Adam

I met with a kid during chaplaincy visits a couple weeks ago who we'll call Adam. Mine and Adam's time together started off as most of my visits do. We talked for a bit. He shared some of his frustrations and explained why he hated being locked up so much. Adam had a lot of anger, not towards me, but just a lot of anger in general. He was angry about the way people treat him and their lack of accountability for it. Adam recognized double-standards in a unique way, and it was infuriating for him.

When our conversation ended I asked Adam if he wanted me to pray with him. He said yes, so I did. When I finished I was about to stand up and walk him back to his room, but he wasn't standing up yet. Then he asked, "Your name's Jessica, right?"

Then something happened that has never happened before in my meetings with kids there: Adam started praying for me.

He asked God to be with me and to keep me safe.
He prayed for my family and my loved ones.
He prayed that God would help both of us make the right decisions in life.
He asked God to help me keep coming back there to talk with kids.

There's no way that Adam could have known how profound his prayer for me was-- especially the last part. Even though I love my time at Juvenile, it's terrifying for me. I'm not afraid of the kids there, but I'm afraid of so many other things. It's intimidating to interact with the guards. It's scary to have no idea what sort of things I'm going to hear when I walk in. It's unnerving to realize the responsibility I have to hold the stories of broken kids in a loving, faithful way.

Adam ministered to me that day. He gave me a gift that I didn't even realize I needed. It's easy for me to remember that these kids need my prayers, but sometimes it's hard to remember that I need theirs.

Thanks, Adam.

The responsibility of knowing

When I was in elementary school I was so eager to hear secrets. I wanted to know which boy my friend Jessie liked, and I wanted to know why Erica ignored Rachel on the playground that day. I didn't have a reason to know any of it; I just wanted to know.

I'm finding that the older I get, the more intense those "secrets" become... and the less eager I am to know certain things. I love learning, whether it be theology or the stories of people's lives, but I'm more hesitant to invite knowledge than I once was.

Why? Because there's a responsibility that comes with knowledge and exposure. Certainly we are called to inform ourselves about the hurts of the world. In fact, I think it's sinful for us to choose ignorance. But I think we have to be careful about the knowledge we invite and consider whether or not we're willing to thoughtfully respond to it.

So I'm left wondering, how am I to be responsible with the stories kids share with me?

I can't necessarily walk through their journeys with them; I am forbidden to have any initiated contact with kids once they're released from detention. I can certainly meet with them while they're being held, but I might see a kid only one time before he is released or moved. Usually though, it only takes one meeting to hear a multitude of unimaginable stories marked by hurt and brokenness. I know that I'm called to sit with kids in their pain for the hour we meet, but I think there's more to do. I think I'm supposed to intercede for these kids.

I can look back on my life and see so many times that the Spirit has worked in and through my prayers for people. God has recently begun revealing to me that intercession is not meant to be a great thing I take part in here and there, but rather, God has called me to a life of intercession. This is one of my gifts. When I take the time to listen, the Spirit leads me to pray about things-- weird things a lot of the time, things that make me wonder, Why am I praying this?

It's not my job to fix, but God has invited me, by way of the Holy Spirit, to participate in the reconciliation of all things through Christ. Even if it's just in those few moments of listening and interceding, that's how I participate in God's restoration of these kids' lives, and that's what I'm called to do in order to be faithful with my knowledge. I trust that it's enough too, because after all, Jesus is the One that saves... not me.

Introduction

"The Spirit of the Lord is upon me... He has sent me to proclaim freedom to the captives."
- Jesus of Nazareth

Welcome to "Freedom for the Captives."

I am a theology graduate student, and I have a growing burden for those that society considers least. Over the past few months, I have been volunteering as a tutor and chaplain at a local juvenile detention center, and I've decided to start writing about my experiences there.

This blog is part of an assignment that requires the integration of my coursework with practical application. This blog is a reflection of my time volunteering with youths who are spending days, weeks, months, and even years in detention. More than anything though, this blog is a cry of my heart as I seek to share the sorrows and joys of children who find themselves broken.

I went back and forth about what to call this blog. "Captives" is a strong word and one that seems to imply innocence. Can we really call these kids captives? Most of them aren't being wrongly held. Most of them are guilty of the crimes that put them there, and most of them need to be in detention. That doesn't mean that these kids aren't captive though. They are captive to addiction. To broken families. To violence. To pain. To generational sin. To corrupt social systems. They're captive, and they need the freedom that Jesus is offering.

I need that freedom too. I need freedom to realize that we're all in need of God's grace. To know that there is a unique blessing among the poor and oppressed. To share life with someone who isn't like me. But also to come to terms with just how alike we are.

I think they and I both find some of that freedom by sharing our lives with each other.

I'm learning how to hope, and this blog is part of that...

I hope that I can carefully and thoughtfully enter into the lives of the kids I meet.
I hope that I can be humble enough to learn from them.
I hope that this blog is a way for others to see the humanity of these kids.
I hope that we can learn to define people by the image they bear, not the mistakes they've made.
I hope that we can all be moved to participate in the reconciling work of our Triune God.
I hope that we can learn to hope.

So that's what this blog is. I'll certainly do this clumsily, but I think it's going to be worthwhile nonetheless. Thanks for joining me!