June 2008

I was in chapel this morning along with my chaplain and the members of our choir. A dozen of us go into the chapel well ahead of everyone else in order to set up all our equipment. We do everything from putting Bibles out for the men to use, to setting up the sound equipment which includes several keyboards, microphones, speakers, an amplifier, and even a full piece drum set. And when we're done setting up we join our hands together and ask God's blessings upon the day's events.

Normally our worship service begins promptly at 10 A.M. So we were puzzled when, by 10:15, no one had showed up. But about this time a guard entered the building and told us to return to our housing areas, which we did. And by 10:30 I was back in my cell wondering, like everyone else, what was going on.

Now it's 10:30 in the evening and we're still on a facility lockdown. The morning service was cancelled, and so was the evening service that would normally begin after six o'clock. In addition, I missed the birthday party the guys were going to give me tonight. I wasn't supposed to know about it. But earlier today I spotted the bags of cookies my co-workers had tried to hide in a storage locker inside the chapel. They were going to pass out the cookies with our coffee and tea.

And I've got the feeling I may be on lockdown status tomorrow as well. For now, however, I don't know. All the inmates remain in our cells.

D.B.

The word came early this morning, when, during the seven o'clock shift change, the newly arriving daytime officer announced that we're still under a "lockdown." It was also obvious when, around 7:30, several other officers showed up in the housing unit pushing a stainless steel food cart. Breakfast was being served. This is the procedure during a lockdown. Each man gets one individual styrofoam food tray along with a cup of barely chilled skim milk and a small 4-ounce juice.

And with all this came the endless speculation amongst the inmates as to why this was happening. I know that, several days ago, there was a seemingly isolated fight among members of two rival Latino gangs. Although most of the time the prison is peaceful with regard to gang related violence, whenever there is an incident, or whenever the administration thinks there is, they get nervous.

Yet whatever the reason for the shutdown, I at least have the day off. This means no work. But also no chance to shower or to use the community telephones later tonight. Instead, until further notice, I'm to remain confined to my room. In this environment, an inmate could be out of his cell one minute, but locked in his cell the next, sometimes for many days.

D.B.

Today is the third day being under a "lockdown." I'm enjoying the rest as well as having the extra time to catch up on my writing, reading and cleaning. Someone who knows nothing about prisons, other than what he has seen on television, probably has no idea of how busy a place this can be. My days are usually filled with things to do. I have a work assignment which begins shortly after breakfast. Then I have another job which starts at 12:45. While most evenings I'm either in the chapel attending Bible study, or in my cell writing, or I am in the recreation yard. And aside from the times when I'm required to be in my cell for the daily "head counts" or to sleep, I'm not here too often.

Anyhow, it's now approximately 4:30 in the afternoon. The mail was just given out. Then, at 5:30, the evening's meal will be served. Once again, because of the lockdown, it will be given out by correction officers who'll go from cell to cell giving each inmate a tray of food along with a lukewarm cup of Kool-aid.

However, the rumor is that the lockdown will be ending around eight o'clock. If so, I'll be allowed out of my cell along with everyone else to shower, mail my letters, throw out my garbage, or get on the long line to use the telephone. But I've already decided to opt for the shower because I've been three days without one.

D.B.

My friend, "Pastor Doc," told me in a recent letter that while he was waiting for an appointment to see his doctor at western New York veterans hospital, he happened to spy a copy of my (Son of Hope) testimony pamphlet lying on a table in the waiting room. Of course I was thrilled to learn about this, and I wrote back to tell him so.

Although Pastor Doc didn't know it, I've been undergoing a period of discouragement wondering if my life is really having any kind of positive impact outside of this prison. Obviously the Lord knew this. So He placed it upon my friend's mind to write and share with me about the pamphlet.

Even in a hospital waiting room several hundred miles away sat my story of hope. And as to who placed it there, I've no idea. But, hopefully, someone will pick it up, read it, and be drawn toward Christ. Furthermore, they'll discover, as well, that God is merciful to even the worst of sinners and criminals.

D.B.

There is a longing in my heart to be with the Lord, and I will never be fully satisfied until I am with Him, forever.

I believe that every Christian, while we live on this sin-scorched planet, and as we live in such easily prone to sin bodies, oftentimes find ourselves yearning for what the Bible says, are the "courts of the Lord (Psalm 84)."

We long for God's presence, and nothing else will do. We can busy ourselves with many good and productive "Christian" activities, like going to church, praying, reading the Bible, and doing ministry work. But none of these can completely satisfy us in and of themselves. They cannot take the place of having an intimate relationship with the Lord Jesus.

Yet one day, as the Scriptures assure us, we will enter into God's presence. We will go into His courts with praise (Psalm 100:4). And our sojourn on earth will be over. Our struggles will be done and our temptations gone. In addition, these feeble bodies will be replaced with new and everlasting ones that shall never know sin, sickness, or pain.

Therefore I must keep my "hope" to the end (I Peter 1:13). It's only a matter of time.

D.B.

Father's Day is a bittersweet time for me. I have many regrets and much anguish over past wrongdoings. How often I've wished for the chance to begin my life over again, this time being a wise and well-behaved son. I'd have brought joy and gladness to my father instead of hurt and shame.

Thankfully, however, my Dad has forgiven me. And he and I get along just fine. The Lord, too, has forgiven me. As the Bible declares, God has thrown all my sins into the "Sea of Forgetfulness," as it is often referred to, never to have them resurface again. How wonderful! And if God has chosen to forget my iniquities, why then shouldn't I?

D.B.

This morning, being Father's Day, my chaplain gave an important message about fatherhood. In his sermon he explained how those who have sons or daughters have been given the responsibility to be a priest, prophet and king over his household as he rules in mercy, and in love. It was a timely and necessary message which gave clarity to us on what our God-given roles should be if we have children, and if we are to raise them to honor the Lord and to respect life.

In addition, he went on to say that even though we're incarcerated and more than likely not been good role models to our kids, it's never too late to start on the right path. And I know this was a good point because many of these men have children. Some have more than one. And most of them will eventually get out of here to rejoin their families.

However, after my chaplain was done speaking, there was still time remaining. So he asked me to share whatever was on my heart. I therefore spoke about the children of Israel. How that, because of their rebellion and hardness of heart, they ultimately brought much suffering upon themselves to include more than 400 years as slaves living in captivity under the ruthless rulership of the Pharaohs. But, mercifully, God heard their cries and delivered them through the hand of Moses, the man He raised up for the occasion.

I then asked the congregation to read along with me from Exodus 3:7-10. Where, in this passage, I explained, the Lord saw the affliction of His people, and He responded. Yet there was the realization, too, that their suffering was self-inflicted. Sin had run its course. "And such has been the case with us," I said. "We're in prison because of the very same thing - sin - and we've no one to blame but ourselves," I declared. It's a truism, I told the men, that the sooner we admit this, the better we'll be.

I was very blunt, and I think this surprised a lot of them. But, with a gentle voice, I began to discuss my own bad choices. I then went on to tie this to Father's Day. I described some of my own childhood, and how kind and loving my parents were. I said that I was the hope of my Mom and Dad, because, when they adopted me at birth, they had already been childless for many years. So I was a dream come true. Finally, I son! Yet now I live with regret for causing my father untold heartache, disappointment and grief. My mother, fortunately, never saw me come to prison as she died when I was fourteen. Still she knew me as an oftentimes ungrateful and disobedient child, and this hurt her.

Nevertheless, I went on to say to my fellow prisoners, that since all of us had fathers - some who were good at parenting and some who were not - it is still our responsibility to love them. And to forgive our dads if there were irresponsible, uncaring, absent from our lives, or abusive. Or if they were drunkards or drug addicts, as some of them were.

"We're to forgive them for their failures as fathers," I said. "Just as Christ has forgiven us for our sins, we must forgive and forget," I stated, " if we're to move on with our lives."

However, my main theme this morning was personal responsibility. So I asked the men to be honest. I said that even if we had dads who were bad, we're the ones who committed whatever crimes that brought us here. And if some of us were blessed with good fathers, we're therefore guilty of destroying the hopes and dreams they had for us. But, whatever the case may be, all we have to do is repent and ask God to forgive us for our sins, and to ask Him for another chance to make things right. "Through Christ," I said, "our lives could be made anew, and from this very moment."

Then, when I was finished, there was total silence. But this was a good thing because I knew that each man was pondering what was said. And while some of them may have been taken aback by my forthrightness and my honesty to confess my own failures, I believe they understood that I had spoken the truth.

Moreover, I concluded by again stating that it was time for repentance. Likewise it was time to love our fathers, and to love our own sons and daughters more than ever if we happen to be fathers. "After all," I said, "we serve a God of hope." In addition, He is our heavenly Father who knows what's "best" for each of us. They understood this as well.

D.B.

A friend from South Carolina recently sent me a book that her brother wrote. Paul Young is a missionary in South Africa. And in one of his chapters, the one which deals with health and healing, I became very convicted by what I read. So I hereby confess that for far too long I have violated many of the principles which God has given to humanity for overall health and longevity.

I definitely gleaned a lot from the book because I've been guilty of not doing certain things that would enhance my well-being. I don't rest like I should. I push myself too hard. I'm hyperactive, so I have trouble concentrating. I take on too many projects which oftentimes means that they never get done. I also don't get enough sleep or exercise. And to quote famed missionary, Amy Carmichael, who spent many years of her life working among India's poor, "Leave yourself a margin." By this she meant allowing for times of rest and recuperation.

And to further quote Ms. Carmichael's words, which are in Paul's book, "Go gently. Don't do as I did... Don't work each day till you are unable to do one minute more..." She should know. Amy spent the last twenty years of her life as an invalid. Prior to this she had the reputation for "always rushing about" in order to fulfill her ministry. I need to learn from this.

D.B.

Recently I learned from my friend, Mike, who lives in the State of Alabama, that a friend of his who just returned from a tour in Iraq, committed suicide. Even though he was a stranger to me, I am saddened by his death. Surely it is exceedingly tragic when a person ends his life, let alone a soldier who was in his prime. He left behind a devastated family and a promising future.

Suicide, I believe, is always a victory for Satan. I do not, however, believe that someone who takes his life goes to hell. I've known several Christians whom, as inexplicable as it seems, lost their hope and chose to kill themselves. And I can say with confidence that in the Lord there is always hope no matter how hard life gets at times. For the darkness of the moment could vanish tomorrow. But I suppose, too, that when a person is in deep despair, it is easy to think that those gray clouds of depression will never go away.

So when I wrote back to my friend, I told him how sorry I was to learn of his needless loss. Yet this incident strongly reminded me to pray for our nation's military personnel. Oftentimes we're guilty of not showing the appreciation due them for serving our country. They need our prayers and support.

Furthermore, the members of the military often return home to a world that's changed a lot, even in the space of the months or years they've been gone. Yes, many times a service person comes home to find that his job was given to someone else, or a spouse has left him for someone else. Frankly, the era of the "John Wayne" mystique where soldiers, sailors and airmen come back to cheering crowds and warm welcomes, is long gone.

In our present age of ingratitude and selfishness, those who've put their lives on the line, who've left their families behind for awhile in order to help defend America, find themselves returning to a mostly indifferent world. No wonder, then, that suicide rates among veterans is at record levels.

So may I state my opinion that it is the humble duty of the Church to show the men and women of the military the love and kindness of our God. And it is the responsibility of the body of Christ to assist those who are in the service, and their immediate families, with their spiritual needs. The Church should help them in any way possible. It's simply the right thing to do.

D.B.

Earlier this week I received a visit from an old acquaintance, Daniel. The last time we saw each other was in the early 1970s. He and I are from the Bronx. We first met when we were about sixteen or seventeen years old. Daniel and I were two of scores of teenagers who'd hang in and around a recently opened shopping center on Dreiser Loop in the Co-op City section. Co-op City, which is one of the largest housing developments in New York City, was still under construction back then with only a few of an assortment of thirty-five high rise buildings having been completed with tenants already living in them. And on most nights, as well as on weekends, dozens of teens, with little to do, would gather at the shopping center to socialize.

Although Daniel and I each moved among different circles of friends, we did cross paths on occasion during our adolescent years. I remember seeing him at a couple of local parties. Daniel also knew one of my best friends, Eddie, who's dad had been a New York City firefighter with Engine Company 48. Eddie's dad was killed in the line of duty, I think it was in the mid 1960s, while going down into a manhole to search for workers who were reported to be trapped. This occurred near the intersection of East Fordham Road and Valentine Avenue in the Bronx. Eddie's father was overcome by gas fumes and died.

And Daniel was much different than me as far as school went. He was scholarly and smart, and he excelled in his studies, while I was hyperactive and bored in the classroom setting. Therefore I did poorly in school, and at times I'd also cut classes, which didn't help with my final grades. Yet in 1971 I somehow managed to graduate from Christopher Columbus High School with a "C-minus" average. But Daniel was a "wiz kid" who graduated from the elite Bronx High School of Science where only the intellectually gifted could attend.

Then, when Daniel came to see me, he brought with him an array of photos of Co-op City and the surrounding neighborhood. It was interesting to see thirty years of change and progress. Vacant lots, as I remembered them, have been transformed into sprawling shopping centers with fancy stores and restaurants, and modern multiplex movie theaters. And at one location, where there was once a junk yard, now has a large postal facility in its place. Thus from what I could see, much of my old neighborhood is now unrecognizable to me.

So vast have been the changes that the photos, although fascinating, were also difficult to look at. I had an emotionally challenging time viewing scenes of streets I once traveled upon as a teenager, and as a young man, when, in 1974, I was discharged from the military after a three year period of enlistment.

And I also saw several well taken photos of my former apartment building, including the windows of my old apartment. I lived on the 17th floor of a 24-story high rise at 170 Dreiser Loop. At first it was just my Dad and I living together until he remarried a few years later. My mother, unfortunately, who had been eagerly looking forward to moving to Co-op City, died shortly before we were to leave our roach infested tenement on Stratford Avenue. At the time my parents and I were living in the increasingly crime ridden Soundview area of the borough.

Later that night, however, after my visit with Daniel, I shed many tears as I recalled the years of my youth. Back then I thought I had a good future awaiting me. I never foresaw prison. Never in my wildest dreams did I know the twists and turns that were ahead for me.

Nevertheless, while my life had had its share of problems, thankfully, for Daniel, he's done well for himself. He has a wife and son, and a good career. He's also a bona fide "suburbanite" with a nice house in Westchester County. So while our lives are very different today, we've got our old neighborhood and some people from the past to connect us.

It was good to reminisce. Best of all, I was able to share my faith with Daniel. And he seemed to be interested in what I had to say concerning the Lord.

D.B.

The other day someone was telling me about a psychologist and professor from New York City who recently developed a theory that there are "20 stages" of evil. I don't remember the man's name and I never paid much attention to it, but for awhile he appeared on a number of television and radio shows espousing his belief. Several articles have been written about this as well. But such theories and pop ideas surface all the time. Every professional, no matter how noble his intentions, wants to be admired as the one who figured it all out. The Bible, however, says that the wisdom of this world amounts to nothing but foolishness in God's eyes. And like those who've attempted to explain the mind and its behaviors, at some point the "20 Stages" concept will be dumped and replaced by something newer and more in vogue.

But I wonder if this professor could explain how a murderous religious zealot like "Saul of Tarsus," who beat and persecuted Christians, and sometimes even put them to death, could himself have a life transforming encounter with Christ? The Bible says that the evil Saul became the legendary apostle, Paul. In fact the former killer, turned Paul the minister, ended up being appointed by God to write the famous "Love chapter" in the New Testament (First Corinthians chapter thirteen).

A hater became a lover. How would such a smarty-pants professor explain this?

D.B.

Several days ago the Lord impressed it upon my mind to prepare a message which I have tentatively titled, "The Working of Satan." It is based on II Thessalonians 2:9 as its main text, and other Scriptures will be given as well. And I want to write this message because I believe there's a lack of godly discernment within much of the body of Christ. Nowadays, much to my dismay, many Christians seem to be searching for some "new" thing. They'll travel many miles, at much cost, to get to the latest circus-like "Christian" event. They're desperate to obtain some kind of mysterious supernatural "impartation" from the latest religious superstar to come to the scene. Likewise, they're thirsting after the ultimate experience to add to the faith and power they're already supposed to possess as followers of the Lord Jesus.

Well I'm frustrated by the nonsense and the empty hype which often leaves my brethren disillusioned, and even in deep financial debt because of all the money they shelled out to travel to reach that "anointed" envoy from the spiritual realm with his claims of special access to God.

Therefore, may I humbly state that, leaving these charismatic superstars behind, may the body of Christ return to the "old paths" whom, for example, the prophet Jeremiah mentioned in his writings (Jeremiah 6:16).

And I believe that these 'old paths' - to fast-forward to our present time - consist of prayer, reading the Bible for one's self, and gathering in regular fellowship with other Christians who believe that the Bible is the Word of God. These are the basic ABCs to spiritual growth and maturity. These are the building blocks to becoming a Christian who's strong in his faith, and in power. There are no short cuts!

Whereas, with this in mind, I am working on a message that, Lord willing, when it is done, will get placed on this website. And I hope it will encourage all of us to "test" the spirits (I John 4:1-4), as well as help us to better understand that spiritual growth requires time with the Lord, and patience.

This is all I will say on the matter.

D.B.