What Do We Deserve?

This afternoon I helped another prisoner prepare for an upcoming parole board interview. I "acted" as a parole board member, peppering this prisoner with questions about his crime, his motivations, his prison record, the lessons he's learned, and a host of other questions. At times my questions are anticipated and prepared for. Other times my questions are designed to fluster or trip up the prisoner, getting him ready for the eventual stress of his actual interview. I've been helping other prisoners prepare for their parole interviews off and on for the last five years. It's been one of the toughest things I've done in prison. 

Putting myself in the role of a parole board member forces me to think about crimes, my own and others', from a victim's perspective. It makes me think about what the families of murder victims experience. It makes me think about how it feels to be robbed or raped at gunpoint. It makes me think deeply about what it means to lose one's innocence, to be angry about being victimized, to experience terror, fear, and mistrust because of what someone else has done. Putting myself in this role is deeply humbling. It's also deeply troubling. I cannot leave one of these interviews without feeling sad and terribly burdened. 

I didn't think clearly about the impact my crime would have on others, especially on those I love. I didn't consider how my actions would have such far reaching affects, not only on those I harmed, but on so many others as well. But I think about it now--every day. Thinking about the harm I caused is painful, and entering into another prisoner's story of doing harm just deepens that pain. But it must be done. Our victims never chose the pain and harm we caused them.

Inevitably, in the course of conducting a practice parole interview, I will ask the prisoner why he believes he deserves to be released from prison. I ask this question because so many prisoners have an overblown sense of entitlement, and I'm testing whether or not the person feels entitled to freedom. This question is tricky, because it intersects the philosophical questions of crime and punishment (on which every prisoner has an opinion) with the conflict between entitlement and empathy. True empathy, especially when one's crime caused another person harm that can't be repaired, recognizes that a parole has very little to do with "deserving." Very few of us "deserve" anything, especially freedom. 

Nevertheless, the reality is that some prisoners have come to acutely understand the harm they caused. They have worked to change their thinking, and as a result their behavior. Some prisoners are anxious to make right the wrongs they've caused, either directly to their victims or victim's family, or indirectly through helping heal others' brokenness. Keeping these prisoners locked up because we're angry with them does little to solve anything. The question, then, becomes not whether or not the prisoner "deserves" freedom, but whether or not it is just to keep someone locked up who is no longer a danger. 

I'm glad I don't have to make these decisions, that I'm only "pretending" to be a parole board member. But I'm also glad that I'm able to think deeply, and help others do the same, about the consequences of the harm we've caused and what obligations we now have because of those terrible choices we've made.

Merry Christmas!

This past Thursday was the last of my college classes in what has been a long year. I'm so grateful that as a prisoner I am blessed to earn a college degree in prison through the Calvin Prison Initiative. I'm also grateful for the generosity of the donors, and the staff and professors who make it possible. Earning a college degree is a major accomplishment for anyone, and to leave prison having earned a degree will be a major triumph. 

Still, I'm very grateful to have a six week break to regroup and rest. This holiday season I will be working out, enjoying reading for fun, writing, and hopefully playing Scrabble. 

Tomorrow night is our Christmas program at Celebration Fellowship. There will be a play put on by prisoners, readings, and our choir will be performing several holiday songs. I'm privileged to be singing a small solo part in "African Noel" this year. None of these things would likely be happening without the wonderful people who come in every week to worship with us, and who make a point of helping us to feel a little bit normal every Monday night. Their dedication and love are great gifts to us men on the inside. 

As you celebrate the holidays in your own way this year, look for ways to make someone else's day a little brighter. A kind word, a smile, or even a small gift can go a long way to giving people hope. Merry Christmas to each of you, and may God bless you with peace and joy!

Don't Look for Justice from Those in Power

I've stayed away from political issues on this blog for a reason. Issues of incarceration affect people from all political belief systems, and ideas to fix the problem must also come from all sides. Some political persuasions may hold tough on crime views that give little heed to why people commit crimes. Others might diminish the importance of personal accountability to the point that it offends victims of crime. Balancing these viewpoints is difficult because people's lives are at stake, but it must be done. Nevertheless, those tasked with such important work hardly inspire confidence. 

Painting every politician with a broad brush is, perhaps, unfair, but it is difficult to count on our political leaders to find solutions to crime and mass incarceration that balance justice with mercy. It is difficult to imagine equitable solutions coming from political bodies that are blind to their own duplicity and whose members think their own unjust behavior is just. 

When one political party sacrifices due process for swift "justice" (during impeachment) and then condemns the other side for planning the same, how can we expect fair solutions to complex criminal justice issues? When laws are not applied to people in power, but they are enforced on people who have no power, how can we expect just laws that are equitable? When due process is ignored in the most public of justice probes, how can people accused of crimes in less public venues expect fairly employed due process? When justice is defined so differently by people in power, how can people who suffer the effects of crime expect to experience justice? 

Our country's founders established this country with three branches of government to ensure that each held the other accountable for their decisions and actions. But the courts routinely ignore the proper application of laws, and then justify their actions as "harmless error," despite the harm it causes those accused of crimes. Prosecutors, who are members of the court, routinely break the law by withholding or manufacturing evidence, but they are protected by immunity from prosecution. Sadly, our executive and legislative branches lack the moral grounding to hold the courts (or each other) accountable because of their own failures to follow the law. 

Most of the people in prison are there because they broke the law. Justice demands accountability. But "justice" and "accountability" are difficult to define because our nation lacks political leaders who exemplify either in their own lives. Prisoners are expected to learn how to hold themselves accountable, but the highest reaches of government fail to provide a model of personal accountability. Prisoners are expected to learn pro-social behaviors, but political backstabbing and mudslinging by those who write and "enforce" the laws provide little inspiration to follow. 

Many prisoners are broken people who come from lives and social influences filled with brokenness. Honesty, integrity, accountability, and justice are all excellent things to strive for as a means of repairing that brokenness. But if we are to have examples to follow, it must come from somewhere other than from those who claim to be bastions of justice. Instead, we must look to those who quietly provide examples by showing us what it means to live honest lives of integrity. We must look to those who hold themselves accountable and for whom justice is a way of life, not a politically convenient catchphrase that has no personal relevance in their own lives. 

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How to Minister to Children of Incarcerated Parents

Years ago I had a brother who (ironically) worked for Prison Fellowship, the prison ministry started by formerly disgraced presidential counsel, Chuck Colson. Through my brother and the church I attended at the time, I became aware of a holiday ministry to the children of incarcerated parents. The Angel Tree project connects local church congregations with children in their communities who have a parent in prison, enabling the church-goer to purchase gifts for the children. From what I remember, "ornaments" hanging on a tree in the church lobby would contain the gender and age of a child, along with a few items the child wishes for. Church members would purchase gifts for the children, but meeting the children was not automatic. It sometimes felt like an impersonal way to minister to needs, like dropping money in an offering plate. 

My own family participated in this ministry for a couple of years, but we were able to meet the children. It was a great joy for us to bless three young children in one family, even having them and their mother to our house one night for dinner. It was a way for our family to decenter ourselves from our own material desires during the holidays, recognizing how blessed we already were and choosing to share those blessings with others. 

Angel Tree is a wonderful ministry; however, now having the perspective of a prisoner, I recognize just how many devastating consequences children of incarcerated parents experience. Struggles during the holidays are just the tip of the iceberg, so to speak. These children often experience significantly higher risks of failing in school, experiencing bullying and abuse, living in poverty, and, sadly, also committing crimes in the future. 

Ministries to children of incarcerated parents, like Angel Tree, are wonderful interventions in these children's lives, but the vast majority suffer in silence. Other organizations, like Big Brother Big Sister and others, attempt to intervene with after-school tutoring and connecting children with adult mentors. But much more can be done. Many incarcerated men, and probably women, are unable to be active in their children's lives because of obstruction of the children's caretakers. Whether children end up in foster care, are in the care of relatives, or even in the care of a parent, their incarcerated parent often has no power to ensure they stay in their children's lives. Both the parent and their children end up suffering for it. 

Sadly, it is the choices of the incarcerated parents that cause such harm to their children in the first place, but their children suffer doubly when they are kept from parents who love them. Blessing children who have a parent in prison by buying them gifts is wonderful, but if you really want to help, get involved in their lives. Help them succeed in school, navigate the confusing world of having a parent in prison, and avoid bullying and abuse that so many suffer from. Help meet their physical needs and learn to avoid making poor choices that will lead them down the same paths their parent took. And if possible, help them connect with their parent in prison. It could be the greatest gift you'll ever give them.

You Said You Wanted Another Chance...

Years ago I had a pastor whose favorite movie was "Groundhog Day." He loved the movie so much that it was his most frequent sermon illustration. I've never seen the whole thing because ten minutes was enough for me to get the gist. Plus, the movie's type of humor isn't appealing to me. What I never considered was that one day I'd be living my own version of Groundhog Day. Prison days have a way of repeating themselves, over and over again. 

I like routine--I tend to be very scheduled and organized--but I also like the freedom to choose variety. Nevertheless, there's a certain security to having a routine. You know what to expect. But beauty and joy are more often found in the interruptions, the unexpected. Prison provides some unexpected moments, some beautiful and some not. But more often, every day, almost every moment, is predictable. 

Routine provides the framework for discipline. It's probably why the military uses strict routines when they are training their troops. Prisoners, also, can benefit from routine by using the predictability to develop disciplines in their lives. But routine can also create unreasonable expectations. For example, any interruptions in routine regularly set prisoners off into a frenzied anxiety. If chow is running late, count goes long, we have an unscheduled emergency count, or an ambulance stops all yard movements, anxiety skyrockets. 

When anxiety rises in prison, people start acting stupid. Tempers are short, patience is low, arguments escalate quickly, fights sometimes happen, and prisoners and officers start saying stupid things to each other. Even the response to interruptions in routine are, well, routine. Holidays, also predictably, add to anxiety prisoners feel as they are absent from those they love. 

Perhaps it's human nature to love routine. There's a certain comfort in knowing what comes next. Since many prisoners don't know what their futures hold, the routine of prison life can have a settling effect. But the routine can also lull prisoners into complacency. If you get too comfortable with routine, you don't know how to handle change. And change is, perhaps, the most consistent thing about a prisoner's life, especially once he leaves prison. 

Learning how to deal with unexpected changes and interruptions is one of the many skills prisoners can learn and bring with them into the free world. Nevertheless, it takes high self-awareness to understand when interruptions are increasing your anxiety. It also takes self-regulation to learn effective ways of coping when things don't go your way. Both self-awareness and self-regulation are the main components of emotional intelligence. They both also happen to be predictable measures of whether a prisoner will successfully remain crime-free after release or return to prison. 

Most prisoners--let's be honest, most people in general--don't get it right every time. We're not always self-aware, and we don't always regulate ourselves very well. But one benefit prison provides is that if you don't get it right today, there's always nearly the same scenario tomorrow to try again.

Happy Thanksgiving to Our Loved Ones

In previous posts around the holidays I've talked a lot about how difficult holidays are for people in prison. Prisoners are separated from their loved ones, feeling a deep sense of isolation and loneliness. But prisoners are not the only ones feeling the grief of their absence from family. Families themselves also suffer deep sadness from the absence of their incarcerated loved ones. 

Today, I want to honor the families of prisoners, and many of you, my readers, have incarcerated loved ones. I want to acknowledge that our families also suffer because we are in prison. Those empty chairs at holiday meals, the missed birthday celebrations and other important family events all leave a hollow feeling in the hearts of those we love. Prison separates families, leaving mothers without their sons (or daughters), and children without their fathers (or mothers). Wives (or husbands/grandparents) are left to raise families on their own, and spouses are left without partners to be present with them. 

You deserved better from us. 

For many prisoners, the loss of time with family deepens our thankfulness for those we left without us. It causes us to think deeply about those who we have disappointed, and the separation strengthens our appreciation for grandparents, parents, siblings, spouses, and our children. This Thanksgiving may you know that we are thankful for you. We're thankful for all you do to support us through our incarceration, and we're especially thankful that you are a part of our lives. 

Happy Thanksgiving to all those who love us, even through the consequences of our bad choices! We love you!

Clean Slate Legislation Will Give Fresh Start to Many Former Prisoners

Starting life over after leaving prison is difficult. I understand returning citizens face a lot of hurdles. Many prisoners have lost connections and relationships they had prior to coming to prison. Most have lost their homes, cars, and other material things. Most also have no savings to draw from, and having a felony can make getting some jobs difficult. Renting a home or apartment often requires background and credit checks, so finding a place that will accept a felon who has no credit to speak of can be challenging. 

Residency and employment restrictions for former felons can sometimes be so restrictive that, without the support of friends and family, many returning citizens find themselves unemployed and homeless. Some positive changes have been made in laws and public policies, especially concerning employment forms requiring information about felonies; however, prejudices and discrimination against returning citizens continues to be a problem for some returning citizens. Policies and laws that discriminate against people with the scarlet letter "F" (for felon) are deeply entrenched. That's why I am so pleased to hear about clean slate legislation that has strong bipartisan support in Michigan. 

A package of seven expungement bills has currently passed the House and is waiting for committee action in the Senate. Together, these bills will greatly expand expungement options for former felons. Current expungement laws are very narrow, and most eligible people don't know they are eligible. The new laws, if passed, will make expungement automatic after three to ten years (depending on severity), and make non-automatic expungement available even for assaultive felonies after five to seven years. 

According to University of Michigan criminologist Sonja Starr, when a former prisoner has remained crime-free for five years after release from prison, he or she is less likely to commit crimes than citizens with no criminal record. This fact makes automatic and more expansive expungement options a no-brainer. Clearing someone's record when they've proven they've reformed just makes sense. 

Expanding expungement options allows people who have reformed their thinking and behavior the privilege of full, unrestricted citizenship. Those who have served their sentences, returned to their communities, and proven their ability to live lawfully should have the chance to remove the scarlet letter they bear. Rather than living forever with the stain of past bad decisions, they are free to be fully functioning, fully contributing members of their communities. This clean slate legislation is another of the great steps in criminal justice reform that rejects fear-based policies of the past and embraces redemptive approaches to justice. 

Please contact your state Senator and Representative to ask them to vote for the clean slate legislation. For more information on this package of bills, please visit www.safeandjustmi.org/Clean-Slate-for-Michigan. Thank you to Safe & Just Michigan for their hard work advocating for these bills. For more legislative updates on Michigan criminal justice policies, and to financially support their work of advocacy, subscribe to Safe & Just Michigan's quarterly newsletter.

New Crime Threatens Sentence Reforms

Last year nearly 5,000 federal prisoners were released early under the First Step Act, a sentencing reform bill that reduced penalties for some drug convictions and other non-violent crimes. The First Step Act intended to remedy inequitable sentences that disproportionately affected minorities, as well as incorporate new evidence that harsh sentences do not lead to greater community safety. This sentencing reform bill was a great step in the right direction to reduce over-incarceration. 

Unfortunately, as is sometimes the case with good prison and sentence reforms, the First Step Act released a prisoner who was re-arrested this week for murder. This tragedy has opponents of prison reform smugly crying, "See, I told you so!" Nevertheless, as tragic as this murder is, we have to ask if we should halt prison and sentencing reforms simply because someone who benefits from the reforms abuses his blessing. I argue we should not. 

If someone is ticketed for speeding, fails to learn his or her lesson, and drives recklessly again, killing someone in an accident, should we react by taking away the licenses of everyone caught speeding? No, of course not, but that is the reactionary response to so-called failures from prison reform. As is the case with most crime, these failures are sensationalized in the news, and politicians and the public react to the exception rather than the rule. 

I'm sure others of the 5,000 released prisoners have committed other crimes and returned to prison. The national recidivism rate is high enough to guess that. But many others, too, have gone on to lead productive, reformed lives. Should we deny these prisoners the benefits of reform simply because of the small number who waste their freedom? 

We cannot anticipate what people will do with a second (or third, or fourth) chance at freedom. Some will do well, and some will not. That does not mean that we should stop reforming inequitable sentences or incorporating new evidence showing that long sentences do not lead to safer communities. We've been on the right track in changing laws to recognize the injustice of mass incarceration. Let's not derail the progress of justice simply to prevent what might happen.

Can You Make Someone Respect You?

The dictionary definition of *respect* is to have a high regard for. When we think of respect, we often think of it as something deserved or earned by another. Using this definition, I can name several people throughout my prison bit who have earned my respect. Their behavior, the way they treat others, and the way they keep their word are all elements that have earned my respect. But prison culture has a strange, and different, way of looking at respect. 

This culture assumes that you will respect the next man, whether he deserves it or not. This sort of respect is not to have a high regard for, but it is to honor another's pride. For example, one of my pet peeves is when people stop in the middle of a doorway, just standing there, and have no awareness (or respect?) for others around them. This happens *all the time* in prison. This lack of awareness for others is not respectful. It is rude and inconsiderate. But this behavior is not a personal assault on my own honor. It is simply general inconsideration for others. 

When someone is generally inconsiderate, it might yield a sharp rebuke or an under-the-breath curse, but it rarely rises to the level of "disrespect" that requires a physical response. No, these cases occur when someone's personal honor is at stake. Prison culture would have someone respond with violence when they are disrespected, when their own personal honor or reputation is demeaned. What it really boils down to, though, is pride and the desire to not look weak. 

This week I observed an example of this demand for respect. At breakfast a man several people in front of me made a simple request to the server behind the line. The server responded by cursing at him and calling him names. The man waiting for his food, a man I know to be peaceful and respectful of others, was forced to make a decision. Either he could ignore the disrespect of the server, which could cause the man to look weak, or he could respond with violence, defending his honor and right to be respected. His internal struggle with what to do took too long. The officers saw the situation, surrounded him, and took him out in handcuffs. He had done nothing and said nothing. He simply *looked* like he was about to. 

Everyone in the chow line knew the struggle this man faced, because they have faced it before. You can't be in prison for long without facing these situations. The question is, do you guard your reputation with violence (verbal or physical), or do you choose to stay peaceful and possibly look weak? This quandary is a matter of character, but it is also a matter of safety. If you look weak, you could be targeted for exploitation by others. 

In other countries where honor cultures are the norms, it is not one's own honor that is carefully guarded. It is the honor of a family or a community. In the United States, where rugged individualism reigns supreme, communal honor is hardly even considered. But prison culture strangely mixes these two norms. It is one's personal honor that matters the most and must be protected at all costs. 

But not all prisoners live by prison's cultural norm. Instead, they recognize the brokenness of others, give grace as they desire to have it, and choose to live peacefully with others, as much as they can. While some prisoners may view this choice as weakness, many others come to view these prisoners with real respect--the kind that is well deserved.

How Can Prison Be a Gift?

As a prisoner it is easy to get stuck focusing on the losses one experiences in coming to prison. We lose our freedom, both our physical freedom and our ability to freely make many daily choices that others take for granted. Many prisoners also lose money they've saved, relationships they've built, formerly good reputations, and even hope for a future.

Prisoners who have thought deeply about their crimes also focus on the losses they caused others. We prisoners are not the only ones who lost out because we came to prison. Our families suffer many losses too. The communities to which we belonged also suffer losses. And, most importantly, our victims and their families suffer losses, many of which we are powerless to make right. So, loss is a constant theme in prison.

When I recently mentioned to a friend some of the things prison has taken from me, this friend asked, "But what has prison given you?" It was a profound question I haven't been able to get out of my mind. Prison has given me some things, for which I am very grateful. Although I would never choose prison, without my prison experience I wouldn't be the person I am today. Instead, I'd still be stuck in the same pointless and harmful patterns of my past. Prison has provided for me the setting I needed so I could make critical changes in my life.

Just a few of the many things prison has given me include:

1. Time and space for deep self-reflection--these are critical for facing and healing from past hurt, deeply embedded insecurities, and faulty thinking and belief patterns.

2. Surprising friendships--some of the strongest and most authentic friendships I've ever formed have been with other prisoners. These men will be lifelong friends.

3. Time for education--I've been blessed with an opportunity to earn a bachelor's degree while incarcerated. My life prior to prison would not have afforded the time for such an accomplishment.

4. Exposure to different people--it's easy to become insular in our lives. Prison has exposed me to people and cultures I would never have known outside of prison, and the experience has made me more compassionate and aware of others' hardships.

5. A greater awareness of (in)justice--exposure to the often unjust "justice" system has heightened my awareness of the injustices I've caused and that others daily experience. It has also opened my eyes to the brokenness of a system I formerly thought was fair.

6. A space for deep theological reflection--life's busy-ness in the free world affords little time to think deeply about one's beliefs. Prison has given me the space for deep theological reflection where I have learned the importance of living out my faith authentically in all I do.

Yes, prison takes a lot from those who are incarcerated. But it gives a lot too, if one is ready to receive it. Prison sucks, yes, but it can also be a gift received with gratefulness if one wishes to be positively changed by it.
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Extraordinary Story of Grace Gives Prisoners Hope

Friday afternoon I sat in the auditorium at Handlon Correctional Facility listening to a visiting special speaker. Kate Grosmaire, the author of *Forgiving My Daughter's Killer,* was the scheduled keynote speaker at the third annual restorative justice conference to be held in Grand Rapids, Michigan the next day. But first, she came to speak to the incarcerated men who had helped organize the conference from within prison. She shared with us her moving story of forgiving the man who killed her daughter. 

As I sat and listened to her remarkable story, I looked around me. In the first two rows of men, I counted at least ten murder victims represented. The men who took these victim's lives sat enraptured by Grosmaire's unusual story of forgiveness. Others, too, who were convicted of crimes that did not take anyone's life, listened intently. 

Grosmaire's story is unique and moving, but it is also a source of hope for so many of us men in prison. Her story of how she and her husband Steve forgave their daughter's boyfriend, Conor, who killed her represented possibilities so many of us men only dare to dream of. We also identified with the stiff resistance they faced from the judicial system as they sought to meet with Conor in a restorative justice dialogue prior to a plea agreement or trial. 

Despite the obstacles and opposition, the Grosmaire's did have a pre-adjudication dialogue with Conor, sharing their hurts and what they needed from him. Because this conference was held in a way that protected Conor from prosecution for anything he said there, he was also free to express his grief and tell the story of what happened. The Grosmaire's were also able to express to the state prosecutor who attended the conference the sentence they wished for Conor. It was much lower than what the State was recommending, but Conor still received a sentence twice what the Grosmaires asked for. 

Today, the Grosmaires continue to communicate with Conor. They are pleased to know he is a law clerk in prison, one of only 4% of Florida prisoners who have a prison job. He also facilitates important classes for other prisoners, paying forward the remarkable grace he experienced. Grosmaire stated that she and her husband believe Conor can be an asset to the community when he is released from prison. After all, he is already an asset to his own community within prison. 

The Grosmaire's story of grace and forgiveness is so extraordinary because it is so unusual. But their story is also inspiring because it demonstrates the incredible, healing power of forgiveness and holds out hope for redemption--even for the worst of us. As Grosmaire ended her story of loss, grace, and forgiveness, she looked out to her audience of convicted criminals and said, "I believe in redemption. I believe in redemption for everyone." It was a gift of grace she left with us, a hope that we too could find forgiveness and redemption.

How Do We Measure Remorse?

Everyone responds to shame and fear in different ways. Some responses are very visible and public. Others are private and unseen. This variety of responses is perhaps no more obvious than in how people accused of crimes react in a courtroom. Some make emotional displays of grief or anger, and others remain stoic, seemingly apathetic to the harms they've been accused of or the potential prison sentence they are facing. 
Ten years ago last month, I was sentenced to seventeen to forty-five years in prison. I had been sitting in the county jail for seven months as lawyers on both sides delayed proceedings. I was offered a plea deal early on but rejected it, not because I claimed to be innocent, but because my lawyer advised me to reject that plea for various reasons. Eventually, I accepted a slightly different plea deal and was sentenced within the following weeks. 

At my sentencing, my attorney made it clear, at my request, that I had always maintained my guilt of the charge to which I pled. The judge asked me several questions, which I answered, and then I was given a brief moment to speak. It was my first opportunity to publicly address the crime to which I had just pled guilty. I had spent hours the night before agonizing, through many tears, over how to adequately express my sorrow for what I'd done. It was important to me that I express to those I'd harmed and others affected by my crime how remorseful I am for what I'd done. 

As I nervously read my prepared statement, my whole body trembled because of the fear and shame I felt. My statement was briefer than I wanted, but some of the remorse I needed to express could not be suitably done in such a public setting. It was important to me that I think very carefully about how my words would impact those who mattered the most. 

When I finished speaking, the judge addressed me with a scathing rebuke before he sentenced me. He rightly rebuked me for my crime, but then he accused me of being remorseless. Because I had not shed any tears at my sentencing, he interpreted my stoicism as a lack of remorse. He couldn't have been further from the truth. For seven months I had cried myself to sleep nearly every night. I cried mostly for the destruction I had caused and for the many people who suffered because of me. I also cried because I was losing the most important people in my life. But I cried and grieved privately. 

Anyone who really knows me knows that public displays of emotions have not always been easy for me. But the judge didn't know me--he never spoke with me except in court. The prosecutor didn't know me--he never once spoke to me. My own defense lawyer didn't even really know me--I'd only seen him three times in seven months. To be fair though, nobody really knew me--I didn't even know myself. Nevertheless, it was hard hearing myself characterized as unremorseful, for that couldn't have been further from the truth. 

Everyone responds differently to shame and fear. But we shouldn't be so quick to judge a person's remorse or lack thereof based on emotional demonstrations. For some people, like me, public displays of emotion are difficult. For others, emotional displays are natural, and they appear authentic. If we really want to know if someone is remorseful for causing others harm, we have to get to know them. Unfortunately, it's far easier to make snap judgments based on first impressions.

Radical Act of Forgiveness Makes National News

I used to love watching the news to stay caught up on current events. As a teenager and younger man, I had an interest in politics, so the news fed my interest. But over the last ten years, I've become tired of watching what has, to me, become a partisan propaganda machine. It's difficult to get the truth anymore. Instead, news reporting is grossly slanted in one political direction or another. Maybe it's always been that way, and now I'm simply aware of it. I don't know. 

The national news, especially, is always so negative. Heart-moving stories are seldom seen. So, when I saw a touching story about radical forgiveness recently, I knew I had to write about it. As many touching stories go, this one started with heartbreak. Amber Guyger, a white police officer, shot and killed her upstairs neighbor in what has been characterized as a "tragic mistake." Upon opening the door of what she thought was her own apartment, she saw Botham Jean, a black man she apparently did not know, and drew her weapon, firing at him immediately. Only after firing did Guyger realize she had not entered her own apartment. Tragically, Jean died from the gunshot wound. 

Because I am not privy to the details of the case as presented in court, I do not know how it is possible that Guyger could have made such a mistake, nor why she reacted so violently without question. Clearly, she made a terrible mistake, but was it simply her training as a police officer that caused her to react so swiftly, without question? I don't know. The jury was clearly convinced of her guilt, but they were also convinced that she had no premeditated intent to murder Jean. She was convicted and sentenced to a ten-year prison sentence. 

The moving part of the story happened after Guyger's sentence. Botham Jean's younger brother Brandt, only eighteen years old, approached Guyger in the courtroom and embraced her. Along with his shocking embrace, Brandt offered Guyger his forgiveness, choosing to not hold bitterness towards his brother's killer. Even the judge was moved by such a display of radical forgiveness. 

It didn't take long for the critics to appear, condemning Brandt for his actions and racializing the story. But what right do they have to condemn Brandt for choosing forgiveness? Does he not have the right to choose how he responds to this tragedy? Others have now filed a lawsuit against the judge for "overstepping" judicial propriety. Does the judge not have discretion to pursue justice in all its forms, including restorative justice? Or are judges restricted to harsh retribution? 

While I find it additionally tragic that others not involved in the case feel compelled to tell Brandt, his family, and the judge what justice should look like, I'm glad this is a national story. Brandt and his radical display of forgiveness is moving because it's so uncommon. Yet, in being uncommon, it is also what so many of us long for in our own lives. 

Botham Jean's death is a tragedy--one Brandt and the rest of the family will have to live with for the rest of their lives. It's a tragedy Guyger will have to live with, too. But Brandt's example of radical forgiveness has jump-started the path towards healing. It also provides the rest of us a picture of what is possible if we, too, choose to respond to tragedy with compassion.

Shaped by Our Memories and by Those We've Loved

For every prisoner certain dates hold great significance, and often great sadness and longing. These dates might be special holidays that the prisoner shared with family--the cherished memories and realization of lost opportunities cause regret. The dates might also be significant because of a lost loved one, the birth date of a child, or even the anniversary of one's crime. Each special date holds meaning, and prisoners respond to these dates in different ways.

Some holidays in many of the ten-plus years I've been in prison have been particularly difficult for me because of the precious memories I hold of those holidays with my family. Only in recent years have I been able to celebrate these holidays, using memories of times with my family as moments of celebration. I choose now to celebrate with others, when appropriate, and to hold dearly the memories of the past. My celebrations are still tinged with deep regret, but I choose to focus on how my life is better because of those I've loved and built memories with.

Sometimes prisoners completely ignore holidays--the memories they trigger are too difficult to bear. I know many prisoners who do not want anyone mentioning their birthday. For them, their birthdays are filled with deep regret and feelings of hopelessness. Some have even told me their birthdays are not celebrations because they wish they'd never been born.

I've also known prisoners who use the anniversary of their crime to fast and spend the day in memory of their victims. Others have done the same for significant losses in their lives--the death of a mother, a wife, or a child. Some even tattoo significant dates on their bodies as a memorial to those they've lost.

Whether we admit it or not, our memories, and those in our memories, have shaped us to who we are today. I know my life is more complete because of how I've been shaped by those I've loved. Even ten-plus years in prison, my life is still shaped by people I've cherished. I struggle every day to overcome the mistakes I made in my past, to become the man I should have been all along, and to make my life a story of redemption. That is the gift I offer to those who have made such an impact on me. That is how I celebrate those who remain special in my heart.
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Michigan Courts Drag Their Feet on Complying with Supreme Court Ruling

In 2012 the US Supreme Court ruled in Miller v. Alabama that mandatory life sentences for juvenile offenders were unconstitutional. In 2016 they ruled in Montgomery v. Louisiana that their prior decision should be applied retroactively to juvenile offenders already sentenced to life. At the time of the ruling, Michigan had the second highest number of juvenile offenders serving life next to Pennsylvania. We also had an Attorney General (Bill Schutte) who determined to fight tooth and nail against the ruling of the highest court in the land. 

Today, three-and-a-half years after the Montgomery ruling, Michigan has only re sentenced less than half of its juvenile lifers. By contrast, Pennsylvania's Philadelphia County, which had almost as many juvenile lifers as all of Michigan, has re sentenced nearly all of their juvenile lifers. The difference lies primarily in the approach Michigan has taken to conform to the Supreme Court ruling. 

In its recognition that juvenile brains are not fully developed, the Miller decision required courts to consider five factors when re sentencing juvenile lifers. These are:
1. The circumstances of the homicide
2. Environmental vulnerabilities the offender faced at the time of the crime
3. Evidence around rehabilitation
4. Information around the original case (i.e., an offender's ability to interact with law enforcement, and how his attorney handled his case)
5. The age of the defendant at the time of the crime

Unfortunately, some prosecutors are heavily weighing some factors while virtually ignoring others, contrary to the Court's intentions. To be fair, every case is unique and requires a close look to determine a proper sentence when re sentencing these offenders. But Michigan prosecutors have requested continuation of life sentences for two-thirds of its juvenile lifers. This hardly comports with the intention of our country's highest court. 

Part of the reason for such a high request for continued life sentences is that the Michigan legislature made it impossible for prosecutors to modify their requests from a term of years to life if evidence pointed in that direction. Instead, prosecutors are only able to modify their recommended sentence down from life to a term of years. Consequently, many juvenile offenders are waiting, many of them for years past the date they could be released, for Michigan's courts to move on re sentencing them. 

Re sentencing hundreds of defendants takes time, but Michigan needs to stop dragging its feet. It's not fair to the defendants, and it's not fair to the families of their victim. While the Supreme Court's ruling finally brought sentencing laws (concerning juveniles subject to life sentences) into line with science, victims' families face uncertainty. They have a reasonable expectation of finality, and it is unfair for the Michigan courts to be dragging their feet on re sentencing these offenders. 

Because science has shown that juvenile brains are not fully developed, it's reasonable for our society to expect that kids who commit terrible crimes are able to positively change. As the Miller decision clarified, it should only be the rare  juvenile offender, who has shown no ability to positively change, who is re sentenced to life in prison. Instead, Michigan continues to thumb its nose at the Supreme Court. Something's got to change.

Hurry Up and Matter!

The story is all-too familiar. The gavel slams as the sentence is handed down. Within days, the long and lonely trip to prison is punctuated by a razor wire topped gate slamming shut behind the prisoner as he steps into another world. He leaves behind a different life, often taking nothing but memories with him. At first, family and a few friends write, visit, or put money on the prisoner's books. But within a couple of years, the letters slow down, the money stops, people return to their busy lives, and out of sight out of mind becomes a mantra for the prisoner. Soon, his fear that he doesn't matter is reinforced. If he's self-aware, the prisoner blames himself for his predicament. He did the crime, he must do the time. It's not the fault of friends and family. They have lives to live and bills to pay. But secretly, deep in his heart, he still longs to matter. He wants to be remembered, to have value to those he left behind. Prison has stripped so much from him that he struggles to find a purpose for his existence. If someone would just show that they remember him. So, he anxiously waits, sometimes standing at his cell door as mail is passed out. Will he get some mail today? He races to the kiosk multiple times a day to check his mail. Will someone send a picture or a message? Again and again he is disappointed. An occasional message stirs up hope in his heart again, but it quickly fades. He's been forgotten. He doesn't matter anymore. He turns his attention, instead, to prison volunteers, trying to impress them and prove his worth. Or maybe it's a staff member he tries to impress. He asserts himself in programs, becomes a legal beagle or prisoner representative, or pushes proposals that will give him a sense of purpose. Somehow, someway, he will prove his relevance. Society will know that he isn't a throw-away, and the family and friends who have forgotten him will regret turning their backs. Unfortunately, for most prisoners this rush to matter ends in disappointment. Many will resume filling their sense of emptiness with addictions and other harmful behaviors. This hurry to matter, to be relevant, is purely human. It's not unique to prisoners. We just don't have access to all of life's distractions to prop up a shaky facade that our lives have significance. We are social creatures who base our self-worth on others' estimations. But in our rush to matter, we often ignore the importance of simply being present where we are. When we choose presence over relevance, we see others who also long to matter. To be fair, it's difficult to be present in prison. It's so much easier to imagine a different reality, a better future. For those who are facing a lifetime in prison, chasing significance might be the best way to avoid deep depression. But even for lifers, feeling like you matter is almost always tied to helping others discover their own value. It means leaving the chase for significance and simply choosing to cultivate a contemplative life, fully aware of people and their needs, whether they are inside of prison or out. Choosing presence over the hurry to matter is not easy--even in prison. It is a moment-by-moment choice. The longing to matter never really goes away, but we can find some solace in the knowledge that we can offer our presence as a gift to others right where we are--even in prison. (This posting's title comes from David Dark's *Life's Too Short to Pretend You're Not Religious*)

Can Someone Who Commits Murder Reform?

On September 7, 2019 NBC aired a special with Lester Holt on Angola prison in Louisiana. Angola is the largest prison in the United States, and it used to be considered the most dangerous, too. But a lot has changed there over the last two decades. Now, Angola, which houses predominantly offenders who have been sentenced to LIFE in prison, is a place of transformation and rehabilitation. Many, but not all, of the programs offered at Angola are religious-based. Its now retired warden, Burl Cain, implemented many changes that recognized the importance of giving purpose to the prisoners. He believes in the importance of transforming broken lives, not simply throwing them away. 

Angola is now well-known for its prisoner-run rodeo, its farming and cattle, its craft fair, and its religious and educational programs that transform the lives of the criminals sent there. When Lester Holt visited the prison, he also experienced some of the stark realities of life behind bars. Some prisoners, mostly black, worked the fields for two cents per hour--the same fields that a century before were a plantation run by slaves. Today, the fields are still operated by slave labor, but slave labor that is still legal under the United States Constitution. The irony is hard to ignore. 

Holt also met several prisoners who have been incarcerated for more than 50 years, two of whom were sentenced to life in prison as juveniles. One prisoner's appeal to the United States Supreme Court changed the law for how juvenile offenders are sentenced. However, during Holt's visit to the prison, this offender was once again denied parole by the Louisiana parole board. 

The subject of giving offenders, particularly those who are guilty of murder, a chance at life outside of prison is difficult. It is fraught with a lot of emotion, hurt, pain, and anger. Why should someone who took the life of another person ever have the chance at freedom again? The conversation has gotten easier (but still not easy) when it comes to juvenile offenders. After all, science has proven that young brains are not fully formed. They don't have the capacity for judgment like adults do. 

But what about adult offenders? Should someone who commits murder never see freedom again? Some would argue fervently that they should not. Others believe in the power of redemption and believe these offenders should have the possibility for freedom again. The question really gets to the heart of what prison is for. If it is simply for punishment, many of these offenders should never be released. If it is to protect the public, we have to recognize that many of these offenders are no longer a danger to society. If it is for rehabilitation and reformation, then we have to allow for the possibility for a reformed offender to be free again. 

Mass incarceration has many causes, but tougher sentences, including a growing population of aging lifers, is at the root of the problem. If, as a society, we determine that redemption is either not possible or not available, we'll continue to see our prison population grow, no matter what other reforms we enact. But if we can see our way to believe in an offender's ability to change, we must make a path for redemption possible. Easy, no. Possible, yes. We can hold people accountable for their crimes while still believing in the possibility of redemption. If the most dangerous prison in the United States can transform to what it is today, a model to other prisons and states, then the people, including murderers, in that and other prisons can also reform.

Social Isolation Contributes to Reoffending

No society that fails to protect its citizens from exploitation and harm can long survive. So, crime has a stigma to it, and right it should. Citizens should be protected against crime. When citizens suffer because of the crimes of others, offenders should be held accountable. Nevertheless, a tension exists between stigmatizing crime and harmful actions, and stigmatizing the people who commit such acts. 

Harming another person, whether physically or in some other way, ought to be shameful. Our response to a person who harms someone else should be to shame them, but in a constructive way. Shaming an offender ought to be directed at reforming the offender's actions. John Braithwaite, an expert in restorative justice, calls this "reintegrative shaming." Holding someone accountable for bad behavior necessarily involves shame, but properly done, shame is restorative. It compels an offender to reform his behavior and to constructively contribute to society rather than harming it. Reintegrative shame leaves open the possibility of restoration to society's favor after proper reform has taken place. 

Unfortunately, very little constructive shame occurs today. Rather, shame is used as a weapon to isolate and ostracize people. It is used to divide people of different political ideologies. It is also used to stigmatize people based on religion, sexuality, race, and a host of other "identities." In the criminal justice system, toxic labels are applied to offenders with the sole intention of causing social isolation. Offenders who serve their time are released back to society stigmatized and ostracized. They face discrimination on many fronts, including housing, employment, and government benefits. They are even sometimes restricted from participating in the rights and privileges of everyday citizens. 

In his book, *Cannery Row*, John Steinbeck aptly notes, 
"There are two possible reactions to social isolation--either a man emerges determined to be better, purer, and kindlier or he goes bad, challenges the world and does even worse things. This last is by far the commonest reactions to stigma."

With a failure rate that would have long shuttered profit-seeking businesses, the criminal justice system sees 66% of its charges return to prison within three years of being released. *That* is shameful. The reasons for such a failure are many, and not all these reason belong on the shoulders of the criminal justice and prison systems. Offenders bear much of the weight of their own failure. However, the criminal justice system does bear some responsibility for its utter failure to reform its charges. 

Society, also, bears some responsibility. Until returning citizens are provided a true path back to social inclusion, to real belonging, many will continue to do, as Steinbeck put it, "even worse things." No one can long bear the weight of stigmatization, of social isolation, without eventually deciding to live up (or down!) to the expectations of society. 

Let's keep crime a shameful thing. Anyone ought to be ashamed for harming someone else. But let's also commit to making social ostracizing a thing of the past. Let's clear a path of redemption for those who, by reason of their shame, determine to emerge "better, purer, and kindlier."

Ten Ways to Spend a Summer Afternoon in Prison

It's true that there are no block parties, campouts, picnics, afternoons at the beach, or lazy evenings in the hammock sipping a cold beverage in prison. But beautiful weather and a relaxed attitude are two things prison can't keep out.

If you're not a prisoner in higher security levels, who are often restricted to a single hour of rec time per day, you can enjoy the beautiful weather outside. Some possibilities include:

1. Walk (or run) the track with a friend. The fresh air, exercise, and friendly conversation can add a little light to one's day.

2. Play a game of basketball, softball, cornhole, or horseshoes. This is an opportunity to build relationships, as well as have a little fun.

3. Hit the weight pit. Sure, it's warm, and you'll probably sweat a lot, but what else is a workout for?

4. Bring a book outside to read. You might need some music to tune out the noise around you, and you'll probably need a hat to shield the sun and a tea or (Countrytime) lemonade to refresh you. 

5. Cook up with some friends. Yes, it's microwaved food, not BBQ, but prison recipes can get creative, and what's summer without a "cookout?"

6. Write some letters. Your bunkie is probably outside enjoying the sun, so the room is quiet, and you can write for a while uninterrupted. 

7. Watch a game on TV. If it's summer, it's probably baseball, but it could be golf, tennis, or racing too. 

8. Take a nap. Most people are outside, so it'll be quiet. If you really want to go to sleep fast, watch a NASCAR race. 

9. Play a game of Scrabble. Okay, this is definitely a great activity year round, but it's a summer possibility, too. So are chess, dominoes, and card games. 

10. Write a blog post about ways to spend an afternoon in prison. Or, if you're not into writing blogs, use a summer afternoon for creative writing.

Sure, these activities are missing family and physical freedom, but prison doesn't have to steal all of your joy. While prison is not "normal" for anyone, it can have it's bright moments--but you have to make them happen.

Forgiveness is not a pardon. But it is a refuge.

"The last time I'd touched Conor, my daughter was alive. I wanted my hug to convey my forgiveness and my love for him. I was immensely sad for this young man whose previous life was over. Everything he could have been, he now had no chance to become. But I wanted him to know that we believed in redemption for him....Forgiveness is not a pardon. But it is a refuge: a place where broken people can come for healing, where the guilty can come for relief, where the wronged can come for hope."

These touching words were spoken by Kate Grosmaire, whose daughter Ann was killed by her boyfriend, and friend of the family, Conor. She tells her compelling story, with all of its visceral emotion, in her book Forgiving My Daughter's Killer. In the midst of their tragedy and deep grief over the loss of their daughter Ann, Kate and her husband Andy chose forgiveness. Inspired by their faith and their love for Conor and his family, Kate and Andy discovered restorative justice and chose to forgive Conor. 

As I have written before, forgiveness is a deeply personal and very difficult subject, especially when it involves tragedy and loss. Despite my own growing faith, I find it difficult to comprehend how a mother (and father) could forgive someone who killed their child. I'd like to have a faith that strong, to show the same kind of grace I've been given. I hope I never have to face that challenge. 

When I heard that Kate Grossmaire was slated to be the keynote speaker at this year's annual Restorative Justice Conference, I was thrilled. Forgiveness is a difficult thing for many of us, so who better to hear speak on such a difficult subject than someone like Kate who is walking that impossible path already. She will be joined by other speakers, and panel discussions. Although I've never met Kate, and I won't be able to attend the conference (prison officials frown on those sorts of requests), I hope that you'll be able to make it. If you support restorative justice, are curious about it, or even oppose it but are open to hearing more, please register and attend (it's free!). The details for the conference are below. If you'd like to attend, register by October 5, 2019 (and find more details) at: grdiocese.org/ministries/prison-and-jail-ministry/

Date/Time: Saturday, Oct. 19, 2019 - 9AM-3PM. 
Location: 
Cathedral Square Center
360 Division Ave. S. 
Grand Rapids, MI 49503

Be the Change You Wish to See in the World

Two more communities, El Paso, Texas and Dayton, Ohio, were rocked this week by devastating acts of mass shooting violence. Dozens of people lost their lives, and many more were injured or deeply impacted by the loss of loved ones. It is bewildering what motivates someone to carry out such violence against others. The frequency with which these mass acts of violence occur is causing a deeply entrenched panic in society. The randomness of it all, especially the helplessness of how to stop it, leaves law enforcement, lawmakers, and communities feeling profoundly powerless. 

News commentators are quick to highlight malicious white nationalism, and prosecutors hastily file hate crime charges. Finger pointing and politicizing begin before the first responders have even secured the scenes. Instead of working towards solutions, the rhetoric surrounding these tragic events devolves into hateful and accusatory exchanges, which only fuel more hatred. Our country is desperately broken, and nobody seems to understand why. Nobody wants to take responsibility.

The nonstop (and tiresomely long) hatred spewed through election campaigns, 24-hour news commentary, and politician Twitter wars can't possibly be to blame. It can't be the endless glorification of violence our children see on television, the internet, and in video games. It must not be the pervasive cyber-bullying our children endure from other children (and adults!) who learned (from where?) how to tear down rivals. Increases in addiction and mental health issues, at ever decreasing ages, certainly can't be to blame. So if none of these are responsible, who or what is?

Despite the fact that crime rates are down nationwide, children today experience trauma at unprecedented levels. According to a 2003 US Census Bureau report, although children under 18 years old represent only 26 percent of the US population, they account for approximately 50 percent of the witnesses and victims of violent acts. And that doesn't even take into account the violence they are exposed to on television, the internet, and through video games. Nearly half of today's teens suffer from the effects of significant trauma, including physical, sexual, and psychological violence. 

Some might argue, "yeah, but most kids aren't shooting up schools and malls, so it can't be that." But some are. Should we ignore the trauma our kids are experiencing, protect the corporations who profit from traumatizing our kids, fail to address our own contributions to that trauma, and continue to feed the hate machine through our blame-shifting, finger-pointing rhetoric? No, of course we shouldn't, but we still do. 

Every American, whether from the vibrant, bustling crowded streets of New York City or from sleepy, small-town middle-America, has to play a part in turning the tide of hate in our country. We have to take individual responsibility for the anxiety we cause our children through our own hateful attitudes. We have to call out our politicians and news outlets for spreading hate. We have to stop supporting corporations that profit from traumatizing our children. And we have to address addictions, mental health issues, and trauma our children are experiencing earlier and earlier in life. 

Individually, we can't do it all. But we can make a difference in our sphere of influence. We can say something when we see something instead of turning away in fear or shame. We can learn (and then teach!) how to have respectful discourse on disagreements. We can stand up for vulnerable people and empower those who feel powerless. If you don't know where to start, start right where you are. Just look around you--but really look. A lot of hurting, powerless people need you

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.