Streams of Mercy
Thumbing through last week’s edition of The Presbyterian Outlook , I saw the picture of a handsome, bright-eyed black boy, and was stunned by the words underneath: “It assumed black boys as young as third grade would be imprisoned by young adulthood, and rather than supporting circumstances to avoid this, adequate prison facilities to house them were built instead.” Whoever/whatever is “it” ? I questioned, and I settled in to read the entire article.
“It” was the Violent Crime Control and Law Enforcement Act, passed in 1954. This bill’s tough-on-crime rhetoric highlighted an all-out obsession with America’s correctional control. “In 1923, the U.S. had just 61 federal and state prisons. By 1974, there were 592. Today more than 2.4 million people are locked away in 1,719 state prisons, 102 federal prisons, 2,259 juvenile correctional facilities, 3,283 local jails, and 70 Native American country jails. If military prisons, immigration detention facilities and civil commitment centers are added to the equation, these numbers expand geometrically.”
As it turns out, the article, “Patiently Waiting,” by Carlton Johnson, is a work of fiction telling the story of Frank Jackson, who was soon be released after serving 24 years, 18 days and 6 hours in a maximum-security prison for possession of an illegal substance. While imprisoned, Frank completed the number one best-seller, “Connecting Grace.”
“Connecting Grace,” that fictional best-seller, is in truth a real-life initiative of Johnson C. Smith Theological Seminary, that “equips faith communities to be agents of healing for families affected by crime, incarceration, criminalization and stigmatization.”
He envisions churches as being the hub of needed connections – connecting people to the grace they need. Johnson writes, “This is how you connect- from out there to in here. By starting conversations and extending the grace you know you would want if the shoe was on the other foot, for you, for your family.”
In my soon to be seventy years of living, and over 25 years in ministry, the only incarcerated person I’ve ever visited was a 16 year high school student in my congregation who had a rifle in his car at school in the little village in Virginia where I served my first congregation. I remember I had to bring proof of my ordination to ministry in order to get in to see him! He was frightened, separated from family, friends and the church, and was required to stay there for several months. To this day, I believe that experience brought more harm that help to his young life.
“The model for prison ministry in the Christian church is too simple and, unfortunately, ineffective,” writes Johnson. At least some churches have a model for prison ministry! All the ones I’ve served, large or small, have never given much thought to it.
I give thanks for articles that make me stop and think and open my heart and mind to a new awareness of needs and opportunities for ministry – and for streams of mercy, never ceasing.
Elizabeth