Friday, December 11, 2015

Advent in a Prison Cell

I spent some time in prison earlier this week -- not as an inmate, but as a visitor. I traveled to Graterford State Prison -- the closest state prison to Philadelphia -- to take an inmate's deposition testimony in a lawsuit he filed against three correctional officers. This is something I do with some frequency. At any given time, at least a third of the cases I am defending are ones brought by inmates who claim that their rights have been violated in prison.

The State Correctional Institution at Graterford
Graterford is Pennsylvania's largest maximum security prison, housing over 3,000 inmates. Built in 1929, it's mind-boggling to imagine the number of people who have passed through this prison during its lengthy history. It's an understatement to say that the facility is run-down. The place is worn, dimly lit, grungy, bleak. And there's something else the place is: incredibly secure. 

To get from the visitor's lobby to the room where I would question this inmate under oath, I had to sign in, have my identification checked, have my hand stamped, pass through a metal detector and have my belongings searched. Then, I had to pass through a "sally-port" -- a short hallway with two sliding security doors at either end controlled by a guard who sat in an adjacent, locked booth.  The two doors are never opened at the same time. The first door slides open, you enter the sally-port, then the door slides shut behind you, making a loud thud as the door's lock engages. After a few moments pass and the officer in the control booth has accounted for the persons standing before him in the sally-port, the second door slides open, and you can walk into the main corridor of the jail. The second door closes behind you with the same unmistakable thud, and you realize that there is no getting out of this place unless or until the staff sees fit to open the doors for you.

In a sermon entitled "A Possibility for Change," my father recalled why his favorite theologian, Dietrich Bonhoeffer "reported that while in prison he came to a fresh new understanding of what Advent is all about. For in prison, one can only wait, locked up in his cell. The prisoner is totally bound and helpless in his imprisoned condition. He cannot free himself. All he can do is sit and wait for someone on the outside to come and open his door and offer him his freedom. For the prisoner, the good news of redemption can only come from outside himself, from the other side of the cell door."

"So it is with Advent," my dad wrote. "We can do nothing during this period but quietly prepare and wait until the 'Dayspring from on High' chooses to come and visit us. ... We must see ourselves for what we are -- prisoners of our self-centeredness -- hopeless and helpless in and of ourselves, until the appearance of the salvation that God has prepared for us in Christ. The meaning of my personal Advent is that Christ comes and opens my prison door and bids me to step out into His Light. The stepping through that door is the stepping from Advent to Christmas, from prison to freedom, from my sin to God's salvation. There can be no real experience of Christmas without a prior experience of Advent. There can be no real sense of freedom unless one knows the meaning of bondage. There can be no salvation until we realize how lost we are in our sin."

I sat across a shaky, old table from the inmate I was questioning. A court reporter sat at the end of the table, dutifully recording our dialogue. Usually, inmates I encounter are angry and bitter. This one, though, seemed different. As I questioned him, I sensed a lightness about him. He seemed strangely ... hopeful. Then came this exchange: 
Q.  You allege that you injured your back in the altercation that brings us here for your deposition, correct?
A..  That's right. Those guards hurt my lower back.
Q.  That was two years ago, right? Has the injury healed?
Flashing a wide grin, the inmate responded ...
A.  I'll let you know for sure in two weeks.
Q.  Why do you say that?
A.  In two weeks, I'm getting paroled.
... Just in time for Christmas, I thought to myself.

From: "A Possibility for Change"

P.S.: For more on Dietrich Bonhoeffer's Advent in prison, click here.