PROTESTANTS IN PRISON [F, 2-23-24]

CHRIST IN WINTER: Reflections on Faith & Life for the Years of Winter—PROTESTANTS IN PRISON [F, 2-23-24]

 

In Lent, we are to practice spiritual disciplines—prayer, fasting, Bible study, meditation, etc. But we need to be careful not to neglect the social disciplines of faith. Jesus said, “Where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them.” [Mt 18:20]

When I was the campus minister in Terre Haute, Indiana, I was also a volunteer assistant chaplain at the federal penitentiary there. In those days, prisoners, at least in The Protestant Brotherhood, divided themselves up by crime rather than race. The bank robbers chose me as their chaplain.

I was not the only preacher in the group. The real leader was Bert. He was one of the kindest souls I have ever known—focused on the needs of everyone else. He loved singing and Bible study and his fellow inmates. But Bert never smiled.

One day a guard came to get Bert during a group meeting. I was worried, but the others assured me it was nothing strange. “It means the warden might have news about Bert getting out. He’s been working on that ever since Bert came here.” Then they told me Bert’s story… why Bert never smiled.

He was a young Baptist preacher in Memphis. His children got sick. He had no money to get help for them. So, he robbed a bank.

He immediately realized the wrongness of what he had done. He went to the men of his church and told them. They said, “We’ll go with you to the police.” They did. When his trial came up, they vouched for him, said they would watch over him to be sure nothing like that happened again.

He was a first-time offender. All the money was returned. No one was hurt. His church vouched for him. And the judge sentenced him to 40 years.

 

When I knew him, he was half-way through that sentence. His wife had divorced him. She knew he wasn’t getting out. His children had grown up without him. No one came to visit him. He never smiled. He had no reason to smile.

The warden at the Terre Haute penitentiary realized the injustice of Bert’s sentence. There were much worse men in that pen who were serving lesser sentences. The warden had worked for years to try to get Bert a new trial. It became more difficult every year. The judge died. Witnesses died. Men of the church died. Prosecutors never want to retry a case.

Bert came back to group that day. He was not smiling. Somone asked how his meeting had gone. Bert just shook his head. 

At the end of Lent, The Protestant Brotherhood had its annual Easter banquet. It was in a room off the regular prison cafeteria, with the regular prison food, but it was a banquet. The guest speaker was a former member of the group. His last name was Hood, so in the Brotherhood, he was always called Brother Hood.

His speech was simple and eloquent. I am not demeaning his way of speaking, just trying to let you get the real hearing of it…

 “When I done come to this big house, I didn even know how ta read and write. But here, in this bruthuhood, you done taughten me ta read and write. And I didn know ‘bout Jesus, or the Bible. But here in this bruthuhood, you done taughten me ‘bout Jesus. Now I’m on the outside. I’ve got a good job, driving heavy ‘quipment. I’m the assistant pastor at my church. Because I’ve been in this bruthuhood, if I don’t make it on the outside, you don’t make it, either. But if I make it on the outside, then you done made it, too.”

I was sitting across the table from Bert… and I saw Bert smile.

John Robert McFarland

I tell this story in more detail in The Strange Calling.