For me to live is Christ,
and to die is gain.
Philippians 1:21
I never thought Benny was going to die so young...
and to die is gain.
Philippians 1:21
I never thought Benny was going to die so young...
The last time he was here was on Sunday, January 30, 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 altar 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.
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 altar 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.
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