There are times when no matter how mature we think we are in our walk with Christ, words spoken that cause harm and grief to another happen and we are left to wonder from where such had come.  Words that were not expressed in anger or overt discrimination, but did in hindsight, convey a message that is all too common in society throughout the history of the world where one culture or ethnicity considers another less than itself.  Racism is an ugly word and one that has been bandied about recently for political gain by far too many; it is something that all who are human struggle against, yes even those in Christ.

Jonah was a man called as a prophet of God and that gives me hope.  Why him, you may wonder?  Pastor Swindoll of Insight for Living has been teaching through that book in the Old Testament and has not pulled any punches about this less than charming and likeable Jew.  Jonah was a man who was called to go and preach a message to a people he HATED and he went in the reverse direction in direct disobedience of God’s command!  God said to go East to Ninevah and Jonah went West, going down to Joppa to find a ship bound as far as he could get from there as he could get by going further West to Tarshish (modern day Spain).  Finding himself such a ship, he goes on board and goes down into the hold and goes to sleep, figuring his troubles are over.

Jonah continues his downward spiral, finally landing within the belly of a great fish that God prepared for his racist prophet who stewed in this fishes juices (and his own) for three days before repenting.  At this point the fish apparently had all of Jonah he could stomach and landed this racist prophet on the beach where he received the same command from God a second time.  This time he obeyed…sort of.  It was a message of destruction for his hated enemies after all; one he must have loved to deliver.  So Jonah delivers the message then camps out to the east of the city to await the promised destruction…

You all know the story; from the king to the lowliest peasant a fear of the judgement of God leads to repentance and a turning away from the evil that characterized this people.  Jonah was livid!  The most successful evangelist and prophet in history and he was upset because although he had obeyed God, his heart just wasn’t in it.  He still was a racist; he still hated the Ninevites. 

What is the take away from a study of this book of the Old Testament?  How are we to apply to our lives such a story?  Thinking about this after listening to Pastor Swindoll and that “…still, small voice…” there are several things that come to mind:
 

1. Jonah tried to run away from God, to avoid the plan that God had for him to do.  He who holds the universe in his hands…impossible, yet this prophet tried to flee from God!  Ridiculous, yet how often have we done the same?  How often have I run from the one who has called to me over and over as he sent his hound on my trail throughout my life?  Even once I had surrendered, time and again I have sought to turn away to my own way…just like Jonah.
2. Jonah surrenders (sort of?) in the belly of the fish.  He does recognize his plight, that there is no one that can save him from death.  In 1987 I was indicted and subsequently convicted for murder, sentenced to life in prison and thus entering my own ‘great fish’ wherein I expected to spend the rest of my life.  Raised in the Catholic church I had little to no exposure to Scripture other than a brief time when I went to the Chapel Hill Bible Church while attending UNC.  Still, my heart was dark and I remember looking up at the outside wall of Central Prison that cold, sleeting February night when I arrived and thought, “This is where I belong.”
3. God’s word or call comes a second time to Jonah and this time he obeys…sort of.  It is a word of judgement against Ninevah and that suits this racist prophet very much;“Yet forty days, and Nineveh shall be overthrown!”   (Jonah 3:4 ESV)  In my case my being within prison walls was as if Jonah had suddenly been transformed into becoming an Ninevite.  All my life I had been one of the ‘good’ guys; this had been reinforced when working as a paramedic; the old line from the TV series Beretta came back to haunt me over and over, “If you can’t do the time, don’t do the crime.”  Here I was, in Ninevah though a Jew (as it were).  The first weeks are now a blur; it wasn’t until someone invited me to the weekly worship service in the chapel that anything really changed (honestly I went to escape the crowding in the dormitory…picture the Chicago stock yard).  The first week, nothing much happened; the second Sunday, Chaplain Eugene Wigelsworth was preaching (to this day I have no idea what he said, only that a ‘feeling’ that at the end of his sermon it was ‘now or never.’ 
4. So, Jonah obeys and preaches the sermon (gleefully no doubt), then sets up outside the eastern part of the city to await the destruction to come.  BUT GOD…. His plan was very different from what Jonah was hoping for; instead of death, there came life to the Ninevites.  Jonah’s self-pity and anger at God reflects how his heart was NOT changed, but what about my heart?
   

We all must set a watch over our lips (as Scripture enjoins us), especially in these turbulent times.  Offense, even when not intended, is difficult to overcome and impossible to forget.  It will taint a relationship and can harm or destroy fellowship within a church community.   Please, let our words bring healing and not hurt. 

So…
Last year while attending a business meeting I had asked someone what the possibility of that company having a position with them for me.  Honestly, it was more a proforma kind of request; after almost five years of either being ignored or told my services were not needed, I’d all but given up hope of ever finding meaningful work with any business or company.  That this was an organization that did much to demonstrate a willingness to reach unreached populations with health care gave me a small amount of hope.
So, I asked.
Amazingly, the person I spoke with responded in a positive manner.  For a moment I did not know how to respond.  Over 450 times I’d either heard nothing or a polite dismissal;  to have someone in a position of authority tell me that there would be a position for me bordered on the miraculous.  It would put me in a position to help those who, like me, were struggling to find a way to live a purposeful life after getting out of prison.  Those in the room with me who overheard my conversation were exultant at my finding this possibility; it felt as though my long, the night could be coming to an end.
So, we began plans to look into moving to the Wilmington area to take advantage of this.  Over the next few days, it seemed as though one door after another opened and connections made all seemed to confirm that this was happening.  In late January of this year, we did move, putting our townhome in Durham on the market.  When an offer well above asking price was made less than  24 hours after listing, it seemed yet one more confirmation that we were where we needed to be. 
I followed the website for this company daily, checking to see when the position that I had asked about was listed; within an hour of it’s being listed on the website, I had sent in an email to the appropriate person with my resume, cover letter and other material attached.  As the weeks went by I continued to hope, but then I learned that interviews had been ongoing for some time, but I had not called.  Then, one day when I checked I found the position was no longer there.
So…
​

Last summer a good friend invited Kathy and I down to Emerald Isle to enjoy a stay at the beach.  The house was located on the beach with its own boardwalk out to a gazebo with stairs down to a path to beach; for this old sailor and former surf bum, it was close to heaven.  The next few days were filled with laughter and fun with Tom and Bernadene as we lazed time away enjoying the beach and just relaxing with good friends.
​
As our time to leave approached it seemed that I needed some alone time to just enjoy the sound and smell of the surf.  I awakened at 4:00 AM and got dressed (well, as dressed as any sensible person does at the beach), went downstairs to make coffee, then went out to the gazebo to sit.  It was pitch dark, some lights scattered up and down the beach from the different houses, but looking out over the ocean was without any light source.  While I could hear the waves and occasionally glimpse the froth of the surf, it was as if I was within a warm, salty cocoon. 
​

As I sat there I began to think of the way that God had moved in my life to bring me to this moment.  Over and over the idea of a God who made all of what I was sensing, whose hand held the universe, but whose attention was focused so singularly upon me when I was so adamant at remaining rebellious that only grace could begin to explain what had happened in my life leading up to that moment.  An overwhelming feeling of gratitude and awe that after all that I had done and all that I’d been through, God loved me!
​

​Wonder! 
​

I began to sing some of the hymns I’d learned through listening to the Bible Broadcasting Network while in prison.  One hymn led to another as my eyes filled with tears and my heart overflowed with gratitude and praise.  I’m not sure how long this went on, but as the sun began to provide a glimmer of light on the horizon, my singing stopped and I sat and just reveled in the knowledge that I was not only free of the physical prison that had constrained me, but of the more insidious prison of my own making.  The freedom I obtained on release from prison was something that I had anticipated (and at times wondered if it would ever be mine), but even better was the sure knowledge that because of Christ’s work on my behalf, even while still incarcerated, I was more free than most of those outside of the walls that held me.  No more was I a slave to the old man and to experience that with my physical freedom (especially once I had satisfied the parole requirements that went with my release) was something I hope I never forget or take for granted.

As the sun showed itself, my wife and friends came out and we all sat and just enjoyed another day at the beach.  My wife kept asking me why I was smiling so much; I would just shrug.  The memory of that time still fills me with wonder and does not fail to bring a smile to my face.
​

“I know my Redeemer lives,
and at the last He will stand on the earth.”
Job 19:25

In a recent lesson at the Chapel Hill Bible Church, James Abrahamson while teaching on ethics used a quote from the movie, Saving Private Ryan, where the central character asks his wife this question, “Did I live a good life?” A very poignant question in light of how just previously in the movie (a flashback to events in which Ryan was rescued by a platoon led by an officer played by Tom Hanks, of whom most had been killed during the effort to find Ryan) Captain Miller (played by Tom Hanks) lay dying of his wounds, he grabs Ryan and tells him, “Earn it!” referring to the sacrifices of his men who were killed ensuring he would return home.

This hammered me as few things could; I've seen the movie and did not recall either quote, but looking back online saw that these two quotes did indeed occur, the turmoil they have caused within my own heart is beyond description.  These two brief sentences seemed to highlight a struggle I've had recently; on one part I recognize that nothing I can do can earn the grace God has given me in Christ, but how to answer the question that the older Ryan asks his wife?  Dare I ask that of anyone, even myself?

I did serve in the military; both in the Navy as a nuclear-trained electrician mainly on board a ballistic missile submarine and in the Army Reserve as a field medic while going to school at UNC.  My career as a nurse and paramedic were abbreviated by an egregious decision which led to my being incarcerated following my causing a patient’s death in ICU.  To many (most it seems considering how I have remained unemployed since my release) that one decision erases all the ‘good’ that I've ever done.  As I related this once to a friend, it seems the feeling among the vast majority of folks is “…once convicted, always condemned!” 

So, how would I answer the question Ryan asked his wife?  How would those who know me answer it?  Dare I ask it?

 

For some time I have served with Our Children’s Place; at times I wonder at the value of that service when surrounded by so many who are successful in their own fields while all that I’ve managed to accomplish is to survive almost 24 years in prison and discover that my professional life is over.  One thing keeps me involved with these incredible folks, I have seen first-hand during those 23+years the impact of prison on a family, particularly the children that are bereft of a normal family life.

In some instances the men I met ‘inside’ sired children from several different women, being little more than sperm donors; mostly though there were men struggling with the unforeseen circumstances of how to be a father to their sons and daughters when their interaction with them is limited to the weekly visitation if they are fortunate to be housed in a prison close enough to make this possible.  Since becoming involved with Our Children’s Place, my reading on the subject has revealed factors I’d not thought about before; how these children are worse than orphans in many ways. 

Society’s response to the orphan is often automatically one of concern and support; go to any civic or religious group and ask for them to support the orphaned child and there is an outpouring of sympathy and care for those children whose parent or parents have died.  Their classmates in school, while not really understanding perhaps the loss that has impacted their friends lives, support them and continue to be friendly toward them.  It is as if all of society rushes to the side of such children; we want to comfort them, even to the point of adoption as I have seen over and over in many of those I know at the Chapel Hill Bible Church.

The response to a child of a prisoner is almost always very different.

The child whose mother or father is taken from them in such a fashion (in a few cases it may be both parents) is not the focus of society’s support and concern.  While perhaps not intending such, we look askance at the child of a prisoner; it is as if we tar them with the same brush we have painted their parent(s) and turn away from them instead of turning toward them.  The shame and stigma of having a parent in prison is very real, the cruelty of these children’s classmates toward them is also a reality that they have to deal with on a daily basis and so often those who would want to help do not understand how to do so. 

Recently Sesame Street has stepped into the picture to help us understand the plight of these children through a teaching package they have entitled, Little Children, Big Challenges: Incarceration.  In this we meet Alex whose father is in prison and seeks to avoid his friends who talk of having their dads help them with building toy cars to play with each other.  In this and the accompanying material, the writers and producers seek to educate us about the challenges that such children face daily; in the case of parents who have been sentenced to life in prison, they are orphans in all but fact as they never again will have a normal life with that parent in their lives.

What can we do to help?  I challenge you to go to your local library and ask for the Sesame Street video; watch it to begin to gain an understanding of how the child of the prisoner is an orphan and needs the same support that we provide others in crisis.  Contact Our Children’s Place and ask how to become involved in financially supporting their efforts to not only raise awareness of the plight of these orphans, but to bring community resource to bear in providing as normal a life as possible for them.