They answered, ‘Limitless in His glory is our Sustainer. Verily, we were doing wrong!’– and then they turned upon one another with mutual reproaches. In the end they said, ‘Oh, woe unto us! Verily, we did behave outrageously. But it may be that our Sustainer will grant us something better instead: for verily, unto our Sustainer do we turn with hope!’ Surah 68:29-32
Those speaking are the owners of gardens and out of their own need to protect their comforts, they denied their responsibility to those less fortunate by denying their right to have a share in the harvest of the fields. To not share out of one’s abundance is to become one who does not keep oaths, who may become a slanderer, even cruel, motivated by unnecessary greed. Those speaking are confessing.
It’s a slippery slope to think that the abundance of wealth is yours to claim. If there is no reflection on the blessings you have received, you may become, heaven forbid, like the dweller in the desert who rushed forward to hamstring a she-camel, a cruel form of slaughter. This she-camel is a creature of God’s blessing, belonging to no one, yet she needed protection from everyone. Rather than be grateful for all the ways she sustained the tribe in the wilderness this “hapless” desert dweller cruelly killed her, just because he could. (This story is told many times throughout the Qur’an; See Surahs 7:73-79; 91:7-15; 54:27-32).
Like the owners of the gardens, we turn to the Sustainer not only for forgiveness but to be encouraged in the hope we have to commit to the duty of care for all.
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For the past 35 years, I’ve been in and out of jail as a visiting chaplain, in both federal prisons and local jails. Every Department of Corrections from Rikers Island Prison Complex to my local jail just down the road is different, with county jails appearing more humane.
I am committed to this ministry because Christian scripture mandates, “Remember those who are in prison, as though you were in prison with them; those who are being tortured, as though you yourselves were being tortured” (Hebrews 13:3).
No matter how many times I enter prison as a chaplain, when I hear the doors slam behind me, my claustrophobia rises, sometimes edging on a panic attack. I must concentrate on breathing, deeply, slowly. I’d be such a lousy prisoner, with little access to my best self. I would be frightened; I imagine myself as mean, shame-filled, unsympathetic, and angry, with little, if any, sense of my own dignity.
Of course, I probably will never become a prisoner, but then many whom I visit thought the same thing. “Just last week, I was a normal human being, filling up my gas tank and buying a cup of coffee and now here I am.” We are sitting at a table, face to face, a privilege afforded in this county jail just a 15-minute drive from my home. The man’s hands are shaking, his eyes and lips, quivering.
“I just arrived in this unit, D Block, they call it, after four days of solitary confinement which every new prisoner must endure as ‘processing.’ It’s so cruel to be shut up in a small room for 23 hours straight, a tiny window, with no fresh air, and a cot and urinal. We’re let out one hour a day, but that’s like salt on the wound because you get a touch of saneness only to return to the hellhole.”
As I concentrate on listening, my lungs tighten.
He continues, “I had no idea that this is how bad prison is; I have little money and I am told I have to wait here for a trial date because I can only be released to a home in this state. My mother lives in Massachusetts, just across the border. There’s no promise of when the trial date will be. What is promised is that I will go to court with my wrists handcuffed to a belt buckle, dressed in orange. Who wouldn’t think I was guilty, looking like this.”
This fear of being forgotten, entangled in a system where court officials have all the control, motivates many to accept a plea bargain, even if they feel their rights will be compromised in the deal.
Another prisoner tells me, “I’m going to plead guilty. I didn’t do what they said I did, but the sentence is less than the time I have to spend waiting in jail for my trial date. I have to get back to my girl, my job, my life. I’ll just be careful, stay out of the way of trouble.”
I am able to visit the residents in the county jail almost every week, and from their point of view this jail is ‘okay.’ The food is not bad, the space clean, and the guards, except for a few, mostly decent. Some talk about receiving medications and medical care they never had access to and finally their diabetes, depression, addictions, or bad teeth are being treated.
Yet, there is no access to outside space, no personal visits from loved ones, only by video, and everything costs too much, from telephone calls at 23¢ a minute, to costly little boxes of laundry soap and packets of instant coffee ordered from the commissary, to expensive haircuts, with only the possibility of making $4.00 a day on an 8-hour shift. And the lock-downs and random body-strip searches are confounding and frightening.
In my weekly visits, I became close to one of the residents who refused to take a plea bargain. He admitted that he had made poor choices, started hanging with the wrong people, ignored signs of depression, and was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Yet, he refused to plead guilty to something he did not do, which meant a long wait in prison before his trial.
If found guilty, he would serve a twenty-year sentence.
He ran a daily Bible study and, on my visits, I joined him, as his support. Without doubt, he was the unofficial chaplain for the prison unit. As we read the Bible together, he always addressed the underlying issues of fear.
“You think you have to be strong enough for the journey. Instead, believe the journey will make you strong. You think you are in the battle of your lives. Instead, armor yourselves with the shield of Christ.”
Amazing advice, especially in his soft reassuring voice. His main focus was on the memories that we all carry of past resentments, pain, abuse, disappointments, and desires for revenge.
“How do we deal with those real feelings?” he asked. “Like baggage, they weigh us down, and even if we get up the mountain of life by our own hands, the weight of the baggage will tumble us down, only to start again, like Sisyphus, rolling up an immense boulder, only to have it roll down again… repeating his actions for eternity.
“We need to forgive, which doesn’t mean necessarily to reconcile. We can forgive without being in a relationship with our abuser. It’s just too clear that the only way to get rid of the baggage is to let go by forgiving… ourselves and others. If you withhold forgiveness, and there are a lot of good reasons to withhold, and not find a way to forgive, you become the warden of your own prison.”
Now that resonated!
After almost a year in prison, at trial, with newly discovered video evidence, he was found ‘not guilty’ and released. Imagine being innocent and held in jail for a year before a trial with no access to the outdoors and to the touch of a loved one; never mind your own sanity. I still pray for him every day. And though his faith gave him the strength to get through his tribulations, he had been abandoned by his society.*
*Latest statistics reveal that the population of the United States represents 5% of the world’s population and we incarcerate 25% of the world’s population with that number only increasing.
Day 29: Reflection
As the end of Ramadan and the beginning of Holy Week approaches, how are you encouraged in the hope to commit to the duty of care for all?
