I try to see the best in people. But I more "get" drug addicts and alcoholics. People who sinned and/or sin my kind of sins. It's harder to grasp some of other people's sins.
This man's sin was enormous. A sex offender doing a 17 year stretch. Ordinarily, I'd not have visited him. But he had in theory converted and had been baptized. And there are no "excepts" in Christ's admonishment to "visit those in prison".
I'm generally excited to go on visits to prison, even if I've never met the person before. I know that I can give them some hope and some aid. I can help talk to them about their options for while they're in and when they're out. I can, if nothing else, just be that link to the outside that so many of them do not have.
And even those who do have the random mom to visit now and then, still enjoy having another visit. It's kind of hard to have too many visitors in prison. But as I said, many get very few, and for some, it's just you.
I wasn't excited to visit this time. The GPS said I was there, but I was not. That's not uncommon. Often prisons are not quite where the GPS says. I've speculated that such is deliberate. But who knows? In any case, I knew that I could simply drive a bit further and it would be there. Instead, I pulled over and pondered.
Was this a good enough reason to turn back? Hey, I tried, right? I drove all the way to (redacted), but I didn't see the prison! But I knew I was just stalling. I put the car back in drive and went on. There it was, just a mile further. My stomach was already sick.
I left everything in the car, except for my wallet and car keys. I read the sign. Yes, I had been right to leave everything behind. I knew though, that since this was my first visit, inevitably they'd have some minor variation on procedure that would likely send me back to the car. I was right.
They checked my IDs - driver's license and social security card. I always wince when I have to pull out my social security card. See, I signed it when I was five years old and I was so proud that I could write cursive that I did it very florally. Cute at five, goofy ever since.
Ahh, well. It wasn't like the guard cared.
I was sent back out to the car to leave my wallet behind. Some prisons let you have the wallet, others let you put it in a locker, this one you had to leave it in the car. Whichever. I went back in.
They stamp the back of your hand with invisible ink. They pat you down. Nothing too huge, you'd get more bother from a TSA guy at an airport. I left my car keys in a locker, and pocketed the key. They let me keep my watch and wedding ring on. That varies from prison to prison.
I went through one door. Then another. Buzzed each time. Down a hall. Through another buzzed door. Then I held my hand under a UV light so another guard could verify that I was supposed to be visiting and that I hadn't just teleported into this section.
I had not teleported into that section, and so she buzzed me through another door.
Down a long hall. Finally, the Visitor's room. Large and a little less than half full. I had been offered the opportunity to purchase a Vending Machine card, for a minimum of $5, but had declined. I know the machines overcharge. I also knew that most inmates you visit love to get a coke and a candy bar out of your visit, which was why I had always bought one for when I visited other people who were in for lesser crimes.
But I hadn't done it for this guy. I hadn't wanted to. I pondered again the un-Christian-ness of my attitude. I do that somewhat often, not just for how I was viewing him, but because I know that I can be an unjust man. It's best for me to review my behavior often, in case I slip up. In this case, though, I did not feel any guilt, nor any desire to correct things.
Knowing myself, I knew that this probably meant that I should have bought a card anyway. That it was small of me to not spot him a coke and a candy bar. Like that would somehow "show him". Grudgingly, I told myself that next time I would. I shuddered. I hadn't really wanted to have a "this time", and was now realizing already that inevitably there'd have to be a "next time".
The guards asked if I wanted a four chair table or two. I said two. I should have said "four", as the two seater tables were crowded. Oh, well, too late. I sat down and waited.
And waited. I looked about. I could tell this was a minimum-ish security place. The inmates and family that was visiting them could touch, hug, be close together. Kids were present. I also had learned last minute that their visiting policies were quite liberal. I could have as many hours as I liked until 7pm.
I had hoped for one of those places where you get 45 minutes and then can't be back for a week or so. Not this place. Hours of visits at a time, and you could visit seven times a month. Well, there's no world in which I'd be visiting seven times a month even if he'd only been guilty of trespassing and cop sassing. So there was that.
I idly took note of the sheer volume of times I would automatically reach for my iPhone that was not with me. They say that everyone's phone is within three feet of them at all times nowadays, even in their sleep, even while they're showering. Except, I noted, when you're in prison. It's an odd and disconnected feeling.
I dismissed it and started inventorying people and items, a thing I'd done as a kid when bored in a new place. Eventually, fifteen long minutes later, he arrived. I knew it was him, I had previously looked up his record and knew he was very, very tall. I am 6'1'', he was at least 6'6''. Not broadly built, not overly muscled. But not skinny, either.
Proportioned, I guess. No face ink, no hand ink, a pleasant enough face, not too handsome, but not ugly either. I guess a little good looking, as much as one man can tell about another. Better looking than his mugshot. But who isn't, right? He looked like he could make friends easily, though, and that bothered me.
Pleasant greeting. Polished. He wasn't one of the uneducated ignorant ones that too often get stuck in prison for little more reason than being uneducated and ignorant. He had some proper upbringing, some learning. He could converse at the level that you'd expect in any mundane office. Not college, but not street. And I thought I could smell some bit of college, but that turned out to be more due to his excessive reading.
Which many in prison turn to, television being truly terrible when it's all you have.
After the brief pleasantries, I got down to it. You know how in the movies "you never ask what a guy did to get sent to prison"? Yeah, that's nonsense. I always ask. Politely, but yeah, I always ask. What a person is in for colors too much of what all else you can or cannot do for them, not knowing what a guy did to get in would be like not knowing why someone is in a hospital.
Kind of hard to minister to either patient or inmate if you don't know.
I asked if I could ask first, to be polite. Actually, I just politely told him I'd be asking. He accepted that. My first question was, "Is this by chance some kind of thing where you're actually innocent and just have to say you're guilty for some hope of parole eventually?"
...Please say yes, please say yes, please say yes...
No, it was not.
Inwardly, I sighed. I had known that was a long shot, but it would have made it so much easier.
I said, "I know it's a sex offense, as I looked it up, but it gave little details. Nor do I wish too many details. This was some woman?"
No, it was not. It was a girl. 12 years old.
And was this done violently, or was some degree of consent gave?
He looked wary over that one. I said, "I know there can be no consent due to her age, but you know that some can be tricked into agreeing."
He admitted that it had been non-violent, that he had groomed her. For those unfamiliar with sex crimes against children, well, while some debate it, many - like me - find "voluntary" to be a worse offense. At least the girl violently took only has her body violated. The girl tricked into it - "groomed" as he said - had her mind and soul violated first, with her body then being violated last.
Finally, I asked, "And from what I gather, you have come to know that this was wrong and have repented of it?"
...Please say no, please say no, please say no, please say no...
Yes, he said.
Crap, I thought. Though I chastised myself as I knew I should be glad. But that he was claiming to have repented meant he needed ministering to as a fellow brother in Christ. And, come to think of it, if he had said no, he'd still need that. I was stuck either way.
Why was I judging this man so harshly, was I not myself a sinner? No sex offense, of course, just noise disturbances, drunk and disorderly, assault on a police officer, dumb stuff like that. And that last had just been a drunk off duty cop and I having some fun over a fine point of constitutional law involving me wanting to park in a fire zone.
But aren't all sins equal? Hmm. I've always thought that's a yes and a no. All sins are equally bad in that you're going against God. But I do believe that murder is worse than theft. And that being a child molester is worse than my stupid drunken offenses.
I knew that theologically I was to forgive this man. Everything in me cried out against that, though. I kept my face unrevealing of my conflict. As far as he was concerned, the conversation was perfectly fine. He said all the right things, and so did I.
I was suspecting that he was lying, that his presentation was too perfect. He was not aware that my calm demeanor was a front, that I was inwardly outraged at his past crimes, and what I believed to be his current likelihood to re-offend. If you are wondering, I based this on statistics about recidivism for these type of offenses in general, and his demeanor over a several hour discussion in particular.
I had also asked him, in the course of that long conversation, if this was a case of he being attracted to children, or was it that this twelve year old happened to have developed so quickly that she looked like an adult. And in his only slip up, he took the bait and said that it was for her looking like an adult, that he had no predilection for children.
It was the answer he had to give, I suppose. But it was an answer I knew to be false. For the great reason that 12 year old girls, no matter how developed, NEVER look like adults. And this had been his step daughter. Which kind of makes it obvious she's a child. I mean, it's not like he met her in a bar.
I discussed his plans, what his ideal vision for his life after prison was. As he will still be under fifty when released. He wants a job, he cooks in prison now, so he'd like a cooking job on the outside. Not impossible, I said. And it's not. He is aware that it will be harder for him to get employed than some, but there are agencies to aid in that, and I can, at the least, help get him in touch with those agencies.
He wants a "Church family". This is where my mother being British aided me. My face did not change. Nor did I deny that as a possibility. But I pointed out to him that just as he expected forgiveness for his sins, that others also have their own sins - and that among the sins a great many of those in church would have, "failure to be able to forgive as quickly as we might want to" would be one of them.
I phrased that quite delicately and diplomatically. He got it. I said that such things were not necessarily impossible, but he should expect any kind of interaction with non-sex-offenders to be very difficult, that it would simply be a thing that he'd have to get used to. We had a pleasant theological discussion on how the nature of some sins meant that there long term consequences.
After all, my own sins during my days of active alcoholism have long term consequences, and that I have repented does not excuse me from those consequences. I have had to come to terms with that, now so must he for his sins.
Some parts of the conversation were better than other parts. In those hours, there'd have to be some less unpleasant moments. He was well-versed in our faith. He's read at least two of the main books that Ellen White wrote. He'd like more literature, to read and study with others inside.
There are two others of my faith in that prison, neither for sex offenses, thank heavens. One for drugs, another for theft. Almost too easy to forgive those, I thought. Especially in comparison. There are also two others in there who want to be baptized in our faith. Neither of them sex offenders. Again, thank heavens.
What's to be done?
Well, I know that only God can see into a man's heart, so no matter what my opinion may be, the presumption must be that he has truly repented. I greatly wrestle with that, though. However, there is nothing to be gained by acting as if he has not. So there is that. And who knows? I could go back and forth on this all day, day after day, and at the end of the day after a long week of this, it will be ten past three in the morning with me writing this article and none the wiser.
I told him that I'd see about communion for he and the others who wanted it. That I would check into the specifics of baptism for the two who wished it. I advised that on the baptism that such was a process that would take time. I am gathering that his baptism had been a bit faster than usual. I said it could vary, but I'd see to it as quickly as it was allowable.
I asked if he had the 28 articles of our faith, and if the others had seen it. He did and they had. Good.
I told him to have the other two write me and to put me on their Visitor's list. For that matter, I said the two seeking baptism should also write me and put me on their Visitor's list. I can see that this is going to be a somewhat greater time commitment than I had first thought. And that's fine.
I told him that he could relax now, that he wasn't going to fall. I always tell that to people inside, and I mean it every time. Because it's true. There is not much a little guy like me can do, but I loom large compared to the littleness of being in prison. And I can do enough - aid with finding jobs and a place to stay. Even just being there at various hearings and to pick them up when they get out.
My sober living homes were brought up. I told him as delicately as I could that such were not an option. We can't have sex offenders at our place, it is only for those recovering from alcohol and drug addiction. And even alcoholic sex offenders can't stay, as if one is accepted in, the others will leave at once, and then we'd just be running a sex offender house.
Which, as I told him, is a valuable ministry, and one I do believe there is a need for, we just don't have the money or the housing for it. Nor is it what my wife and I feel called to do. But I can help him find places that do deal with that kind of thing.
I told him he could tell the others that they'd not fall either. And I meant that, too. I did point out that all the safety nets that were available are only there for the doing of right things, but they are available if those right things are being done. And in the case of the others, I could aid them with housing if that was needful.
I'm re-reading this and thinking, "Man, am I outing this guy for that I don't believe him, and is that unjust of me? Is he pretending, or is he real and I am too lacking in Christian mercy to see it?"
Oh, God help me and have mercy on me, I don't know. I know that there are a lot of kids that run around our church and if I must be wrong, I'd rather be wrong on the side of those kids being safe. There's a lot of kids that run around a lot of churches. I care more for those kids I do not know than I care for this man. Maybe he's sincere and no threat, maybe he is lying and planning his next way of acquiring a victim when he's out.
I can aid him in half a dozen ways, and I will aid him in those ways, so that he does not need to fall. I can and will see to it that he has every housing and job opportunity available. But I cannot aid him in saying "I believe him." I won't say for sure that he is still guilty. No matter what my gut tells me. But I cannot say he is innocent.
I've been struggling with this all week. Some skeptics and atheists like saying that being Christian is somehow "easy". Oh, no, it can be terribly hard. I know I must forgive him, but I cannot. What does that say about my Christianity? About my faith? Christ forgave him, if he truly repented. Did he truly repent? I do not know. If Christ forgave him, must I? I know we are to, but I have not. Can I later?
I don't know. It does not seem to me that I can. And yet I know we are to.
I am suspecting that "not forgiving him" is just going to have to be a sin of mine. And that I can ask forgiveness for that sin, even while still sinning that sin. If that makes sense. I guess in the end, I can only pray that God sees my heart, and forgives me for my uncharitableness.
In any case, if you've been wondering at my lessened tolerance for some stuff this past week, that's why. As I told a brother in our church who visited me yesterday evening, I can minister to this man, but it's on the outer edges of my abilities. I have tons of patience for fellow alcoholics and addicts, I understand them.
But I don't understand this man who hurt a child, and I don't want to understand him.
This, well, it used up my whole supply of patience and forbearance this week.
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