Change Springs from a Simple Seed of Hope

During a church service this past weekend, a young man, in his twenties and already serving his second prison sentence, was brought to the front of the auditorium and prayed for by prisoner leaders in the service. He is nearing the end of his sentence and will be released from prison within the next several days. Although this was not a particularly unique occasion--we collectively pray for a lot of men right before they leave prison--this particular young man and his situation made an impression on me. 

When the young man came forward, he shared a few thoughts before the men prayed for him. He confessed that he is an active gang member, but then shared that this identity had led him to believe that one day he would die in the streets. When he returned to prison on this second bit (prison sentence), his homeboys and fellow gang members began to notice something different in him. They remarked that he was different, that he didn't seem the same. Yes, he was still a gang member, but somehow he seemed like he had hope now for his future. And then he told us why. 

After he was sentenced, he said, his mother told him that God had a plan and future for his life. She shared with him Jeremiah 29:11, "For I know the plans I have for you, declares the LORD, plans for welfare and not for evil to give you a future and a hope." Holding onto this promise, this young man said that he now prays daily for his own future, claiming this promise for his own. His mother's love and her own hopes for his future led to a change in thinking in his life. 

Honestly, I don't know if this young man will fall back into his old ways or not. He certainly face some pretty tough obstacles and peer pressures when he leaves prison. But when everyone else, including society in general, has given up on him, his mother has not. Instead, she passed on her own faith and hope for his future, inspiring him to grasp them for his own. What she gave him empowered him to dare to think that there might be more for him than gang banging and prison life. 

Many prisoners are not as fortunate as this young man. They do not have people in their corner believing in them. They do not have someone inspiring hope for their future. Everyone has given up on them, and society has given them a new identity, stripped of hope. Sometimes a person's crime is so bad that he becomes a leper, and he is written off as worthless and irredeemable. Sometimes a person simply came from nothing, never had anyone rooting for them, and has no future to look forward to. These odds make it likely that such a person will return to prison, fulfilling the expectations society has set for him. But, mercifully, some will beat the odds. 

Many of you, my readers, have loved ones in prison. Others of you work with or minister to people in prison. You deal closely with brokenness, and sometimes what you do can be discouraging. You pour yourselves and your hope into broken people, and sometimes those broken people stay stuck in their brokenness. But sometimes they don't. Sometimes your investment in time, your many prayers, your words of encouragement, fall on the soil of a ready heart. Sometimes we embrace the hope you have for us, make it our own, and are inspired to make changes in our lives. Sometimes that inspiration overflows, and we share it with others, too.

So, don't be discouraged. Keep planting your seeds of hope. Keep watering with words of encouragement. We all need to feel hope for our futures, and many of us, like this young man, need someone to plant that hope in us.

What Does Justice Mean to You?

Abstract nouns are often difficult to define exactly. That's why they are called "abstract." Mostly, an abstract noun's definition is subjective to the person using it. Freedom means one thing to one person and another thing to someone else. Goodness, likewise, is defined not concretely, but by the user of the word. Perhaps that is why justice is such a difficult concept to define. It means something different to each person.

Sometimes we join another word to justice in order to explain the type of justice we mean. Words like vigilante justice convey a type of vengeance taken by someone who does not have the authority to carry out that justice. Social justice deals specifically with how we treat vulnerable people as a society. Environmental justice is about protecting the environment. Restorative justice focuses mostly on restoring broken relationships and other brokenness caused by crime or bad behavior. Criminal justice deals specifically with crimes as they are defined within law by a society.

Regardless of which kind of justice we mean though, one common thread remains. Justice is predominantly about "the other-regarding quality that regulates relations among individuals and groups." ** Vigilante justice aims to regulate wrong-doing by "balancing the scales" between two parties. Social justice seeks to elevate society's treatment of disadvantaged and marginalized groups. Environmental justice seeks to manage how we collectively treat the environment through regulating individual behavior. Restorative justice puts the emphasis on relationships between people. And criminal justice focuses primarily on regulations between individuals and the state. 

Theoretical discussions of justice, though, do little for those who are seeking it. Instead, justice seekers just want wrongs to be made right. Again, this is where the abstract nature of justice comes in. What exactly does it mean to "make things right?" For the families of many murder victims (and sometimes for other crimes), life in prison, or even the death of the offender, is the only thing they will accept as justice. Other families and victims are content with less. Circumstances, faith, and many other factors serve to influence one's definition of justice. 

What exactly justice means to someone is a highly personal matter. It's also highly flexible. I'm deeply moved by stories of people whose entire concept of justice was turned on its head when they met their offender. Others inspire me by living out their faith in radical ways, especially towards those who have done them harm. Some live out this faith long before the one who harmed them took responsibility or expressed remorse. I'd like to have a heart for the king of justice they embrace, for that justice is truly others-regarding and relational. 

I don't know what would be justice for the harms I have caused. I know what sort of justice I'd like to be treated with, but if the shoe were on the other foot, I can't honestly say what I'd want. If someone had harmed the ones I love, I'd probably want to carry out vigilante justice. But my faith now calls me to something different. It calls me to relational, others-regarding justice that cares for the hearts of victims and offenders alike more than for vengeance. Even as a former offender, my faith now calls me to be others-regarding, seeking to heal the harms I caused and to be an advocate for justice wherever it is needed. 

** This concept is derived from Plato's Republic but has been widely used for two-thousand years.

Does Restorative Justice Let Offenders Off the Hook?

I had a conversation recently with a friend of mine about restorative justice. Although he supports restorative justice, he told me that many of the people close to him, people he loves and respects, think restorative justice lets offenders off the hook. They believe, he said, that restorative justice sweeps the offense under the rug, so to speak, in an effort to restore the offender to his or her former place. That's a legitimate concern, but it misses the whole point of restorative justice. 

The practices of restorative justice do sometimes result in the restoration of an offender to wholeness. That wholeness, though, does not negate the role of the criminal justice system. That wholeness is in restored relationships, renewed value to the community, and wholeness of mind and spirit--which are all necessary to support a former offender's commitment to right living. If this were the primary aim of restorative justice, it would be a worthy pursuit. But even these worthy outcomes are not the primary aim. 

Restorative justice is first and foremost about holding the offender responsible for the harms he caused and for making right those harms. Restorative justice is victim-centered, focused primarily on bringing wholeness to the one who was harmed. Both of these aims, holding an offender responsible for making right his wrongs and bringing wholeness to a victim, are often overlooked by the justice system. Instead, the focus is on removing the offender from society and punishing him. It often ignores the needs of the one who was wronged. The criminal justice system is offender-focused. Restorative justice attempts to redirect the focus to where it belongs: on the needs of the victim. 

For those who are skeptical of, or downright opposed to, restorative justice practices, I would ask what they believe should be the role of the criminal justice system. I suspect that the answer I'd receive has much to do with retribution. Offenders should be punished. They should forever bear the mark of shame for their past behavior, and society should forever shun them. While I agree that punishment often serves an important part of justice, whether it is in "balancing the scales" or serving as a deterrent to others, simply punishing offenders does not bring victims wholeness. It does not repair the harms the offender caused, and it does not bring an offender to hold himself accountable. 

When people suffer harms from another person, they have a right to confront their offender, if they so choose. They have the right to ask questions, even difficult questions that might not have easy answers. Victims have a right to express to the person who harmed them the impact that harm has had on them and the emotions they have experienced because of those harms. They ought to be able to express what they need from the offender, whether tangible restitution or intangible behaviors. A courtroom, while serving its purpose, is not a safe place for these critical acts of justice to take place. A courtroom is offender-focused, not victim-focused. 

Restorative justice does not let offenders off the hook. Rather, it demands more from them. It demands accountability, beyond the scope of a prison sentence. Restorative justice makes victims and their needs central. It prioritizes wholeness, healing, and restoration for victims. If offenders also find wholeness in the process, we ought to celebrate that someone who caused harm in the past is much less likely to do so in the future.

How Prison Taught Me Humility

I am not the same person I was ten years ago when I first came to prison. In some ways, I appear to be the same person, but when I look back at who I was then, I see a much different person than I am today. Yes, I'm older, in better shape (but less hair!), and hopefully wiser, but there's more to it. Prison has a way of humbling people, if they are willing to be taught by the suffering--even if that suffering is self-inflicted. I have been humbled by my incarceration.

Prior to prison, I had a lot going for me. I was a father and husband, a successful business owner, a community and church leader, and I had political aspirations. I wasn't wealthy yet, but I was on track for financial success. Nevertheless, despite all that I had, it wasn't enough. I wasn't happy. I lacked confidence, though I projected otherwise. I was disconnected from people. I felt isolated and alone--but I didn't think I needed anyone either. People aren't dependable. They disappoint. They leave you right when you need them. Better to fight my way to the top single-handedly. 

Prison only reinforced many of these feelings and beliefs. My sense of isolation and abandonment increased. The tenuous connections I had to some people were severed. Happiness became an unachievable illusion. And any shred of confidence I had mustered was stripped from me as the prison gates closed behind me. My protective shell of pride--in my accomplishments, in my abilities, in my aspirations--was shattered. Prison had brought me face-to-face with the insecure, frightened child I had buried deep behind my walls of self-reliance. In my attempts to protect myself from being hurt, I had imprisoned my past pain behind an illusion of needing no one. Prison was a mirror that showed me the cost of my pride. 

I had lost everything coming to prison, but I didn't bear that price alone. In prison I learned how much my incessant drive for success had cost my family. I passed on the feelings of isolation and abandonment to my children. I taught them that people--even those who are supposed to love you--aren't dependable, that they disappoint, and that they leave right when you need them the most. Unwittingly, I had passed on the worst kinds of lessons to my children. It's incredibly humbling when you realize you've done the very thing you despised in others. 

Undoubtedly, I have more to learn. I'm still in the process of transformation, and that probably won't end until this life is over. But hopefully I've learned to be teachable, to listen to others, to recognize that I need others in my life. My experience in prison has taught me that I don't know it all, that I'm not always right, and that living behind walls--prison walls or walls of self-protection--is harmful. Prison has taught me to appreciate simple things, to be grateful for things (and people!) I took for granted in the past. It has taught me that living a life for others is much more fulfilling than living a life consumed with my own achievements. 

I regret the man I used to be. It is painful to recognize that it took coming to prison for me to really look honestly at myself. I regret that my growth has cost me and those I love so much, but I hope that the rest of my life will be an investment in paying forward what can never be repaid.