The first class got a late start because the prison went on lock-down seconds after we arrived at the classroom. It wasn't scary because it wasn't one of those where they make all visitors leave, which is very good, because somehow or another we did not put our names in the log book— although we had our badges, so presumably they would have sent someone for us had it been deemed necessary.
The chaplain had assured us that were getting a very special, hand-picked group. The group consisted of 10 men, each whom, she assured us, is highly talented. Well, she was right.
They were quiet to begin with, checking us out to see how much credibility they'd give us. The lead in this class is my partner, R (not as in relationship--as in working with). R is 67. They liked him and they should have. He is the only white man I know who thinks nothing of donning a bright yellow or bright red or bright lavender suit jacket. People tend to misjudge him, like the Columbo character on tv back in the 70's. And like Columbo, R is sharp, sharp, sharp as a tack.
The chaplain tried to prepare us by telling us a bit about each participant before they arrived. I don't think she is accustomed to people being able to roll with what's coming. She told us that T is very, very gay and to not make any remarks about it, and that L's nickname is Doughboy and please don't call him that. It wasn't hard to tell when L arrived. In his baggy white tee shirt and big, loose jeans, he looked like his nickname. T was in one the units still on lockdown so I don't yet know just how gay he acts, but it must be really something for her to caution us about it.
Some of the prisoners requested permission to engage in a ritualistic chant in support of whoever was speaking. That was an awesome opportunity for each to receive positive energy, and, as R's assistant, I not only joined in the chant, but was also chanted when it was my turn to model the speaking exercise. Now that is a cool experience.
We ended the evening with a brief talk about invocations. Since this group is strongly Christian (except one Muslim) a lot of the talks touched on the topic of Jesus. I explained that an invocation is not tied to a religious faith, but does call the audience to reflect on the higher or universal values recognized by humankind. They asked me to give an invocation to show them what I meant and there I was, conducting closing prayer--uh, invocation--at the conclusion of a powerful evening.
I really look forward to next week.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
who needs Jesus?
Inspired by Jim Palmer's blog:
Over the years that I've been on this walk (the one away from organized religion and (hopefully) toward God) I have been heading toward the conclusion that Christianity, the religion, is way, way too small for God.
It's a scary walk, though, when all your life you've been taught that God fits neatly inside this carefully laid out organizational structure complete with inflexible walls, highly defined boundaries and strict membership requirements. Metaphorically, the church as I have known it is neither earthquake-resilient (architecture metaphor) nor sustainable (business-model metaphor).
The questions I'm now asking/living are, can one follow Jesus while allowing God to be big, way, way big? Is that what defines the Christian mystics? And, finally, if we look at Jesus as God's attempt to reconnect human-kind with God, and we recognize the triune God, why bother with Jesus?
If you already figured out the connection between yourself and all of creation, Jesus serves as a model but is no longer necessary in your faith walk.
So yeah, those are some scary questions.
Over the years that I've been on this walk (the one away from organized religion and (hopefully) toward God) I have been heading toward the conclusion that Christianity, the religion, is way, way too small for God.
It's a scary walk, though, when all your life you've been taught that God fits neatly inside this carefully laid out organizational structure complete with inflexible walls, highly defined boundaries and strict membership requirements. Metaphorically, the church as I have known it is neither earthquake-resilient (architecture metaphor) nor sustainable (business-model metaphor).
The questions I'm now asking/living are, can one follow Jesus while allowing God to be big, way, way big? Is that what defines the Christian mystics? And, finally, if we look at Jesus as God's attempt to reconnect human-kind with God, and we recognize the triune God, why bother with Jesus?
If you already figured out the connection between yourself and all of creation, Jesus serves as a model but is no longer necessary in your faith walk.
So yeah, those are some scary questions.
Saturday, July 19, 2008
knowing
Here's an 'out there' post about the first visit: Met four trustees (prisoners with special privileges). Throughout the visit, I kept turning around to note the location of one of them. Over the next four days his image kept popping into my head until on the fourth night I was awakened by a voice inside my head that said three phrases about this guy (call him X). Each phrase was very short, different from the preceding one, and increasingly emphatic. I wish I could remember the phrases, but I do remember the message, which was a very powerful, DO NOT TRUST X.
I emailed the chaplain and asked her if she was interested in warning bells, she said, "please," I told her about X, and she said, "spot on, thanks for the heads up, I will immediately stop ignoring the situation."
In the conservative fundamentalist church I used to attend, the preaching denied such things as premonitions or psychic phenomenon, knowing things that one "should not" know, as being derived from evil spirits. That was troublesome, since I seem to have a slightly higher-than-average ability to read people and know them in ways that I "shouldn't." Lots of people read people, Christians and non-Christians alike. Sometimes we call it "common sense," which gives the preacher some wiggle room in his argument against non-objective knowledge.
Some stuff goes beyond reading people. I call it my "woo-woos" and can tell that it's kicked in by the nature of its divulgence. I know it's my woo-woos at work if, after meeting someone I find the memory of them floating around the edges of my conscience for a few days—and then—out of the blue—I give a pronouncement of who they are or how they will affect other people or what act they will eventually perform that will have a significant impact on people I know. My woo-woo pronouncements usually catch me off guard because, well, face it: Who wants to go around stating the future as authoritatively as if it is already fact and you are merely reporting it? C'mon, it makes you feel like a bit of a nut. Yet, there it is. Spoken aloud, forced into words because you cannot hold them back, and seemingly based upon nothing more than personal prejudice or dislike.
But crap. Eventually the woo-woo happens, or has happened often enough that I've learned to (a) recognize that it's happening; and (b) trust what it says.
So X is not to be trusted. He is wavering on something important. He is (or was) a prisoner in a trusted position. He has the power to cause harm or bring danger to someone I care about (the chaplain). And next week I'll be involved in a weekly meeting with other hand-picked, trusted prisoners. X won't be one of them.
Still working on how to fit the woo-woos into Christianity. Interesting thing is, the further I get away from church, the bigger God gets. I think there's going to be room.
I emailed the chaplain and asked her if she was interested in warning bells, she said, "please," I told her about X, and she said, "spot on, thanks for the heads up, I will immediately stop ignoring the situation."
In the conservative fundamentalist church I used to attend, the preaching denied such things as premonitions or psychic phenomenon, knowing things that one "should not" know, as being derived from evil spirits. That was troublesome, since I seem to have a slightly higher-than-average ability to read people and know them in ways that I "shouldn't." Lots of people read people, Christians and non-Christians alike. Sometimes we call it "common sense," which gives the preacher some wiggle room in his argument against non-objective knowledge.
Some stuff goes beyond reading people. I call it my "woo-woos" and can tell that it's kicked in by the nature of its divulgence. I know it's my woo-woos at work if, after meeting someone I find the memory of them floating around the edges of my conscience for a few days—and then—out of the blue—I give a pronouncement of who they are or how they will affect other people or what act they will eventually perform that will have a significant impact on people I know. My woo-woo pronouncements usually catch me off guard because, well, face it: Who wants to go around stating the future as authoritatively as if it is already fact and you are merely reporting it? C'mon, it makes you feel like a bit of a nut. Yet, there it is. Spoken aloud, forced into words because you cannot hold them back, and seemingly based upon nothing more than personal prejudice or dislike.
But crap. Eventually the woo-woo happens, or has happened often enough that I've learned to (a) recognize that it's happening; and (b) trust what it says.
So X is not to be trusted. He is wavering on something important. He is (or was) a prisoner in a trusted position. He has the power to cause harm or bring danger to someone I care about (the chaplain). And next week I'll be involved in a weekly meeting with other hand-picked, trusted prisoners. X won't be one of them.
Still working on how to fit the woo-woos into Christianity. Interesting thing is, the further I get away from church, the bigger God gets. I think there's going to be room.
Thursday, July 10, 2008
My First Day at Prison
The prison visit was...amazing. So much hope. Such powerful clinging to hope in the name of Jesus. Such incredible talent and deep, soul-shattering loss.
I over-committed and agreed to help run a six-week speech class. Don't know how or where I'll manage the time, but at this point I do not feel as though I dare let this opportunity pass.
They had a song service and a chorus. I have not heard such joyful singing since a year or two before we left church. That summer we organized a great big VBS with help from a congregation a few hundred miles away. They sent most of their youth group and during that Wednesday night's Bible study, the visiting students and the many children from the neighborhood absolutely raised the roof with song. Well, that lasted until we were scolded for having too much fun during worship.
But tonight! I don't know what prison life is really like, but the stories I've heard from my relative tells me that tonight was a privilege. The prisoners are privileged to have the chaplain they have and privileged to be able to attend such an event, Wow, am I ever glad to have been a part of it. And despite the over-commitment, I am so excited to see what the next few weeks bring.
I over-committed and agreed to help run a six-week speech class. Don't know how or where I'll manage the time, but at this point I do not feel as though I dare let this opportunity pass.
They had a song service and a chorus. I have not heard such joyful singing since a year or two before we left church. That summer we organized a great big VBS with help from a congregation a few hundred miles away. They sent most of their youth group and during that Wednesday night's Bible study, the visiting students and the many children from the neighborhood absolutely raised the roof with song. Well, that lasted until we were scolded for having too much fun during worship.
But tonight! I don't know what prison life is really like, but the stories I've heard from my relative tells me that tonight was a privilege. The prisoners are privileged to have the chaplain they have and privileged to be able to attend such an event, Wow, am I ever glad to have been a part of it. And despite the over-commitment, I am so excited to see what the next few weeks bring.
Monday, July 07, 2008
Prison
Visiting a prison this week. My first interaction with "real" prisoners.
I tend to be an emotional person (I've found incredibly creative ways of postponing/disguising/hiding emotional responses in the short term). And thought it would be all cool. But today I find myself getting a bit wound up about the visit. Being out-of-touch with my emotions, I have learned to read clues that tell me a topic is hitting emotional hot buttons. Today's hint: Slight teariness and thoughts about the tragedies brought to and caused by these prisoners whom I have not met.
Good grief. It's not as if most of them aren't exactly where they belong, given our criminal justice system. And it's not like they are innocent of all wrong-doing. I know that much.
What it is, however: They were all born with choices. Some were born into circumstances that would have led you and me down the same path they chose. Sure, they didn't have to go there. But from where they stood, it may have seemed easiest, the most natural, or the most who-gives-a-damn-anyway choice available.
That's the part that I find tragic—that they didn't find or choose a way out and now, here they are, dug into a hole so deep, patterns so ingrained, skills so undeveloped or out-of-touch, barriers so solid, and for many, hopes so high.. I would not want those obstacles.
I don't want to look at them and see my relatives, feel a sense of their past, have a sense of what it will take to make it on the outside, know a bit about the baggage they carry.
"They" are they. "I" am me. Can we find or build a bridge that will let us meet?
I tend to be an emotional person (I've found incredibly creative ways of postponing/disguising/hiding emotional responses in the short term). And thought it would be all cool. But today I find myself getting a bit wound up about the visit. Being out-of-touch with my emotions, I have learned to read clues that tell me a topic is hitting emotional hot buttons. Today's hint: Slight teariness and thoughts about the tragedies brought to and caused by these prisoners whom I have not met.
Good grief. It's not as if most of them aren't exactly where they belong, given our criminal justice system. And it's not like they are innocent of all wrong-doing. I know that much.
What it is, however: They were all born with choices. Some were born into circumstances that would have led you and me down the same path they chose. Sure, they didn't have to go there. But from where they stood, it may have seemed easiest, the most natural, or the most who-gives-a-damn-anyway choice available.
That's the part that I find tragic—that they didn't find or choose a way out and now, here they are, dug into a hole so deep, patterns so ingrained, skills so undeveloped or out-of-touch, barriers so solid, and for many, hopes so high.. I would not want those obstacles.
I don't want to look at them and see my relatives, feel a sense of their past, have a sense of what it will take to make it on the outside, know a bit about the baggage they carry.
"They" are they. "I" am me. Can we find or build a bridge that will let us meet?
Sunday, July 06, 2008
Healing Magic
over at Jim's Blog, Lori wrestles with her struggle to figure out the Jesus of conventional faith, asking, "Why do I self medicate when my emotional pain is unbearable? Shouldn’t I be strong enough? I have JESUS!!! Nothing is impossible with JESUS!!!"
Religious people tend to say that "Jesus" will fill in those big empty holes in us. As if they think that the word JESUS is spackle for the soul and maybe church is the bandaid that holds the spackle in place.
For most of us, or all of us, it does not work like that. Most of us don't wake up one morning, discover this Jesus-figure in our heart, and suddenly find our life laid out in a near-perfect rhythm of bible reading, church attendance and true inner peace.
What is the saying? "Nature abhors a vacuum?" Those holes in our soul are a vacuum. We spend our lives trying to fill them, whether with rage, or helplessness, or self-injury or self-harm or promiscuity or whatever toxic, empty, dark actions or attitudes offer temporary respite from an ongoing awareness of our own emptiness.
It's not until we begin figuring out how to heal ourselves that our holes transform into a less destructive presence. I agree with Jim that healing begins with an awareness of our own value. Scream the word JESUS all you want—but the word itself is not a talisman. Nor is church, nor is the bible.
The magic of healing begins when a person recognizes the hole, then makes peace with its presence. At that point, peace begins soothing, covering, protecting, the dangling nerve endings, dripping capillaries, and torn flesh at the hole's raw edges.
Church and bible-reading and Jesus can play a huge role in this process when they reflect an awareness of humanity's significance in God's grand plan. But—and this is the part that most church-based faith doesn't seem to recognize—healing is a process, not an act. If we push the idea that JESUS will fix everything for us, we short-change our hurting brothers and sisters and neighbors out of the one thing that the Jesus story really provides: A sense that, as individuals, we matter. We matter so much that God created the story upon which Christianity is founded—that God sent his child to die a painful death for the benefit of individual humans.
To Lori, to myself, to you, I offer this: Be brave enough to heal yourself. If you want to bring Jesus into the mix, do it because of what you believe Jesus did for you, and allow your healing journey to be about you and your journey rather than about whether you and your faith in the word "Jesus" are good enough.
For many of us, filling the hole will be a lifelong process. It may never be filled. But we can learn to live peacefully in its presence. And that's pretty good healing.
Religious people tend to say that "Jesus" will fill in those big empty holes in us. As if they think that the word JESUS is spackle for the soul and maybe church is the bandaid that holds the spackle in place.
For most of us, or all of us, it does not work like that. Most of us don't wake up one morning, discover this Jesus-figure in our heart, and suddenly find our life laid out in a near-perfect rhythm of bible reading, church attendance and true inner peace.
What is the saying? "Nature abhors a vacuum?" Those holes in our soul are a vacuum. We spend our lives trying to fill them, whether with rage, or helplessness, or self-injury or self-harm or promiscuity or whatever toxic, empty, dark actions or attitudes offer temporary respite from an ongoing awareness of our own emptiness.
It's not until we begin figuring out how to heal ourselves that our holes transform into a less destructive presence. I agree with Jim that healing begins with an awareness of our own value. Scream the word JESUS all you want—but the word itself is not a talisman. Nor is church, nor is the bible.
The magic of healing begins when a person recognizes the hole, then makes peace with its presence. At that point, peace begins soothing, covering, protecting, the dangling nerve endings, dripping capillaries, and torn flesh at the hole's raw edges.
Church and bible-reading and Jesus can play a huge role in this process when they reflect an awareness of humanity's significance in God's grand plan. But—and this is the part that most church-based faith doesn't seem to recognize—healing is a process, not an act. If we push the idea that JESUS will fix everything for us, we short-change our hurting brothers and sisters and neighbors out of the one thing that the Jesus story really provides: A sense that, as individuals, we matter. We matter so much that God created the story upon which Christianity is founded—that God sent his child to die a painful death for the benefit of individual humans.
To Lori, to myself, to you, I offer this: Be brave enough to heal yourself. If you want to bring Jesus into the mix, do it because of what you believe Jesus did for you, and allow your healing journey to be about you and your journey rather than about whether you and your faith in the word "Jesus" are good enough.
For many of us, filling the hole will be a lifelong process. It may never be filled. But we can learn to live peacefully in its presence. And that's pretty good healing.
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