The jokes about what is not taught in seminary usually write themselves. How often during the past few years have you heard wisecracks about having not learned Zoom, YouTube or how to edit worship videos on iMovie? Or the jokes about how ministers who were taught church history and how to exegete Scripture, not how helpful masks are at preventing variants of COVID-19? Have you heard enough of those yet?
Allan Smith
Sometimes, these not only are things we didn’t learn in seminary, they are things we could not have learned in seminary. Seminary cannot always prepare us to deal with the real messiness of life involving real people.
A shocking phone call
Recently, I called my brother to ask if we could get together over the weekend in hopes of seeing a baseball game with him. Although I missed him on my initial call, he called back shortly, and we exchanged our normal pleasantries about our weeks. It was mid-day on a Thursday, and he thought he could meet later that weekend.
Then the tone of the conversation changed. I could tell he had trouble forming the words to say what was on his mind. I encouraged him to share, thinking and assuming, that nothing could be that big a deal.
I was in the car when he called, running a quick errand. “You know our friend,” my brother said, referring to a mutual friend who I will not name here, “He was arrested for murder.”
“You know our friend,” my brother said. “He was arrested for murder.”
I was in shock. The words that came quickly to my mind might not be appropriate for print. My brother did not share much more. He had overheard people discussing the situation at a gathering and realized our friend had been involved. We commented to one another how tragic the situation is, particularly for a victim who had lost his life.
The friend who had been arrested is a friend of both my brother and me from college. Although a few years younger than us, he had been in similar Christian circles, and we had all kept in touch. In fact, the three of us had attended a hockey game together over the winter.
This particular friend is someone always eager to discuss theology and church practice with me. We have enjoyed several conversations about faithful discipleship in the world, including a handful of conversations over the past couple of years.
How to respond?
Hearing this news from my brother, I was curious. I returned to the office, still in a state of shock. I went straight to Google, typing in my friend’s name and reading news articles about what had happened. The events were two to three weeks old at this point, but I had completely missed the story.
The depiction of the events, including the subsequent arrest, as presented by various news outlets, was chilling. It just did not sound like my friend. But the events also did not seem to be contested.
A myriad of thoughts raced through my mind. What could have happened? A gun was involved; did my friend own a gun? For how long? Is my friend OK? And what of the victim and his family? Such a tragedy, yet I was left to speculate based on limited information provided by various news stories.
“The pastoral impulse in my gut was love and compassion.”
Still, the pastoral impulse in my gut was love and compassion. I found information on the funeral service for the victim, who I did not know. And I began researching the adult detention center housing my friend.
Calling the prison
I called a number for the adult detention center. The woman informed me that in-person visiting was not allowed, and she directed me to a website to schedule a video visit. She also provided me with the inmate number for my friend so I could find him in the online system.
Listening to an adult detention center agent share my friend’s seven-digit inmate number as I wrote the number on a sticky note is something I never expected to happen but now never will be able to forget.
I was able to navigate the website that allowed me to connect with my friend. I looked him up by name and inmate number. I typed in my name and waited for my friend to accept me as a visitor. I had no idea how he would respond. It had been several months since we talked, and I had not been able to make time to respond to some of his emails during those months. In fact, I had a sticky note on my desk reminding me to get back to him. I never intended to let it slide, but the busy-ness of work and life had gotten the best of me, as it does.
It was the next morning that I looked at the website again and noticed he had accepted me as a visitor. I scheduled a visit for Saturday morning, the following day and two days after learning of the arrest, also learning you cannot make same-day appointments.
Later that afternoon, I called my brother to follow up about our weekend plans. I told him I had spent some time reading the news stories. I let my brother know I had set up a video visit for Saturday morning.
“I don’t really know what to say, but I want to ask how he is doing and tell him that God loves him,” I shared with my brother.
“Well, I couldn’t have made an appointment to visit,” my brother replied, as we both fought back our emotions, still in disbelief at the situation.
What will I say?
“But murder? I never thought I would have a friend arrested for such a serious offense.”
I guess that’s when it started to hit me. My gut reaction to reach out to my friend is not a typical response. We are all human. We all make mistakes. We even have friends or congregants who confide in us as clergy about some of the darkest moments of life. But murder? I never thought I would have a friend arrested for such a serious offense.
The video visit was awkward at first. I started the conversation, “What’s up? How’s it going?” In hindsight, that might not have been the best way to kick off the conversation with someone in prison. But the seriousness of the moment settled in quickly.
Then better words formed from my mouth despite my anxiety and despair: “I just wanted to say I am sorry for what happened. I am here to be your friend and remind you that God loves you.”
“It has been really tough,” my friend responded. “Some days are OK. I do read the Bible some. But other days are really dark. And usually, I am just really stressed and anxious about the case. It is hard being in prison. You have no connection to the world. It is really lonely.”
He kept asking me what I had been up to, just hoping to be reminded of what life is like outside of prison. My life? I thought. I am here to support and care for you, not talk about me.
Through the course of that short, initial conversation, I learned that some of his family has not been able to reach out to him; they are too upset and distraught to speak to him. In fact, only a small number of people, a couple of family members and a couple of friends, including myself, had reached out to him. He also made a comment that was incredibly humbling to me. He said, “I really appreciate you reaching out. You have always been a hero to me, someone I really admired and looked up to.”
“You might be lonely, but you are not alone. God is with you, and you are loved.”
Our time was limited, and the phone was counting down our final minutes for this visit. I shared a final bit of encouragement: “I am happy to talk to you whenever you are up for it. I will keep making these video visit appointments. I know it is hard. I am sure it is lonely. But there is a difference between being lonely and being alone. You might be lonely, but you are not alone. God is with you, and you are loved.”
Click. The call was ended for us.
The example of Jesus
As Christians, we follow someone who gave much of himself to people on the margins of society — beggars, tax collectors, widowers, the poor. Jesus even reminds his followers, in that well-known parable about the sheep and the goats recorded in Matthew 25:
When the Son of Man comes in his glory and all the angels with him, then he will sit on the throne of his glory. All the nations will be gathered before him, and he will separate people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats, and he will put the sheep at his right hand and the goats at the left. Then the king will say to those at his right hand, “Come, you who are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world, for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.”
God calls us to move toward people in need with compassion, including those who are in prison. Yet somehow, people on the margins often are the first ones we neglect. Often, an initial reaction of judgment quickly turns into a response of disregard. Whether it is uncertainty of having the right words to say, disappointment about what has happened, or even shame by association, non-action is the all-too-common response for friends in difficult situations.
In this case of friends who are in prison, how many have not been able to make a visit?
“Life is messy. People are human. But there is grace in the chaos.”
Life is messy. People are human. But there is grace in the chaos. I am no hero. I am simply a minister of the gospel who desires for everyone to know the love of God, even those who are accused of murder.
I certainly do not condone murder. And, while I do not know how the case will play out, I am sorry a victim has died and a victim’s family must continue through life without a loved one. And I am also sorry for a friend who is in prison, accused of a serious crime.
I believe God is big enough to love each person in this situation. Thanks be to God for that.
It is not hard to visit someone in prison. It might be intimidating. It might solicit some strange glances from others. But it is also holy work, work that is a lot more pastoral than setting up a Zoom call for a Nominating Committee meeting.
I have shared two more video visits with my friend, and I recently learned I am able to order books that are mailed directly to him at the detention center. I hope our conversations continue. It is a blessing to enter such holy space. And I trust it is meaningful for him, as well.
As goes the refrain of many of my pastor friends: “This is what we do.”
Allan Smith serves as associate pastor for community outreach at Haymarket Baptist Church in Haymarket, Va. He also has served churches in North Carolina, South Carolina and Texas. He is a graduate of the University of Virginia as well as the Baptist House of Studies at Duke Divinity School.
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