During these unconventional times, perhaps we should consider an unconventional way!
TEAR OFF THE ROOF
Taking the Unconventional Way
And when He had come back to Capernaum several days afterward, it was heard that He was at home. And many were gathered together, so that there was no longer room, even near the door; and He was speaking the word to them. And they came, bringing to Him a paralytic, carried by four men. And being unable to get to Him on account of the crowd, they removed the roof above Him; and when they had dug an opening, they let down the pallet on which the paralytic was lying. And Jesus seeing their faith said to the paralytic, “My son, your sins are forgiven….I say to you, rise, take up your pallet and go home.” Mark 2:1-5
Lord, thank you for causing me to consider these four men who brought the paralytic to You. What a radical love that would empower them to take such an unconventional way. The conventional way was blocked so they took another way. You ask me to consider what would compel them to discomfit themselves, to sweat and strain, to risk their reputations, to risk mockery and disapproval in order to bring this paralyzed man to You for healing, for help. Lord, they climbed to the top of Your house, they removed the roof of Your house, they dug an opening in the roof of Your house, and then they bore the full weight of this man to lower Him into Your midst. What would compel them? Most of us would not even go out of our own way to seek You for ourselves, much less someone as seemingly hopeless as a paralytic. We expect You to be easily found, to be readily found, to be at our beck and call, and then when it is difficult for us to find You, when You seemingly are hidden by the crowd, blocked by the crowding of our very own lives, blocked by the coverings of our own heart, we give up, we go our own way, we don’t dig to find You. And then we whine that You hide Yourself, that You don’t love us, that You don’t care. When what You really desire is to be truly desired by us at all cost. What You truly desire is a pure and spotless bride, a bride with a pure heart. What You truly want to know is, do we really love You. Lord, it was obvious what was and is in Your heart for us, for Your church, for Your bride. You tore a hole in the roof of the universe to bring us to You. You descended from Your throne in the heavens to climb up Golgotha. You bore the full weight of our sins on Your sinless body. You created in Yourself that eternal Holy of Holies where all may enter into the Father’s presence. Lord, strengthen my heart to love You, to love Your body, my fellow men, my brothers and sisters, as You love—with a love that is willing to take an unconventional way, with a love that will climb onto rooftops, dig openings, and bear the weight of a person paralyzed by fear, by sin, by doubt just to bring them into Your living presence. Thank you, Lord, for the ones you sent to me, for the ones who went the extra measure, for the ones who saw me wounded, afraid, and paralyzed, for the ones who picked up my pallet and carried me into Your presence to hear You say, “My daughter, your sins are forgiven, take up your pallet and come home.” Now, Lord, strengthen me to pick up the pallet of others, of the ones You have given me to bring them into Your presence no matter the cost. Lord, strengthen me to tear through the coverings of my own heart to come to you fully and completely every day. Strengthen me to uncover the Christ, the living word, the living bread who makes His home now in my heart. Lord, what else is there? What more could there possibly be? What other way could there ever be? Paul said this was his stewardship; this is the mystery hidden from past ages. This is the gospel, “Christ in you, the hope of glory.” Christ is at home, no longer in Capernaum, but in us, His living tabernacle, not made with human hands. For some of us, or maybe all of us, an unconventional way is required. If all the conventional ways are not working to release the presence of God, to release this river of life in our innermost being; if every other way is blocked, then take the unconventional.“The entire universe is standing on tiptoe, yearning to see the unveiling of God’s glorious sons and daughters!” (Romans 8: 19-22) Tear off the roof!!!
In watching “The Heart of Man’ I wasn’t expecting much. As a man incarcerated for a sexual offense, I have struggled with sexual addiction since I was a preteen. I have been through a sex offender treatment program and have viewed dozens of films on sexual addiction. None of them impacted me like “The Heart of Man.”
I found myself relating strongly to the testimonies. I saw that the struggles I believed were unique to me were actually shared struggles. In the video Jackie Hill Perry described that as a child, she didn’t know what happened to her was wrong, but somehow knew that it must be kept secret, knowing instinctively that it was shameful. I hated what I was doing but felt strongly compelled to keep doing it until I was finally caught. Getting caught truly was, as William P. Young testified, “a great and terrifying grace.”
When we assembled in our groups the next week, I witnessed a group of men in prison openly and honestly discussing their struggles with sexual addiction and overcoming sexual abuse on a level I never saw before even in treatment. This encouraged me to tell my story to the group and ask for help. I had been bound by this for so long I couldn’t remember what it was like to be free. It has ruled my life so thoroughly that its absence would leave a terrifyingly large hole to fill. I don’t know where I am going when I leave here, but it has to be gone before I get there.
As my group gathered to lay hands on me and pray, I spoke to whatever spirit ruled that stronghold. I told it that I wasn’t giving up this time until it was gone. For the first time in years I have hope of winning this fight. For the first time ever I have a support group of spirit-filled prayer warriors, and I know I have the Lord on my side.
My heart lurched as the judge pronounced my sentence. I couldn’t believe it. Surely he misread the jury’s verdict? Maybe they meant 9 years instead of 99? I heard my breath, hoping it was a mistake, but it wasn’t to be so. One terrible choice, and at the age of 16 I was sentenced to 99 years in prison. Make no mistake about it; I would be in prison for a long, long time.
I sat in stunned silence as the overwhelming guilt of all the bad things I’d done ran rampant across my conscious mind. Regret and shame pressed down, crushing me beneath their heavy yoke. I struggled to breathe as it felt like a massive boulder pressed against my chest, squeezing all the air from my lungs. Black flecks flittered around my eyes as I tried to understand what had taken place. My mind screamed in panic while my body refused to move. My life was about to take a drastic turn for the worse, and I was not going to enjoy the ride.
Have you ever seen a rock crusher at work? Whole stones are dumped in and pulverized; dust comes out the other side. That is how prison transforms people. They enter as stone and are spewed out as dust.
Prison is a traumatic event for anyone. For me it was even worse. Because of the seriousness of my case, I was sent to one of Texas’ most violent maximum security prisons. I am not arguing that I did not deserve prison time, because I certainly did. I was legally tried, convicted and sentenced for murder. I deserved punishment, and it was a bleak future that I brought down upon my own head.
As a small, blonde-haired, blue-eyed kid in prison; my circumstances were very dangerous. I repeatedly suffered from assaults, mental cat-and-mouse games; and I lived under the constant threat of rape. My only option was to fight with every ounce of my being. Despite my greatest efforts, I lost most of those fights which encouraged others to try and “break” me. It’s a difficult situation for a small teenager to fight against a full-grown man, and it’s even more impossible when several men join in. At the first sign of weakness I would be in serious trouble. No matter the odds, I fought until one day I was no longer the new guy, and the sharks moved on in search of easier prey.
After saying that, surprisingly, the physical part of serving time is the easiest. It is the mental and emotional struggle to keep your sanity in an insane place that takes its toll. I was a child in an adult world with all my hopes and dreams dashed because of my stupid decisions. All those dreams were traded in for a lifetime in prison.
Since that time 28 years of incarceration have slowly trickled by. The 16-year-old boy who entered prison is now a 44-year-old man remaining in prison. For a time, a long long time, not only did I lose hope, but I lost myself too. In a twisted desire to fit in, I became someone totally unlike the real me. I embraced the cold, calloused prison code of conduct like it was the Ten Commandments handed down directly from God. That code is a perverted form of discipline that makes perfectly good sense inside but is absolutely ludicrous on the outside. For example, I once stabbed a man because he stole a set of $3 headphones. The act was acceptable behavior in here but would be crazy anywhere else. As I look back over the years lost to the sands of time, I realize that I have no happy memories of family vacations or lakeside BBQs. My memories revolve around race riots, fights and stabbings on some of the worst prisons in Texas. I became a man on Beto, Ferguson, Darrington, and Connally prison units. Those harsh places were my terrible mentors, teaching me what a man should be. I stayed in trouble so that disciplinary court became my oft-visited stepfather who was trying to punish me into acting right. I believed that I had nothing to lose so I refused to listen to correction from anyone. The more I was punished, the worse I acted.
Gang life beckoned me like a siren perched atop deadly shoals. I answered that call by running my tiny boat right onto those shoals. I joined the Aryan Brotherhood prison gang in an effort to fill that empty void deep within the center of my being. The void remained hollow, and I discovered that gang life was another bad mistake atop many prior mistakes. I performed a lot of terrible things in the name of the brotherhood, but I refused to care, believing that I was better than others and that they deserved less consideration than me or my “brothers.” The truth is, I was worse than others. I was a lost soul whose shameful actions cause me to spend 13 years of incarceration confined in Administrative Segregation (ad-seg is Texas’ version of long-term solitary confinement).
In Ad-Seg my foolishness continued. Despite the restrictive environment and close scrutiny by the guards, I figured out ways to assault prisoners and guards. Because of that, I was treated as a dangerous prisoner. That treatment twisted my mind further astray until I became a bitter animal waiting for the next opportunity to attack. I would attack, and the guards would beat me into submission. It became a game; attack, receive a beating, submission; attack, receive a beating and submission….
Even my drug-use continued and even escalated. As a gang member, I had easy access to drugs. In 1995 I beat a case for stabbing another prisoner. My celebration of the not-guilty verdict consisted of drinking some hooch (homemade wine) as well as shooting-up coke and heroin. I overdosed.
As I lay on that prison stretcher waiting on death’s cold embrace, I realized that I wanted to survive. I needed to live a better life and to be different. I needed to change. My life must become much more than racism, fights, and drugs. I knew that there was more to life than those things, and I wanted more. I desperately needed more.
Regretfully, after the overdose, the madness resumed. It was like two people living inside my head at the same time. One person wanted change while the other wanted to lash out and blame everyone else for the desolation that my life had become. The latter won out, and I sank into a stinking cesspool of anger, rage and bitterness. It boiled within me like a witch’s brew, and I wanted to pour it out on anyone who crossed my path, even those I loved. Long-term isolation finally broke me like the stone in the rock crusher. I became dust, but it was dust that I needed to become before I could embrace change.
When I was finally crushed beyond repair, I began listening to that soft whisper of God speaking into my life. The encouragement and unceasing love from family and friends taught me that I am loved despite all the things I’ve done to deserve otherwise. When I embraced true love from God and man, true change emerged.
Previously I sabotaged my own success because I felt undeserving of anything worthwhile. Now I fought to make it happen. As I changed, my sanity returned; and I even worked my way out of Ad-Seg in 2006. After the isolation this transition to “freedom” was very difficult. Still, it was a necessary and needed change.
There are many unchangeable parts of my life that hurt to admit, but I do look at and use those painful memories as reminders of who I once was and who I never wish to be again. I constantly push to not only better myself but to better everyone around me.
My life has come full circle. I lost everything but gained even more. My prison resume once labeled me as the worst of the worst, but not it shows things like a facilitator of multiple faith-based programs, Toastmasters Club president, Teacher’s Aide, Diesel Mechanic, and college tutor. I’ve developed from a 6th grade dropout to a college graduate. I am a leader of positive change and growth within the prison walls. Because of my past, no challenge is too great, nor is any duty too low for me to perform. Pride has no place in my daily life.
While my life as a rotten rock may be over, I’ve discovered that the dust of gold is a precious thing to have. All people have gold in them; it’s up to us as fellow humans to find it and bring it out.
Last week the guys were ministering on the prison rec yard. The revival group pastor told the group gathered around to ask God for the impossible. An older man spoke up and said, “My daughter hasn’t talked to me in 47 years. That’s my impossible.” A couple of weeks later, God began to stir up this man’s impossible in the heart of the RGP. He wondered if anyone had ever tried to find this woman, so he contacted his sister in the free world to see if she could find the man’s daughter with only a name. There were 50 women with that same name. But she found her! The woman listened to what was going on with her father and sent back a word to him. She said, “Tell him that I became a Christian a year ago and that I’m working on forgiving him.” When the older man was told what his daughter had said, he cried like a baby. Yes, we have a God who loves to do what we think is impossible, and He loves to have us partner with Him.