Read Scripture: Mark 4:35-41
On that day, when evening had come, he said to them, "Let us go across to the other side." And leaving the crowd behind, they took him with them in the boat, just as he was. Other boats were with him. A great windstorm arose, and the waves beat into the boat, so that the boat was already being swamped. But he was in the stern, asleep on the cushion; and they woke him up and said to him, "Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?" He woke up and rebuked the wind, and said to the sea, "Peace! Be still!" Then the wind ceased, and there was a dead calm. He said to them, "Why are you afraid? Have you still no faith?" And they were filled with great awe and said to one another, "Who then is this, that even the wind and the sea obey him?"
Reflection Questions:
When was the last time that you were afraid? Did fear prevent you from doing something? When has fear been a barrier between you and others?
Five-Minute Story:
The Indictment, trial, and sentencing took the better part of a year to happen. It was an agonizing time for Michael and his family. For his crime, Michael (whose name I've changed) would go to jail. As his pastor, I offered to be present at Michael's trial, sentencing, and intake - to offer support. In his quiet manner, he said, "no thank you." There was a deep sense of shame.
The last time that I saw him at church, he wore standard business casual attire. Michael was a pleasant sort of person - someone always willing to help out. He served in a variety of capacities at the church and was a family man. Michael was a good man.
It took a couple of months of corresponding by mail before Michael finally agreed to let his pastor visit. He surrendered to the Federal Penitentiary system in one city and was moved around from one place to another. An orange jumpsuit replaced his dockers and polo shirt. A number replaced his name. Michael changed his appearance by shaving his head.
On the day that I drove to the jail upstate, I was anxious to see Michael again. I missed him greatly and was concerned about his safety. What was I going to encounter? How would his experience change him?
Visiting a jail is a dehumanizing experience. Wearing my clerical collar provided no courtesy or sympathetic treatment. From the moment I arrived, I had a sense that the prisoners were thought of and treated with a disdain that transformed them into non-persons. Those who came to see these non-persons were themselves suspicious. I came to find out that communion was a banned substance behind bars. There was no way that I could bring the sacrament to Michael so it remained in the trunk of my car.
After sitting in a large waiting room for over an hour, I was finally allowed to enter the facility. A guard marched me down narrow hallways and through a series of locked doors. The destination was a large room filled with tables and chairs. I was ordered to sit down and have no physical contact with the prisoner.
No sooner did I sit down when I saw Michael come into the room. Unable to give him a hug or even shake his hand, I longed to connect. Here was a friend, a member of the church, a child of God - and I couldn't greet him as I wanted, as I'm sure he wanted. Other than his shaved head and bright attire, Michael displayed no outward signs of his ordeal. Now, however, he was untouchable - labeled a felon.
Michael's change of status happened as a result of his crime. He made a mistake and had to suffer the consequences. Regardless, as I think about how we devalue life, I think not only about Michael's crime but also his incarceration. Why do we reduce people to less-than-human status? Why must we downgrade the worth of prisoner and their visitor? Does this make our society better or does it point to an essential flaw? We live in a broken world where people devalue life. In the face of such things does further devaluation make any sort of positive contribution? Is there a better way of punishment that can still value life?
As I wonder, I remember the power of using Michael's name in that place of heavily guarded bondage. Behind bars, Michael remained a beloved child of God. The sacrament might have stayed in the car that day, but the Body of Christ entered restricted space to bring forgiveness, grace, and love.