Sweet Tooth

 

He knew he was a murderer. He knew he deserved his sentence. His life was lost, just like the store owner he blew away during the robbery. His days were filled with orange and a schedule the guards made sure everyone kept. When his cage opened at dawn, he presented himself. Every morning, he walked with the rest to feed in a large mess hall. He returned to his cell. He ate lunch at the same time. He wandered the yard at the same time. Over and over, dinner met the 6 o’clock hour. Every evening he sat alone, in his cell, reading and thinking and regretting until lockdown. Christmas never held much meaning for him. He never really had the kind of family that cherished each other. He was lucky to have survived in light of this fact. He became a monster in order to do so. He gave up control and functioned by instinct. He thought back to that Christmas Eve, all those years ago, and to the victim he left lying on the floor of the corner store. His greed, his presumption found a family man dead and all for a few dollars and a bottle of rum. He made so many mistakes. If he could go back, things would be different. He laid there all alone pretending Christmas Carols were playing somewhere in the distance. He thought of his life, of Christmas, of how unfair it was that he continued when an innocent was the one to pay the price. For a moment, just for a moment, he found himself like every other person. He was dreaming while awake. Again, he heard the music sounding softly in his head. It called for peace on earth and goodwill to men.
 
“The Spirit of the Sovereign Lord is on me,
Because the Lord has anointed me
To proclaim good news to the poor.
He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted,
To proclaim freedom for the captives
And release from darkness for the prisoners”
(Isaiah 61:1, NIV)
 
He pined for 8 years not knowing her. The last time he saw his daughter, she was newborn. Pictures would have been better than nothing but nothing was all he had. He knew he would never know her. At least there was a part of him that mattered, that made even a little difference in the world. With a King James Bible pressed with one hand against his chest, he prayed over and over for salvation and redemption and forgiveness. Three people died the night he started that fire. Revenge and greed weigh heavy on many. It was the closed circuit cameras that gave him away. They sealed his fate and then some. He did not fret over his past mistakes. There was no guilt, no contrition, just a longing for something he would never have. He knew long ago that her mother would never bring her to see him. The child was a stranger to him and to her, he would be a stranger. With Jesus in his front pocket, he found absolution despite any lingering remorse. He convinced himself he was free but he wasn’t free. The very idea of his daughter haunted him. Every Christmas Eve was the same for him now. After lockdown, he sat on the floor and he played scriptures over in his head. He always felt better knowing that God understood. Jesus was literally the only friend he had left. There were no wise men. No angels came to call. There wasn’t even a star in the sky to guide him. As he crawled into bed, he was overcome. If only the tears he cried now had hindered him then. There was no consolation, only a festering sore that would never heal. He would never kiss her goodnight. He would never wish her Merry Christmas or give her a gift. He would never watch her decorate a Christmas tree. Never kept playing in his head like a tune that will not quit. It was a prison within a prison and even Christmas couldn’t grant him reprieve.
 
“It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick.
I have not come to call the righteous, but sinners.”
(Mark 2:17b, NIV)
 
The guards decided that Mail Monday would be saved for Christmas Tuesday this year. Those packages and parcels waited all though Christmas Eve. After breakfast on Christmas morn, the sentries handed them out. Some got many and a few got none. It brought a little cheer to a weary place. The contents of each delivery varied depending on the prisoner and the sins they had committed. Less violent conditions met more cards, more gifts and less condemnation. The hardcore inmates got barely anything, if anything at all. The guards collected donations for almost a month before Christmas Day. As the masses sat regretting their breakfast, one by one, guard after guard, handed out a gift for each captive. The peppermint-flavoured red and white candy canes were more vessels of compassion than prison bars made of sugar and mint. It was a tiding of comfort and joy in a harsh and empty world. The smallest act of mercy is more Christmas than any monumental present or grand gesture. To know that someone sees you, someone recognizes you, is one of the greatest gifts to be shared and opened. Some tossed the candy away, scoffing the messenger in spite of the message. For some, it was the only gift they had received all year. .    
 
“Do not forget to show hospitality to strangers, for by so doing some people have shown hospitality to angels without knowing it. Continue to remember those in prison as if you were together with them in prison, and those who are mistreated as if you yourselves were suffering.” (Hebrews 13: 2-3, NIV)
 
He sat there as the mail was handed out. He got nothing. He refused to take the candy cane so a guard placed it in front of him. It disappeared rather quickly. All the mustered joy did not find him. He was as cold as the act that had brought him. He felt nothing. He needed for nothing. He wasn’t even really there. He held no hope, no purpose and no love. He scoffed as prisoners in a jail wished each other “Merry Christmas.” Life had left him no choice. He did what he had to do. Nothing more, nothing less. He didn’t suffer in silence.  He didn’t suffer. There was no redemption, only hellfire waited for him now. Fuck Christmas and the God it came in on.   
 
 “If your hand causes you to stumble, cut it off. It is better for you to enter life maimed than with two hands to go into hell, where the fire never goes out.” (Mark 9:43, NIV)
 
 Christmas had brought him no peace. He laid on the cot waiting for lockdown, staring at her face in the ceiling. A single candy cane and a pillow were his only consolation. Over and over again, it chased him. It wasn’t his want or his need that played with his mind. He had never once considered the child and there was no consideration from him now. He was still so angry he got caught. He should have been more careful. It never occurred to him that he had done something wrong. The child consented, or so he told himself. He blamed the temptation and the lust and he convinced himself that it was her and not him. A certain sadness overtook him. The pain we all feel filtered up through the selfish remains of a wasted life. For a moment, just a moment, he could not even remember her name. When he turned over and curled up against a wall, he was ended in the blink of an eye. By lockdown, it was already too late.
 
“This is how we know who the children of God are and who the children of the devil are: Anyone who does not do what is right is not God’s child, nor is anyone who does not love their brother and sister.” (1John 3:10, NIV)
 
The prison fellowship was designed by the staff to encourage hope among the incarcerated. No life was beyond God’s reach. Simple acts of love and charity didn’t have to be for only the Christian or Muslim but for the atheist and any searching heart; the hardest criminal as welcome as any innocent man. The ecumenical, the non-denominational approach, was inclusive for any prisoner, no matter the spiritual path they followed or the God they did or did not serve. Love knows no bounds. Compassion knows no separation. Everyone is created in God’s image. Not a single being on this planet is exempt from God’s mercy and forgiveness. The movement acted by example offering hope, healing and a reminder that the light within is stronger than the darkness all about. This was their mission, to set the prisoner free, to acknowledge that even the most heinous monster is still a person, still has value. To use a simple candy cane as an expression of that love. Simple acts from a simple place from a simple God.
 
“For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me. Then the righteous will answer him, 'Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?' The King will reply, 'Truly I tell you, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.'"
(Matthew 25:35-40, NIV)
 
Joe Riley sat back in his chair and scanned the security cameras one more time. He had done the overnight shift before but working on Christmas Night made him grumpy and bored and hungry. Until his co-worker returned from break, he couldn’t even go to the bathroom. A little plastic Christmas tree sat near his feet, which were folded over each other and resting on the console. He felt like one of the inmates, trapped like some devoid convict would be. He thought back on Christmas morning. He thought about his kids and his wife and the tree. He could still smell the turkey, taste the nog. Only time could free him from this jailhouse now. He reached behind, not wanting to change his position. It was a stretch to reach them. He grabbed one and rested well in his former position. He struggled to get the damn candy open, the tight plastic wrap much tougher than it looks. He sucked on the thing until it melted away. Soon enough, Joe Riley headed home, finally freed from his Christmas internment.
 
 
 
 
 
 
Photo
 
https://www.eatthis.com/candy-cane-tootsie-pops/
 
 
 
Sources
 
https://www.prisonfellowship.org/resources/training-resources/in-prison/ministry-basics/top-10-bible-verses-on-prison-ministry/