On the east side of Lancaster city sits a stone castle. The backside of this fortress has tall and foreboding walls that would intimidate the most evil villains, while the front has a grand entrance that is only missing a drawbridge and moat. A visitor may inquire about the history of this unique structure--did it once house someone of royal decent? Hardly.
Allow me to take you on a tour of this building and introduce you to some of those who inhabit it.
Here's what you may typically find:
Upon opening the front doors, you will immediately notice that no royal guard is in attendance here. Instead, men dressed in uniform gruffly greet you, and if you're "lucky" a trained German Shepherd may give you a quick sniff for drugs. You had better get a small locker assignment, as you will need a place to store your keys, your jewelry, your cell phone, your money and anything else that is a sign of the world in which you just left behind you on the other side of those front doors.
I recommend a quick trip to the bathroom. But wait...you'll have to ask one of the uniformed men for a key to gain access.
"I don't have to go to the bathroom," you may protest. That's okay. You should still go wash your hands. Not just your hands. Your wrists too. You'll want to get any trace of drugs off your skin before being tested by the drug monster. Don't laugh. I don't do drugs either, but what about the people who last touched the money you handled or the door you just opened? Can you say the same for them? I know people who have never used an illegal substance in their life but failed to get past the drug monster. We always wash our hands.
It's time to go through the metal detectors and the scrutiny that they deem necessary to assure it is safe to let you enter into the next room of the castle. Until you get the green light, it's okay if you feel a little anxious. I usually do.
But today, we can forgo most of these formalities. Today, we are here with an honorable ministry called Justice and Mercy to spread Christmas cheer to the residence of this gated community. Each person in attendance today has paid to be here. PAID for the opportunity to go through the gates and serve the people on the other side. They are the only "common citizens" (except those employed at the castle, lawyers and social workers) who will ever be given clearance to go into the inter-sanctum. How have we gotten this honor? God's favor. So, today, just walk through the metal detectors with me as I look back on my day behind the castle walls. My day in prison. Ready?
Armed with bags of whoopie pies and customized Christmas cards that shared love, care, compassion and the Gospel, we followed a sassy, short-haired staff member through an open door and into a small holding area. BANG. The door we passed through slammed shut behind us. We were walled in on every side.
"Wolfie," she yelled. "D-Block!" A buzzer sounded and the door ahead of us pulled open. I'm not sure which struck me first. The sight or the smell. No, the doors didn't open into cathedral ceilings with beautiful stained glass. They opened into a close, tight, windowless corridor constructed of concrete. The smell was not that of lush foods cooking in a grand kitchen, but rather one of worn gym socks mingled with odd cleaning chemicals. I can still close my eyes and remember the smell.
Wolfie, by the way, was a person. She controlled the door to D-Block (and so much more). She met us at the end of the hall.
The temperature seemed to change by 20 degrees. It was so hot I had a hard time breathing. What was the thermostat set to in this part of the prison? 85 degrees? I could feel sweat roll down my neck. This girl was not meant for warm indoor places.
"Most of the women are still sleeping," Wolfie said. "They'll wake up when they know why you're here."
Gates and doors seemed to bang everywhere as we followed our guide toward a short corridor.
On the right were tiny cells, even awkwardly smaller than they appear on TV shows. To the left, a dark wall displayed small windows. I looked through the first window only to see a tiny patch of grass and a thick wall directly across from me--you know, one of those foreboding walls that I suggested would intimidate evil villains. (Ironic, huh?) The lack of nature was striking; however, not nearly as striking as the thin-framed woman I first encountered. She was sitting on the side of her bed and was about to be the first recipient of our gift.
"Merry Christmas," we said, as we handed her a big whoopie pie and our card. The words stung me, actually. Merry Christmas? Was this mockery? There was no sparkling Christmas tree, no pleasant music or handcrafted nativity scene anywhere to be found. Who was this woman? She had parents that wouldn't be celebrating Christmas with their daughter. Maybe she had children of her own. They would have a Christmas without their mama, and she would remain without them. What had she done to end up here during the "most wonderful time of the year?"
"Thank you! Merry Christmas," she replied in a faint, sleepy voice. She seemed genuinely grateful. As did the next six or seven women we saw as we walked that corridor. Most were just waking up or still sleeping, though everyone of them woke up and welcomed our short visit.
It was then that I started to realize that they didn't feel mocked. They felt loved. Somehow a whoopie pie and Christmas card said, "You have not been forgotten. You are loved." And, as we retraced our steps to return to Wolfie, I saw genuine smiles on the faces of wounded women, as they held a whoopie pie in one hand and read our Christmas greeting, which they held in their other hand.
I heard in my head: "Whatever you have done for the least of these...you have done for Me, Julie."
Matthew 25: 44-45 44"... 'Lord, when did we see You hungry, or thirsty, or a stranger, or naked, or sick, or in prison, and did not take care of You?' 45"Then He will answer them, 'Truly I say to you, to the extent that you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to Me.'
I tried to take in all the sights on D-Block. There wasn't much to remember. A small common area with a rough table and some plastic chairs, a book shelf with some tattered and worn books--none that particularly interested me at a quick glance. Bars, beds with thin blankets, a toilet and sink....and women. Lost women. Broken women. All labeled "criminals," but without any knowledge of their crimes, they just looked like you and me.
They ARE like you and me. Aren't we all just one wrong decision away from being right where they are? "Oh, I would NEVER..." you may be thinking. Really? But by the grace of God alone, my friends.
We left D-Block and I will likely never see those women again. But I will never forget them.
Our next destination? Ad Seg.
Yeah, I didn't know what that was either.
Ad Seg is short for Administrative Segregation. It is one of the most high security areas within the prison, reserved for prisoners who are possibly in mortal danger within the general population. It is a sort of solitary confinement, but should not be confused with "The Hole" which is far worse. (I can't imagine!) The inmates in Ad Seg may be witnesses against other inmates; arrested for particular types of crimes targeted by gangs or hate-crimes within the prison system; "snitches"; thieves; etc...
This is interesting. As I heard, some of the people in that area came into the prison system as drug addicts in the general population. As they came off their drugs, they craved sugar to help take away some of the negative side-effects of withdraw. They would borrow sugary concessions from fellow inmates with a promise to pay them back as soon as they had "outside money" available to them. However, not everyone has a family on the outside that can (or will) support their inmate. So, when no money ever appears for the borrower, and it becomes clear he/she will be unable to pay back their sugar debt, they may be sent to Ad Seg for their own safety. Imagine going to solitary confinement for your sugar addiction gone bad. Huh.
As our short-haired guide walked us through a labyrinth of nondescript corridors she gave us a warning. "When we go in here, don't hand the gift directly to them. We don't know why they are in here and it would be best if they didn't make physical contact with you. Just sit down the treat and the card and they can take it from the slot." The slot?
The correctional officer on duty was a very tall, handsome African American man who gave us the same warning. He seemed to have a friendly relationship with the men and women behind heavy, steel doors. He'd rap on the door and call in through a small "talking" area--"Hey, Santos, you want a whoopie pie?" A face would appear in a thin rectangular window. "Yes, sir!"
The C.O. unlocked--yes, UNLOCKED--a slot in the door where we laid the whoopie pie and card. "Merry Christmas," we said.
WE--three young women who knew nothing about this culture, this fourth-world country we were visiting. We stood out in such an awkward way.
The whoopie pies vanished through the slot and everything was, once again, locked and secured. At least 10 men and 1 women received our gift in the Ad Seg population that day. And a tear welled up when one of them said, "God bless you" in response to our kindness.
In stark contrast to Ad Seg, we headed to the Work Release area. This is possibly the most relaxed segment of the prison. Here, the men we visited were staying in something that resembled more of a dormitory. They were not in cells, but in concrete cubicles with an open entrance and short walls so they could stand up and see the entire block. These inmates, obviously, earned significant trust to be placed in such unconstrained quarters.
In the common area, two little mirrors hung on a wall. "Limit: one man shaving at a mirror" said the handwritten sign between them.
Four phones hung on another wall.
Tables and chairs were gathered in a social formation, and a TV was playing in the room.
The C.O called for all men to return to their cubicles so they could receive their whoopie pies. He walked along with us, but allowed us to put one step into each dwelling unit to extend our gift.
"Merry Christmas!" we would say.
The variety of responses? "Thank you so much!" "God bless you!" "We have been looking forward to your visit for over a month." (Wow--they had heard we'd be coming!) "You have a very Merry Christmas, too."
These faces looked like my friends. My brother. My nephews. Much like I had felt with the women, these men struck me as just ordinary people. Fathers. Sons. Brothers. Uncles. All absent from their loved ones this holiday.
"The least of these..." I heard again.
As we left this area, most of the men had gathered back in the social area. Some where on the phones, eating their whoopie pies while they talked to friends and family. Others were chatting with one another at tables. As we headed for the exit many of them thanked us again and wished us a Merry Christmas.
I had no idea where I was in the castle. The corridors all looked the same and I was disoriented. I tried to think of shows like Prison Break and Orange is the New Black--this was nothing like that. Don't believe everything you see on TV. (Not that you do)
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Hanging over all of these halls and cell blocks were spirits of sadness, regret, darkness, and depression....spirits so thick they could be felt as if they were a tangible force. But for one brief moment, we carried with us LOVE and JOY and HOPE and GRATITUDE and...JESUS. And when the Light comes into the darkness, the darkness MUST flee.
At Easter, Justice and Mercy hands out chocolate crosses to the inmates. Put my name on the list to go again! I would gladly pay $200 to have this opportunity again. I would be remiss not to say a huge THANK YOU to Dr. Clayton Stitzel of Lancaster Spinal Health who, without knowing me, personally sponsored me to have this particular ministry opportunity. My heart is huge for prison ministry.
Hebrews 13:2-3 2Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by this some have entertained angels without knowing it.3Remember the prisoners, as though in prison with them, and those who are ill-treated, since you yourselves also are in the body.
