Photo provided by California Rehabilitation Center
The following was taken from a reflection by Bob Drummond, executive pastor at Emmanuel Church in Burbank, Calif., and an attendee at a recent graduation of Prison Fellowship’s theological and missionary training course in the California Rehabilitation Center (Norco).
As we walk into the chapel, the dreary images do not change. The walls are chipped, faded, and need painting. The lighting is haphazard and stark. But the dreary, colorless, neglected images are contrasted with 19 prisoners all dressed in their blues—light blue smocks with “CDCR” emblazoned on the backs with dark blue pants. Blacks, Latinos, and whites. Beards, shaved heads, and cornrows. Men, whose “outside” appearance communicated, I am a prisoner and I have done something that got me in here, but were joyfully playing instruments or singing with great volume, enthusiasm, and moderate skill. They were the chapel praise band and everything about their countenances and passion for worship was in contrast with their outward look. I could not stop staring. I was trying to comprehend the disunity of the “hard” prisoner joyfully singing praises to God. There was light in their eyes. There was peace in their eyes. There was life in their eyes. Yet, they had no earthly reason to have any of those expressions. What was I seeing? The image of Christ in a transformed man.
Safely in my assigned seat, I watched the men walk by to enter their pews. I immediately recognized “the walk.” After many years of working in inner city communities and visiting prisoners in jails and prisons (including my own nephew), I immediately noticed the walk.” It is a kind of a toes out, shoulder swaying gait. It is an urban waddle. It is not a walk you recognize as normal. I believe it is a walk that you learn and it communicates both confidence and menace. It communicates I know that I am bad so stay out of my way. It reminds me of roosters strutting around with their heads bobbing forward trying to show other roosters who is the “baddest” rooster is in the barn. After many years ministering on the streets and in schools, I had learned to beware of this walk. Yet, though I saw many prisoners with the walk, it was softened by a countenance that was not threatening. I noticed how many acknowledged one another with nods and smiles. Occasionally one would break away from the line to give a “bro hug” to another inmate. I even noticed some nodding at me, saying in their own way, We know you don’t belong here but you are welcome. Again, the juxtaposition of the urban, “gang banger” look with the peaceful, sometimes joyful countenance created emotional disequilibrium. What as I really seeing?
As they continued walking by, I immediately noticed that they were not segregated by race. In my experience, this was unusual for a prison. I saw blacks sitting with whites, Hispanics giving up their seats for blacks. I also noticed the tattoos—the many tattoos. Not tattoos that reflected carefully chosen art work or a personal statement. These were not roses, butterflies or Chinese symbols for peace. These were tattoos that declared allegiance and identity to dark things. These were tattoos in the right environment could get them killed. And unlike the tattoos we see in our popular culture that are carefully placed on a shoulder, arm or ankle, many of these tattoos were on the hands, the neck, and on their faces. These were life-altering tattoos, not trendy expressions. They implied threat. They communicated, I don’t care what you think of me. Yet, I did not see danger. I did not see hate. Over and over I saw love. I saw freedom. I saw transformation. I saw men, who in a normal environment would have hated each other, worshipping Jesus together. Their worship was loud and unrestrained. It came from the heart and soul. There was no “mailing it in” with this group. They were keeping it real.
Soon, the worship band began to play “Pomp and Circumstance.” The graduates began walking toward the front of the chapel, wearing their black caps and gowns. I could imagine it was one of the most important walks of their lives. This graduation was not acknowledging a mild achievement. It was not a participation award or perfect attendance acknowledgement. This graduation signified the successful completion of 16 challenging, theological, and ministry-training courses. It represented hundreds and hundreds of hours of reading, studying, and coursework. It represented a minimum of 60 memory verses, 16 exegetical papers, 16 ministry projects, almost 50 quizzes, and 16 final exams. But mostly the graduation represented completion—the completion of a formidable goal that took a lot of time and effort. It represented a sustained effort without quitting. I am sure for many of the TUMI graduates this was the first time they had completed anything of value or substance that required sustained effort.
Perhaps most dramatically was the graduate who, at 10 years of age, had witnessed the murder of his own mother at the hands of his father. He spent the next 18 years slamming heroin and running from everyone and everything. He was institutionalized three times for psychological problems, and incarcerated many other times. Standing in his cap and gown, confidently articulating that he was only in his “right mind” due to Christ and the training he had received, he was a picture of complete transformation.
Over the last several days, I have continued to wonder why this particular moment was so impactful to me. After all, I have been involved with urban ministry in some way for over 30 years. I have seen plenty of inner city graduations. I have heard many testimonies of former gang bangers who gave their lives to Christ. I have seen changed lives. However, I have also seen some of those same people, whom we celebrated in a moment in time, return to the life they left or have their faith and commitment to Christ weakened by life and desire. I learned a long time ago to temper my hope and my celebration because often changes don’t last long. However, I realized that celebrating a TUMI graduation was different. This was not just a moment of change; it represented years of diligence and commitment. And they did it without the normal support and tools the rest of us have. The length and depth of their study of the Word of God literally changed the way they think. It changed the way they think about themselves. It changed the way they think about God. It changed the way they think about the Word of God. And most importantly, it was clear that it changed the way they responded to God. These were not just born-again believers. These were born-again believers who have become mature in the unity of Christ (Eph 4:12-13). With this kind of “renewing of the mind” there is no going back.
