on to my next assignment.
It was now time to go the “hole!” I had volunteered to step into the ‘administrative segregation unit’ for a while – that is, solitary confinement! (the 'pit' in some prisons)
This was my second prison in administrative segregation or 'ad-seg' for short. I had volunteered for it each time. I don’t know if it’s because I enjoy a challenge of the Spirit, or maybe just because I have a morbid fascination with the lion’s den, but in either case there’s nothing like bringing the Gospel message to individuals whose lives seem to be in utter disarray. And the truth is, contrary to popular belief, you don’t get much more fertile ground for the Gospel to be sown than behind the steel and plexi-glass of ad-seg!
Now, back to the story… As I entered the 'hole' through a massive, automated steel door, I was greeted by a prison guard sporting a (no joke!), 2 inch thick Kevlar vest! He told me to sign in at the table. Apparently, I was not receiving such a vest… though, I still had my armor! As I turned down the small corridor, it was as though I had entered Fort Knox! There wasn’t much to it, a few cells and concrete – but it was heavily fortified, almost like a bomb could explode down the hall and still leave all the inmates intact... I turned to face the first cell as I peered through the window at the inmate sitting on the other side – a cell door separating us by two inches of steel and Plexiglas. Every word I spoke seemed to bounce off the walls in a loud, booming ruckus...
“HOW ARE YOU?” I seemed to shout, as I addressed the inmate. “MY NAME IS, STEVEN!” The other inmates began to mock me. “Hey, preacher man!” “Come over here!” they retorted. I ignored them, sticking obstinately to the mission at hand! “What’s your name?” I asked. His name was “A,” he was a young gang member who had been sent to ad-seg for fighting and because of threats of other gang-members on his life. I shared the Gospel with “A.” He seemed receptive to it, though hesitant… “What do you think?” I replied, as I began to wrap up my time with him. “A” exclaimed how he was in a gang and that if he became a Christian (that is, if he were to change his lifestyle) his other gang members would kill him (for leaving the gang). I tried to explain to him the mission of Paul from the Scriptures, and how some men had vowed not to eat another meal until they had killed him. I tried to tell him about Paul’s joy and contentment in the Lord. And then I read from the book of Luke, chapter 4:
The Spirit of the Lord is upon me,
because he has anointed me
to proclaim good news to the poor.
He has sent me to proclaim liberty to the captives
and recovering of sight to the blind,
to set at liberty those who are oppressed,
to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor.”
“A” seemed somewhat unmoved by it, but told me he’d think about it as I began to pray for him.
“Father, deliver your sheep! Leave the 99 to go after the one!” I implored in prayer. And with that, I returned to pod C.
As I returned back to my pod I noticed one of my teammates, an older gentleman by the name of Chuck, praying with Fox. Apparently, he had been talking with him for a while. “He really learned a lot from you…” Chuck exclaimed, as he turned to face me, “I’ll let you two catch up...” I couldn’t help but feel a little proud in that moment, not in a selfish way, but more so, like a father who is proud of his son. There’s no way I could have taken credit for that, so I just peered up to heaven and told my Dad, “thanks!” as I smiled and asked Fox what exactly he had learned. “I didn’t know God was like that…” he answered. I couldn’t help but feel a little over-whelmed in that moment, like the way God must feel once we finally start to understand His love for us. “Now you’re getting it!” I laughed.
I finished my time with Fox and “C” by praying for them and inviting them to my weekly Bible Study at the prison on Monday afternoons.
Its times like these I think back to my youth kids and how it must have been when they first learned to walk. My pastor has this beautiful example where he talks about his daughter stumbling about as she learned to walk, taking a few steps and crashing to the ground, and then taking a few more, until she finally learned to walk on her own. No one rebukes those first few steps as failures and the more I stumble, the more I appreciate the fact some of these inmates are just learning to walk, and the more I can’t wait to see what God is going to do in their lives!
- Steven Bieberly
note:*(Some names have been changed for protection and privacy purposes.)
