October 2005

This morning I had my usual time of Scripture reading and prayer. I had been pondering Jesus' "Garden of Gethsemane" experience which could be found in the twenty-second chapter of Luke's gospel account. Here the Lord was preparing himself for His soon to come arrest, and his execution on a Roman cross which would follow shortly thereafter.

In the forty-first verse of the chapter Jesus had temporarily left his followers to find a quiet place where He would pray to His Father in heaven. And in this verse I also saw my own need to, when necessary, get alone with God so that I might seek Him for myself.

Very often, I have observed, those who've made promises to pray for me about a certain matter, will fail to do so. Like Jesus' disciples, they're too tired, after a full day's work, to pray. Or, in the fast paced world in which we live, they'll become too busy and too preoccupied with their own lives, or get too distracted with their own problems, that they simply forget to pray. And I, too, am oftentimes guilty of doing the same.

In this instance, however, the Lord had requested prayer assistance from His disciples, but they fell asleep instead. They failed Jesus during a time of urgent need, not only for the Lord's sake, but for theirs, too. Because very shortly Jesus was going to be taken from them, and their faith was going to be tested severely.

Thus what I believe the Lord showed me through my study of this passage is that during my times of struggle and desperation, and when I am facing situations which are beyond my own strength to deal with, the only one I could depend on is Jesus. My help comes from Him.

D.B.

I think about my mom constantly. She was a special woman and a devoted mother. And what's great about having my own journal is that I could write what I want. So every year on this day, which is the anniversary of her passing, I pay her a tribute. She died from cancer on October 5, 1967.

My mom, Pearl Berkowitz, was a homemaker who worked hard to keep our small three room apartment clean, cozy, and neat.

Even though I was only fourteen at the time of her death, I still recall many things about her. It's been thirty-eight years since she's been gone.

Anyhow, in the kitchen, directly above our simple dining table, fasted to the wall, was a porcelain plaque which had these words: "God Bless This Happy Home." It had little floral designs on it, too.

This flower-shaped plaque, I believe, best expressed what was in my mother's heart. She longed for a happy home. And in addition to caring for my dad and me, my mom busied herself with her plants and her parakeet, knitting quilts and afghans which were made from an array of colored yarns, shopping, baking and cooking, and keeping the home kosher. She was very religious when it came to the Jewish traditions, such as lighting candles on the Sabbath, which began every Friday at sundown.

My mom also loved to read, and like many women, she liked to talk on the phone. I have my regrets, of course. I was not a good son. But she hoped for a home with happiness, and we did have many good times together.

D.B.

The word "prodigal" means reckless and wasteful. And if we're honest with ourselves, I told the congregation during this morning's chapel service, we've all been guilty, perhaps some of us more than others, of carelessly wasting our time, talents and lives on useless things.

The Lord, I believe, has His share of prodigal sons and daughters (me included) who've allowed ourselves to become discouraged, or to lose faith, or to fall into sin. We started off right, I said, and we're walking with the Lord, but then we grow cold. Maybe we even take a fall and find ourselves straying off course for months, or for years.

As a result, the guilt becomes overwhelming because we know we have failed God. The devil then enters the scene and has a joyous time tormenting us further, gleefully reminding us just how bad we "messed up." Satan loves to condemn God's children.

Yet, in the midst of the condemnation and our failures, somehow, the "Light" begins to shine again. The Holy Spirit, I told the men, has never given up on us. He quietly begins to stir our hearts. And under His convicting authority we find ourselves crying to the Lord Jesus for mercy. In addition, we also discover that His "Throne of Grace" is still open for business. There's no "Keep Away" sign posted. Instead we find in Christ a warm and loving welcome. We repent and He relents. We apologize with broken and contrite hearts, and He forgives and restores abundantly.

The Lord knows that we're only "earthen vessels." He knows our frame. And while Jesus never condones back-sliding, He does put us on the right track once again. Amen!

D.B.

During this morning's chapel service, one of the men stood up to share his story of how he came to be where he's at today. In the five minutes he spoke he told a story I have heard so often, but from many different lips. "If I had not gotten arrested and come to prison, I'd probably be dead."

A large proportion of the men who make up the church that's behind these walls had a serious drug problem when they were in the "streets." Some of them were also homeless and lived under bridges or in cardboard boxes. And they all swear that God saved their lives by allowing them to be arrested, even though, at the time, none of them viewed their arrest as anything positive. Later, however, after months or years of confinement, one by one, each man was able to hear the message of salvation and place his trust in Jesus Christ, and only then did each man see the biggest picture, that God rescued them from their self-destructive ways.

The man who gave his testimony today has been in prison for about five years. He's also scheduled to be released within the next week or two. And he will be going to a shelter in New York City where he'll have to report to a parole officer as well as remain on parole for at least several more years.

Not surprisingly, this man expressed his fear of going back to the streets because he knows he will be surrounded by temptations. Furthermore, he has no family ties. There will be no one to welcome him home. He'll get no hugs or greetings. Instead he will have to face the realization that he could eventually relapse and repeat the proverbial "revolving door" cycle of going in and out of prison again and again.

In any case, he now recognizes that his life had once been out of control. And, by his own admission, at the rate he was using drugs and stealing to support his habit, had he not gotten arrested when he did, he probably would not be alive today.

My hope for him, of course, is that he does well on the outside. I urged him to find a church with genuinely caring members who would be willing to give him spiritual support and emotional encouragement. I also told him to refuse to become discouraged if he finds it hard to locate such a congregation. Unfortunately, not every "church" welcomes ex-offenders and ex-addicts.

Then, near the end of our service, when the minister gave the alter call, this man came to the front and allowed us to pray for him. And in a very short time he will be walking out the front door of the prison, and he'll be on his way.

D.B.

I never thought Benny was going to die so young. The last time he was here was on Sunday, January 31, 2005. I remember that day. I was the worship leader. My chaplain was sitting in his chair at the front of the congregation, while the "ministry team" of Benny and Al, two ex-cons turned evangelists and preachers, were present. They'd come to the prison every fifth Sunday and would take turns speaking. Then, when the service was over, they'd get into their car and drive down the road to the minimum security facility that's a short distance away from this place, in order to preach in that chapel, too. They also traveled to other prisons and jails throughout New York State.

Benny Baerga, age 50, gave the sermon that Sunday. I don't remember the message, but he was his usual fiery self. He was once a gang member, pickpocket, bank robber, and a man who would brazenly rob drug dealers. Benny was your typical troubled teenager who grew up on Manhattan's infamous "Lower East Side," an area known for its drugs, prostitution and crime. While in years past, in the decades shortly before and after the turn of the century, the Lower East Side was known for the sea of poor immigrants who flooded the area in search of a better life. It's a part of New York City where hopes and dreams, and death and despair, would meld together in a struggle for the survival of the fittest, or the luckiest.

Many years ago, however, when Benny was in his mid-twenties, he was arrested for a variety of charges to include robbery and possession of a weapon. He ended up receiving a prison sentence for which he served seven years. But in a strange way, shortly after Benny was nabbed, and he had been arrested many times prior to this, his life was going to change for the better. A miracle was going to take place that would alter his course.

According to the story Benny once told me, which his friend Alan reiterated many times throughout the years, it was during Benny's stay at the sprawling 20,000 inmate Riker's Island jail complex located on a small island at the northern end of New York City's borough of Queens, that one day a bored Benny would suddenly decide to go to the jail's chapel to attend a service.

On Riker's Island are housed men and women from all walks of life. They're awaiting their turns to answer to various criminal charges that range from "Driving under the Influence" to multiple homicides. And while many end up having to do "jail time" for lesser crimes, like sixty days for a DUI, many others, like Benny, have to appear in State Court to face more serious charges. And if the latter group is found guilty, a majority of these individuals will enter the State's prison system.

So with nothing to do on a Sunday morning, when the guards on his wing announced that anyone wishing to go to the chapel may do so, Benny went. But when he arrived there was a man present who, before he was to preach his message, began to sing a song. Benny said it was this certain song that, for some unknown reason, after the service was finished and he returned to his living area, he could not get it out of his head.

Months later, when Benny was finally sentenced to prison, and he went upstate to the New York State Department of Correction's reception facility called "Downstate," Benny once again decided to go to the chapel. Ironically, at the Downstate facility, which is at least an hour's drive north of Riker's Island, he found the same man singing the same song. Benny said he was amazed to find him here, too.

But that day, whatever the preacher said, touched Benny's heart. Then, later that night, while he was alone in his cell, Benny called out to Jesus Christ. With tears in his eyes, this tall, lanky street fighter and career criminal asked Jesus to forgive him for all his sins. It was the night Benny repented and got born again. Meanwhile his life would never be the same.

And as time went on and as Benny moved on to different prisons, he would always get involved with the Bible studies and worship services that each place had to offer. Eventually he became an "elder" and leader within these congregations. In addition, Benny would become the inmate pastor at the Otisville Correctional Facility, from where he would also get released on parole.

Benny's faith, however, was not the often ridiculed "jailhouse religion." Rather he became a preacher. Upon his release he joined the Times Square Church in Manhattan. He also became a member of the church's prison ministry team, where he would soon meet the man who was to become his best friend. Together Benny and Alan would go back into the prisons and jails to preach the gospel as well as try to encourage the inmates to leave their criminal lifestyles and instead devote their lives to Jesus Christ.

Benny was deeply loved and admired by the men here because he genuinely cared about those who are incarcerated. He walked in their shoes. He grew up in the streets. In his younger years Benny ran wild, like many of these men did. He also dropped out of school, rebelled against his parents, and nearly destroyed himself. And most of the prisoners could obviously relate to this.

Yet by the grace of God, Benny survived those reckless days. He endured his punishment and imprisonment, too. He got out and beat the odds. He became a law-abiding citizen, and he would eventually get married and raise two kids in the Christian home he made for them. In addition, he leaves behind two grown children from his "before Christ" pre-incarceration days.

Furthermore, although Benny didn't have much of an education, he got a job as a counselor at the Bowery Mission in the same neighborhood where he grew up. He counseled and helped countless homeless men who wandered through the Mission's doors where he led many of them to Christ.

Going back to the last Sunday morning in January, however, it was here in the chapel where Benny got behind the pulpit to give us what was going to be his final sermon. As always, he preached to us from God's heart. Then, when Benny gave the alter call, the front of the chapel became filled with men seeking prayer for their various needs, with many like myself wanting a deeper walk with God. This was the kind of impact Benny had on us.

Afterwards, as the service came to a close, we took our turns hugging Alan and Benny goodbye, as is our custom. No one, however, had any idea that we would never see Benny again.

That night, we were to learn several weeks later, Benny developed severe stomach pains. His family thought it was maybe something he ate, perhaps a bad case of food poisoning. But the pains were so intense that he ended up going to the emergency room of the local hospital. And subsequent tests revealed it was stomach cancer which was at the "Stage Four" level; it was serious.

We were stunned at the news. Benny didn't smoke or drink. He appeared to be in excellent physical shape. He was tall, too, like a basketball player. He was also movie star handsome with olive skin and pearl white teeth. Benny didn't look to be an ounce overweight and he always seemed to abound with energy. Most fifty year old men, I believe, would give a million dollars to look like Benny did for his age. Many took him to be in his thirties. They'd be shocked when they found out he was fifty.

All this was to change, of course. Benny's health began to deteriorate almost overnight. Alan, his beloved friend and ministry partner, was devastated. Meanwhile, we kept tabs on his condition as best we could. We also continued to pray for Benny and his family.

Yet Benny got weaker and sicker. He made it to 51 years old before he went home to be with Christ. This month was his last month on the earth. His smiling face is gone. He will be missed. Benny's testimony, however, will live on.

D.B.

While extreme pain could slow a person down, it can also cause him to fall upon his knees in order to seek help from the Lord. And this is what has happened to me.

In my journal entry "Known by God" I briefly mentioned the lower back and sciatic nerve problem I recently developed. I awoke one morning in September and found myself barely able to walk. A visit to the prison's Infirmary, however, amounted to my being given a handful of Tylenol pills. The nurse thought, and so did I, that I had probably kicked my right leg against the wall in my sleep and subsequently injured it. Wrong!

As the days went by the pain continued. So I returned to the Infirmary. More Tylenol was administered, but this time with instructions to "Take it easy." Nothing! While still another return to the nurse's office days later caused her to redirect me to see the facility's doctor. The doctor, after looking over my condition, promptly ordered x-rays.

The results of my x-rays, which came back a couple of weeks later because they were sent to an outside hospital to be reviewed, revealed a diagnosis of "osteoarthritis" and the loss of bone density and cartilage (Degenerative Joint Disease) around the hip socket and the "lumbar" area of my lower spine. In other words, aside from the fancy medical terminology, I'm getting older and various body parts have begun to wear out.

Now, unfortunately for me, I'm in constant pain. Walking, sitting, sleeping, it makes no difference. The area involving my lower back and right hip, in addition to almost my entire right leg from the hip to just above the ankle, is on fire.

Nevertheless, despite my situation, I still have to work full-time cleaning the showers and stalls. I'm also busy with the chapel services and Bible studies. No work restrictions have been placed on me, and I want to stay active. My only reprieve, though, is to lie on my side whenever I can get to my bunk. This way the pain eases a little, but not by much.

The worst drawback to my medical condition, however, is that I can no longer "walk by faith," as the Bible says to do (II Corinthians 5:7). Instead I must limp by faith, at least for now.

D.B.