Incarceration

                Recently I had cause to visit someone in jail; not a frequent activity for me. Perhaps that is a significant comment on the shallowness of my faith and witness. At any rate, I sat there waiting

under the harsh green fluorescent lights in an uncomfortable indestructible industrial chair facing a small computer screen behind a thick layer of Plexiglas listening to the conversations around me. I listened to a father pour out his love on a struggling son. Across the way and young mother held an infant up to the screen, hoping that somehow the video would help the father form a bond with the tiny baby. Next to me a grandparent tried to encourage a distraught grand-daughter. Pain, love, loss, and gain all mingled in that harsh room of steel and plastic. In that room lives either come together of fall apart. Loved ones make the trek to the edge of town to blunt the edge of despair. If you drive the road during visiting hours you might even see a mother pushing a stroller down the shoulder, hoping, perhaps praying for better days. Occasionally you catch a glimpse of someone walking down the road back toward town. Released from confinement, no one came to get them so they trudge down a dusty, windy, West-Texas road toward an uncertain future. In that room dreams, futures, and hopes flare and die.

                No one gives birth to a child they hope will end up incarcerated. We all hold our children hoping for a better future, one filled with joy and fulfillment. All too frequently I take the easy way out and think of those who traffic that room as somehow deserving of that fate. After all, if they only made better choice in life. That is an overly simplistic and grossly self-serving view. Yes, personal choice do result in a variety of consequences; however, that person in an orange jumper is someone’s little boy or girl. They ache and they hurt for them. Painted into a corner, some make awful choices thinking there is no other way.

I listened to one father implore his son, “Son, yah gotta listen to me. When you get out, get out of here. There is nothing but wage-slavery for young black man with a record in this town.”

We could quibble with him all day long about the goodness and truth of his advice. But we would miss, perhaps ignore, the pain and loss in that father’s advice. All father’s want to help guide their sons into successful adulthood. The best he could do was to urge his son to flee; find another place to grow.

                Somehow we must learn to see those who we’ve incarcerated as individuals. Yes, individuals who’ve made mistakes, some horrible and gruesome, but individuals that someone loves. We must never forget that God made them in His image and that He loves them. It may be that society must lock them away for a while. We need some level of good order and discipline in our world. But, they remain people, not numbers, not animals dressed in orange. Their families, even though they may be fractured and dysfunctional, love them. They undergo significant deprivation and humiliation through this process. They need some sort of sympathy a measure of tenderness.

               We must learn out to reach out to those families that suffer such indignity and loss. They need our sensitivity not our condemnation. Of course we can dissect their mistakes and rationalize our way to ignoring them, casting them aside like so much refuse. But, that ignores their very real pain and loss. It does nothing to help them move forward into a better place. It also virtually guarantees that the next generation will follow them into another industrial room where love, pain, loss and hope mingle and the best of them die.

Family Easter

                Easter. Mention this holiday and most of us think of Easter Eggs, Chocolate Bunnies, and Peeps. One of the many memories that flicker past on the silver-screen of my mind finds its origin in Fort Worth, Texas; about 1966 or 67. I was in either first or second grade. Brian, my brother, would have been around four or five. We’d moved to Fort Worth while my father attended TCU, finishing up his PhD. Those two years provide a store of pleasant memories. This is a simple one. We gathered around the kitchen table color eggs; nothing profound, deeply meaningful or revealing; just the four of us enjoying dyeing eggs a variety of pastels. My mother showed me how to put two colors on one egg. After a few tries, resulting in rather muddy colors, I got a nice blue and green one. I remember the pleasure mastery of such a simple skill generated. I wish I could attach some deep meaningful insight to this event. But, no, it’s just one of many happy memories from my life. It just happened to occur on, or near Easter. Today, Easter means much more to me.

                Yesterday we gathered as a family for supper. Saturday was the day we could all get together. Brian came over early in the morning and we started smoking the brisket. All day long he and I chased the shade across my backyard as pungent smoke drifted past, intermingling with the unstructured ebb and flow of conversation. About two-thirty or so my father showed up to elevate the discussion and then the rest of the clan trickled in. Sometime around five-thirty-ish we crowded into my kitchen, joined hands in prayer, and then fell to. As is usual, the food was excellent. Tiffany cranked out some outstanding baked beans, my mother baked like a fiend and produced delectable pecan-pies and blackberry tarts, Brian and I managed to smoke up some passable Brisket and pork-shoulder. The walls fairly shook with laughter. Later, after we were all sated, the younger generations repaired to the back porch for several hours of “spoons.” Eventually they all headed home and quiet reigned once again. Today we attended the early service at Turning Point Community Church. So what does all this have to do with Easter?

                In John 10:10, Jesus reminds that he came so that we might have life and that more abundantly. In our modern North American Christian context we often skew this passage into material abundance, disregarding the rich abundance of the relational life Jesus brings. From the simple coloring of eggs to the boisterous happy gathering round the table, Jesus’ resurrection inhabits our days. When Jesus shouldered our sin and shame, He enabled rich and meaningful relationships. Unencumbered by guilt we embrace each other with freedom and joy. Sadness, mistrust, and guilt have no place at the table in the love of Jesus. The empty grave reminds me that He took all of that away. When the angel rolled the stone away, he also rolled away all the things that hinder personal relationships. All those things, the pain, the hurt, the betrayal, the anger, bitterness, and resentment, that stand between family members He took away. During the last supper, Jesus speaks clearly about his impending betrayal to the apostles. They insist they would stand fast until the bitter end. Peter boldly declares that he would remain steadfast to death. We all know how this unfolds. Peter fails his Lord and himself and flees shedding tears of wretched personal bankruptcy. Three days pass.

               Among the first messages Jesus passes to His beloved, is one for Peter. It lets him know that what was broken is now mended. The wounded have been healed. His presence is cherished. Relationship is restored. The joyful family gatherings that have so marked my life came as a result of the empty tomb. Easter enables right relationships. We do not have to limp along pretending that all is well when it is actually frightfully wrong. Easter brings the exciting hope and reality of renewal. Our pleasant evenings full of laughter come not because we’re paragons of familial bonhomie. They are the result of the new life that spreads out in ever-widening ripples from the empty tomb. Easter mends things, even those fragile and so easily damaged family relationships. After Easter, laughter rings off the walls. 

Transformation

                A meal transformed. I gaze at my supper, laid out on the square plate; a grilled lamb-chop, some steamed Brussels-sprouts, unleavened bread and a glass of wine. The aroma of the grilled lamb-chop drifts up; a mélange of olive-oil, garlic, coarsely ground pepper, and fresh rosemary at once familiar and yet exotic. I do not often cook lamb or unleavened bread. Despite the busyness of the day and rapid approach of the hour of our departure for Good Friday I was compelled to make my own Seder (Passover). I let my mind drift back several millennia to the first transformative Seder. A people trapped in bondage hurriedly feast, anticipating their impending transformation. The salt and herb encrusted lamb speaks of the bitterness of bondage, reminding me of my own struggles against the fetters of sin. The bread speaks loudly of sustenance, transforming my weakness into strength. Its flatness whispers of a hurried flight from darkness into light. All of this washed down with wine, grapes transformed. For a few moments I, those ancient slaves, and all those believers in between gaze at each other across the table; laden with broken bread, lamb, and wine. All transformed by ultimate pascal lamb. A meal, a people, a man transformed by a single death, the ultimate sacrifice the true pascal lamb. 

Ghastly Images

                Ghastly images of dead and dying splashed across all forms of media last week. Once again, Bashar Al-Assad, the dictatorial ruler of Syria, gassed his own citizens in the seemingly endless civil war. Horrified, we struggle to find the tool or lever strong enough to force the

belligerents to set aside their enthrallment with violence and embrace a more pacific culture. Years of cajoling diplomacy, vague, and not so vague, threats produced very little. For some reason we find civilian deaths by conventional munitions acceptable; but, death by chemical weapons disturbs us greatly. Perhaps, the grisly implications of choking out our lives poisoned by the air we breathe frightens us. The depraved nature of this act moved President Trump to action. He chose a limited air-strike on the facility Al-Assad used to launch this most recent atrocity, hoping to send Al-Assad a clear message and deprive him of some of his military capability. Shortly after, Al-Assad launched yet another strike against the same city, this time with conventional arms. Death still called on some. No matter the cause, they remain dead and their families deprived of their presence grieve just the same. What is an appropriate response to such a dark situation?

                Elie Wiesel said, "We must take sides. Neutrality helps the oppressor, never the victim. Silence encourages the tormentor, never the tormented."  The airstrike satisfies some primal urge for order and vengeance within. We view the horrors and feel we must do something, punish someone. But such actions provide only transitory effects. We want long-lasting effects, changes that improve the lives of many citizens, changes that last for generations. These types of changes take concentrated effort for years. After the chaos and destruction of World War II we viewed a devastated Europe. Hitler and his fellow henchmen had rampaged across the continent, leaving death and destruction. The communists sought to fill the political and social vacuum they left. We responded with the Berlin Airlift, NATO, and more importantly the Marshall Plan. The Marshall Plan represented some $ 13 billion ($100 billion in 2003 dollars) in aid to Europe over an extended period of time. The Marshall Plan was not a simple transfer of cash. It also included assistance in the form of education and strengthening a various democratic institutions by helping Western-Europe recover quickly enough to avoid communist take-over. Our investment in time and resources enabled Western-Europe to enjoy over fifty years of peace and relative prosperity.

                We need to embrace a similar long look with the Middle-East. Yes, it will cost a lot. Yes, it will take time. Yes, it will be hard work and often messy. But, such an investment will pay great dividends. A prosperous and stable Middle-East is in all our best interests; however, we ought to willingly secure peace and prosperity for others. After all, our prosperity and peace came to us through the hard work and sacrifice of others. We ought to share our abundance willingly. Bombs and missiles may have a short-term effect; but, hard work and effort over the longer haul will last much longer. We must set aside our fondness for short term solutions. A serious investment of time and money may very well result in a stable region, one that does not require repeated infusions of munitions and personnel.

                In Romans Paul reminds us that rulers are God’s servants to execute His wrath on wrongdoers (Romans 13:3-5). This challenging passage reminds us that God expects civil rulers to keep good order and discipline. But, we must not look at that scripture alone. It is true that God expects leaders and nations to enforce laws and exact justice; however, we must not overlook the larger bulk of passages that enjoin us to provide for those less fortunate. Like Christ, we must willingly engage in the difficult work of love. We must love enough to engage and sacrifice. We enjoy great blessings, not to satiate our desires, but to help others. Perhaps if we look down the road we can envision a future worth investing in, a future worth our time and effort, a future where women and children need not gasp out their final moments in terror.

                

The Enemy

                I looked at the newly assigned NCO with misgiving. The Battalion Commander and Command Sergeant Major had talked to me about him. His struggles do not bear repeating in this venue. In my mind he remained damaged goods, a drag on my section. I and my subordinates knew him, knew his problems, and were not particularly interested in helping him sort through his issues. At this time I was a fairly new captain and served as the signal battalion representative in the Division Forward Command Post; better known as the D-TAC. An aggressive one-star general called this command post his home. Hoping to receive his second star and command his own division, he did not tolerate substandard performance in any fashion.  The Operations Sergeant-Major, an old and crusty NCO, had an even smaller reservoir of patience. After a couple of exercises and significant failures followed by tongue-lashings by various senior officers, including the general, I had had enough and met with the Battalion Commander, a Lieutenant Colonel.

                In very plain language I told the Battalion Commander that I wanted to rid myself, and my section, of this boat-anchor. I detailed numerous failures that had resulted in public humiliation for myself and others. His lackadaisical approach to soldiering forced others to work harder. A constant shirker, he frequently left tasks partially completed. His laziness forced me to check on him as I would a private, consuming precious time in our fast-paced high-pressure environment. Worst of all, he was senior to the rest of the NCO’s in my section and resented the fact that I placed more trust in the others. I went on at great length, eventually running out of steam with a glare. For a long time he stared off into space, saying nothing.

                Eventually he took off his helmet, set it on the hood of the HMMWV, ran his fingers through graying hair, sighed and turned to me. “Matt,” he said, “You must stop treating SFC Smith as if he was the enemy. He’s not the enemy. He’s a member of your team. You are an officer. You must rise above personnel issues. Focus on the mission. SFC Smith is your soldier. You must fix this problem.” And with those words, he recovered his helmet, strapped it on and walked back into his command post, leaving me with a different perspective on the challenging NCO.

                Eventually we sorted out our problems; though the NCO never did really fit in very well. We did come to terms with one another. We found ways to keep the Operations Sergeant Major and the General pleased. After a rather lengthy round of field training exercises the NCO submitted his request for retirement, which was approved, and moved on out of the army and my life.  But, I never forgot my commander’s admonition, “He’s not the enemy.” Sometimes we forget who or what the enemy is. We so fully believe in the rightness of our plan or cause, we refuse to consider others as part of the team or part of the solution. Such is the case in American politics and government today.

                We expend great efforts and go to great lengths to demonize those who disagree with us or our perceived solutions. Much of what passes for news is either an extended argument or polemic editorial disguised as news. So much antagonism, so much effort expended to discredit the other all in the name of political or party purity. These efforts consume vast amounts of institutional energy to no positive effect. Being right enthralls us; much more than finding some solution to our problem. We think of the other side as the enemy forgetting who the real enemy is. Poverty is the real enemy. Hunger is the real enemy. Ignorance is the real enemy. Fear is the real enemy. Sickness is the real enemy. Joblessness is the real enemy. Prejudice is the real enemy. Securing continued power is not success. Destroying the opposition is not success. A snarky comment in a public forum is not success. We must measure success by a reduction in those things that truly threaten us.

                My commander forced me to focus on my mission, providing uninterrupted secure communications for the Division leadership in a field environment. Unimpressed by my struggles with an NCO I did not respect, he reminded me that I would be measured by mission accomplishment and nothing else. We must hold elected officials to the same standard. We must expect them to work with the other side. Of course, this will result in solutions that do not fit into our personal political world-view. But, if these solutions result in a reduction of the enemy, perhaps we might need to rethink our political world-view. Just as my sergeant was not the enemy, the other side is not the enemy. We gain nothing by encouraging or even tolerating behaviors that focuses on savaging the other side. We must keep our focus on the enemy and work on weakening them and reducing their presence in our midst.

               For those of us who claim the name of Christ; we must remember Paul’s admonition in Ephesians 6:12, “¹² For we are not contending against flesh and blood, but against the principalities, against the powers, against the world rulers of this present darkness, against the spiritual hosts of wickedness in the heavenly places.” No matter their political persuasion or personal philosophy, the person on the other side is not the enemy. Christ died for them just as much as he died for you, for me. We must learn to set aside our differences and work against our common enemy and all his minions.