Thanksgiving is just a week away. I
want nothing more than to set at the holiday table with my family and to enjoy
the seasonal feast. I miss the family that I was born into, but I really long
for and desire to be with the family that God has created for me over the past
20 years: those friends and fellow disciples that have unconditional
love and support for me, as well as for one another. A family whom love each
other enough to continually pursue deeper relationships (Job 42:10-12).
As it stands, I will be acknowledging this season with the
"family/community/culture". l have been forced to forge in the midst
of this unjust incarceral brotherhood.
Unconditional love and positive
regard for others, but especially our children and grandchildren, are so
important. They are the true mark of a follower of Christ (John 13:34-35).I question
the motives and authenticity of those whom make the expressions of their love
and affection contingent upon how they perceive the potential recipient's behavior, attitude, and worthiness (Romans
12:9-20). I grew up like this and have spent the past 5 years reliving this
rejection.
Paul specifically exhorts us to lay
aside our own pride filled arrogance and welcome to our table those whom are
not as mature in Christ (Romans 12:20).I've tried to live this out every Monday
night as a dozen men gather around a table to find peace and sobriety through
studying our Addicts at the Cross curriculum, I obeyed the Holy Spirit’s call
to facilitate, and have been blessed because of it. John chastised those
Laodiceans whom were charged with teaching about Christ to their children and
grandchildren, yet failed in their obligation to instruct (Revelation 3) them
to accept the Lord's invitation to eat at His table (Rev. 3:20). Paul goes so
far as to acknowledge and praise those grandmothers who do the hard work of
inviting their grandchildren to eat from the Lord' s thanksgiving table; He
commends them for being a living example of Christ's love and acceptance, while
leaving behind a living legacy (2 Tim. 1:5). As much as I love Thanksgiving, I
would not have an interest in setting down at the table with those whom claim
to be a Christian, an Evangelical even, yet whom harbor racism and prejudice in
their hearts (Romans 14).
Thank goodness those original
puritan pilgrims saw the indigenous people as worthy of investing their time
•into. More importantly, I am thankful to those indigenous natives who
expressed care, compassion, and concern for those strange, pale newcomers to
their centuries held tablelands. These people naturally, empathetically, lived out
Paul's admonition in Romans 15 to "accept one another, just as Christ
accepted us (v.9)" in spite of their differences. Those original native
inhabitants followed the instinctive urging of the Holy Spirit instructing them
to share their knowledge of this continents seed time and harvest time with the
pale newcomers. They were then welcomed
to share at the table of the autumnal feast. Eventually they learned of
Christ's sacrificial love, so that they could feast from His end time harvest
table.
Being freely welcomed and loved at
a communal table is important to me. However, another 100 days of being a
falsely accused and unjustly incarcerated innocent man have kept me from the
Thanksgiving table that I so desperately want a seat at. These past 100 days have
been some of the most disheartening, as I have endured overt isms (see Day
1500) ), been threatened further
polarize with violence and divide of bodily this country harm, with despised
his nationalist , rejected rhetoric, and scorned and (Is. 53:3: endorsement of
a white-is-right mentality, those same platitudes are reflected on this prison
yard. Mr. Trump's vitriolic hatemongering has emboldened and emblazoned the
Irish Mob, Universal Arian Brotherhood, and Neo-Nazi factions within these wire
topped chain link fences.
For the past 4 % years on this yard,
I have usually sat at one of the same three tables out of the forty available
to set at in our chow hall. I typically sit by myself or with one of the same
three other people that I might sit by during a crowded mealtime. For the most
part people set at tables in self-segregated sections of the dining area:
Native Americans in the center east: Blacks in the southwest: older weak/scared
white men in the southeast; Hispanics in the center west; and men like me, who
don't care about clicks and just want to eat their meal set at tables over on
the north side.
About 80% of the time, I eat at a
table all alone. Life Joseph, I eat at a table by myself, the clicks by
themselves, and those who abhor all of the other non-white races by themselves
(Gen. 43:32). On the weekend of 9/9 the "shot caller" for our yard’s
UAB membership was arrested and jailed (yes, you can still be further locked
up, arrested, and jailed even within prison fences). His absence left a void in
their leadership. That vacancy caused his subordinates to vie for power. In
this vacuum, one of the events that occurred was an attempted expansion of
their territory. They ran neighboring offenders off of "their" corner
of "their" unit. They also claimed table rights in the dining room, to include the
table that I typically set at.
Now, not only am I not a
patched-out (tattooed) UAB member, I affiliate with all types of people. I do
not discriminate. I am a professed follower of Jesus Christ. I also facilitate
recovery groups. This cuts into their drug cartel profits with each person who
finds sobriety. Worst of all I have been labeled by former Tulsa District
Attorney, Tim Harris, and his unethical ilk, as a sex offender. Since cell
phones are a plentiful as Mormon crickets on our yard, these UAB members (and
everyone else) are fully aware of who is incarcerated for which crime(s). My
label of sex offender makes me as low, contemptible, and abominable as any
Nazarene (Mt. 2:23), Hebrew in the eyes of a Samaritan (Luke 9:53), or son of
Abraham to the Egyptians in Joseph’s day (Ex. 8:26;Herodotus ii41).
On Monday September 1l1h I went to
supper and sat down at my usual table, unaware that it was now a recently
claimed territory of these Trumponian fascists. About halfway through my meal,
the UAB's from the next unit to eat entered into the chow hall. They
immediately began to call me out with loud whispering while they waited in
line. After receiving their trays, they proceeded to walk over to where I was
setting. As I was yet unaware of their DOC imposed coup-de-ta, I was not
"on alert!" As they began to set at the tables around me, they ran
out of seating for their supremist contingency. For a moment, they considered
setting with me until the newly emerging leader told them not to set there
until I was gone. It was at this point that I quickly became aware that a scary
and potentially dangerous situation was evolving.
Eventually, one of the UAB's told
me that I needed to move. I replied that they were welcome to set down, and
that I was almost finished with my meal. I was told to move again, but I
continued eating. As this was not satisfactory, one of the men- called me out
telling me that "my kind" was not welcome to set at a table with them,
when I asked what he meant he said, “You know, a cho-mo (a child
molester)." This was the first time I had been called this word. It hurt
my heart. It was then that i fully clued into what was happening. Again, I told
them that I was almost finished.
The next thing I knew, three of
these UAB members were literally, physically, ½ inch away from my face reading
me the riot act informing me that this was now their table. They further
continued to verbally assault me, threatening physical violence if I did not
move because of my (falsely accused and unjustly adjudicated) crime. The scorn
and hatred in their breath was ablaze in my face. They were speaking so closely
to me that the arid spittle in their vitriolic tirade landed upon my cheeks.
Just a month prior, on my
daughter's birthday, the nation witnessed the ugliness of bigotry and racial
pride in Charlottesville, North Caroline. It resulted in the death of a young
woman, and a president who granted his continuing unwavering endorsement and
empowerment of alt-right hate groups. What I was going though while trying to
finish my tray of spaghetti was no less hate filled, prejudice, -ism filled,
and scary.
In all of my 49 years, I had never
been treated this way. This was my first ever encounter with such aggressive-isms's.
I suddenly knew up close and personal what it felt like to be discriminated
against in such a hate filled dehumanizing way; what a black person experiences
as racism; a woman as genderism/sexism; a Jew as anti-Semitism; an LGBTQ person
as homophobism; a homeless, a disheveled, a mentally retarded, or an ex-felon
experience on a Sunday morning at too many of our white washed sacredly
idolized houses of worship; what a Hispanic experiences by a nationalist
president; what Joseph endured from the Egyptians; and even what the Hebrew
Nazarene, Jesus Christ, knew would be waiting for him if he had ventured
through Samaria.
As I began my research for this
19th 100-day update, I read a commentary on Luke 9:53 from William McDonald's
Believer's Bible Commentary that "there was an intense hatred between
Samaritans and the Jews. Their sectarian bigoted spirit, their segregationist
attitude, and their racial pride made the Samaritans unwilling to receive the
Lord of Glory. It was this same bigotry, prejudice, [and -isms] that didn't
allow the Egyptians to eat at the same table as their Grand Vizier, [the UAB's
to eat their spaghetti at the same table as me, or an arrogant grandparent to
set aside religious pride and piety to share at the Thanksgiving table with a
gay grandchild]" (Cambridge Bible for Schools and Colleges).
As I continued to read about these
segregationist ideals I thought more and more about the self-imposed caste
distinctions in play at the tables in our chow hall, and how our yard self-defines
based not only by race, but by crime type, education level, and perceptions of
social status on the outside. I thought about Joseph and how alone he must have
felt as a Hebrew Sultan leading and directing the lifesaving activities of the
Egyptians who may have very well abhorred him; even thought it was Joseph's God
urging him to benefit not just his own family, but the Egyptian's themselves as
well by providing food for their tables in the 7 lean years (Gen. 41).
When these three UAB members were
in my face trying their best to intimidate me, I shot up a quick prayer,
remained calm and quiet, and listened to the Holy Spirit’s promptings.
Instantly, 1 knew that I had a choice: take matters into my own hands by
digressing to their level, or just leave and let God take care of it. While
listening to those directions one of the UAB members picked up my almost
finished supper tray and moved it one table over, to one that was not in their
newly expanding territory. I got up, picked up that tray, and left the chow
hall. I was frustrated that I may have looked weak in their eyes, but trusted
God to take care of the situation (Romans 12:19).
After 272 weeks on this yard
without an issue, this was my 2nd bout of discriminatory harassment with the
UAB community because of the false label that Bandon’s lie and Tim Harris's
ADA's have placed upon me. I immediately went for a walk on the track to
continue to pray for wisdom and insight. The insight I got was, “Now you know,
truly know, how ugly and frightening bigotry, discrimination, and-ism's are
[see Day # 1100)." Eventually, ! found myself grateful for the experience
because now my understanding of-ism’s and bigotry was first hand and
hard-wired; no longer just hypothetical or ethereal.
I also had to purposefully choose
to forgive those men for their prejudice and hate filled threats, not for their
sake, but for my own peace. I had to trust that God will eventually prepare a
table for me in their presence [Ps. 23:5). I also have to continue to believe
that the Lord is at work on my behalf to free me from this imprisonment, that I
will set aside these prison clothes, and for the rest of my life eat from [my
unjust prosecutor’s and incarcerator's] table {1 Kings 25:27). I also believe
that the Lord will set a table before [my unjust accusers: Tim Harris, Dianna Baumann, Jake Cain, Sarah McCamis,
Brandon, Bella, and Antonio], that will become their snare (Rm. 11:9; Ps.
69:22). I believe that HE will expose the lies and liars, reveal the truth, and
charge them with crime upon crime for their perjury (Ps.18:19-20; Mal.3:5).
I look forward to the day, very
soon, when I can join my friends and family at their table sharing a gluten
free, fruit and vegetable laden meal. I can't wait to sit around a Celebrate
Recovery table on a Friday night breaking bread with those who have been
marginalized as family members have turned their back on them because of how
life's hurts, habits, and hang-ups have manifest themselves through their
addictions to food, chemicals, are grieving, divorced, or suffer from rejection
because of their gender identification, sexual orientation, spiritual and self-expressions,
and pride.
Lord, this Thanksgiving, help me to
follow your lead and be willing to set, a table next to my own prodigal
Absolom/Judas as a reunited and reconciled parent, loving him unconditionally
despite his lies and deceit (2 Samuel 15;Mark 14:18; Luke 15).
Lord, this Thanksgiving, give me
enough insight to see myself as "an enemy" and make amends to those
whom I may have offended, made feel "less than", and not worthy of
sharing my table in the chow hall.
Lord, this Thanksgiving, help me
look forward to the freed man's privilege of coming to communion (1 Cor. 11)
each week to commemorate what Jesus did for me on the cross. Lord, set this
table for me in the presence of my [converted] enemies and allow us to
"do this in remembrance" for what you did, what you perpetually do,
for us all; to bring us to your eternal Thanksgiving table.
