In February, Lake Avenue Church in Pasadena, CA hosted a week-long event that explored a compassionate and informed understanding of the mass incarceration issue in America. The event, Locked In Solidarity, included traditional prayer as well as prayer with “feet”, such as a community-relations forum with local police, an all-day symposium with various experts and speakers, and an open mic event at Rosebud Cafe entitled Unlocked.
Handcuffed Prisoner
Snaps went up when truth was spoken. Tears rolled down when pain was shared.
I was pleased to be able to participate in the open mic and performed “Jesus Lives In Jail”, a spoken-word piece I had written about my perspective as a corrections-based mental health practitioner. The entire evening was sobering, yet invigorating. I felt inspired to be in a space with so many individuals who also know that justice must come and who are tackling the issue of mass incarceration in their own various ways (activism, education, politics, art — oh, the critical need for art to document and shape history and the future!). Snaps went up when truth was spoken. Tears rolled down when pain was shared. Laughter bubbled up like a unifying head-nod when that particular old-school R&B or hip hop jam comes on.
It is where all systemic failures converge, where racism thrives, where trauma seems to keep the place running, and where being brown and poor is often my clients’ primary crime.
When you work in the nation’s largest county jail, which also happens to be the largest mental health institution in the country, you see things. On a regular basis, you’re exposed to a host of unsavory, inappropriate, and traumatic sights and experiences. I thought I knew what I was signing up for when I was hired as a psychiatric social worker in the jail. I assumed I’d hear screams, see genitalia, be called names. I figured that the environment would probably smell bad, would be chaotic, and would help develop my stiff upper lip. What I didn’t expect was the mic-drop, slap-in-the-face, disheartening realization of what this place truly is: it is where all systemic failures converge, where racism thrives, where trauma seems to keep the place running, and where being brown and poor is often my clients’ primary crime. But within that gut-wrenching realization, there was another level of shock for which I was not prepared. Providing mental health treatment to these inmates has shown me one glaring fact: that Jesus lives in jail.
Jesus’ eyes are bloodshot; he hasn’t slept in over a week.
Jesus’ eyes are bloodshot; he hasn’t slept in over a week. He has sores all over his body due to heavy methamphetamine use. He is screaming and banging his head on the glass of his door in an effort to relieve the auditory hallucinations that tell him he’s worthless. Sometimes his cell is filthy and he’s too paranoid to take a shower. There are times when he is so mentally sick that he will stand naked in his cell, defecate on the floor, and even refuse to eat. Sometimes he is stable enough to meet with me outside of his cell, and we talk about why he wants to kill himself or what he misses most about his kids.
Jesus is 18 facing life. Jesus is 55, but looks 80.
Jesus is 18 facing life. Jesus is 55, but looks 80. Jesus is a gang banger with “f**k the cops” tattooed on his forehead. Jesus is an individual with developmental disabilities. Jesus stole some socks and had some weed on him. Jesus beat up his girlfriend. Jesus has been institutionalized his whole life. So often, Jesus was born already addicted to street drugs, with a brain that craved trauma and high-risk activities. Sometimes, he has committed some of the most heinous crimes, including molesting children, murder or rape. He is broken, has had continual trauma throughout his life, and seems to have no coping skills other than manipulating others for his personal gain. Like a punch to the gut, it hit me: the realization that these, the despised, some of whom we’d categorize as sociopaths, the ones who likely should not be allowed to live in our communities and should be kept away from society, are in fact Jesus — they are the Biblically-designated “least of these”. Really? The guy who did THAT? Yes, that guy.
Like a punch to the gut, it hit me: the realization that these, the despised, some of whom we’d categorize as sociopaths…
Sometimes, I’ll post a brief snippet of an interaction that I have with one of my jail clients on my Facebook page (maintaining confidentiality, of course). I use the hashtag #JesusLivesInJail. I think a lot of people had thought that I was referring to myself as Jesus, that I was “helping” these mentally ill folks and waving my altruistic magic social worker wand, offering them compassion and kindness. I mean, sure. I’m nice to these guys. Yes, I mix deep compassion with my masters-level training. Yes, I do feel that I can recognize the dignity and worth of an individual (a core social work tenet). And yes, I’m willing to sit and listen to my clients when many don’t have the patience or empathy to do so. But the real Jesus in this job isn’t me. He’s the one who cycles between living on skid row and living in a jail cell. He’s the one who exaggerates his symptoms to try to get as many meds as he can. He’s the one who screams at me in agony and then calls me degrading names and threatens to harm me. He’s the one who has not been taught how to deal with stress other than working to create more of it. He’s the one who was abused and who continues to be so, and in many cases is now the abuser. This is Jesus. He lives in the darkness, in the group homes, on the streets. He languishes in a jail cell. He is incompetent to stand trial. He awaits a life sentence. He knows the system well enough to go pro-per (where he represents himself in court). He would bail out if he or his family had the money. He is smart. He is delayed. He is a mama’s boy. He is a woman-hater. He is a human being who suffers. He is both victim and perpetrator, caught and mangled in the fast-moving cogs and gears of this broken and unjust machine of a system. And he is warehoused with thousands of others, just like him.
But the real Jesus in this job isn’t me.
I never would have expected that jail was where my career path would meander. But I am grateful for all that it continues to show me about my own privilege, humanity, systemic injustice, and where to find Jesus Christ.
JESUS LIVES IN JAIL
Jesus lives in jail.
I’ve seen his very eyes.
They’re weepy ruby red
Sunken into a head
That’s sucked up and kicking
Perpetrator victim
He tells me of his mind.
I hear his tortured screams.
Desperate and choked
Smothered by the joke
The cash bail system
Smashes dreams and wishes
Jesus lives in jail.
I’ve seen his tired arms.
Tattooed and tracked
Mostly brown, mostly black
Filthy and useless
All efforts are fruitless
He tells me of his mother.
I’ve held his every word
Each one indigo and lonely
Says I need her to hold me
Trauma tightly grips him
Always the same lesson
Jesus lives in jail.
I see him every day.
Institutionalized by design
He was born to be despised
Brown and poor
Don’t you dare ask for more
He asks if I can help him
I try my very best.
Systemic failures converge here
A massive ship I cannot steer
A warehouse of Jesús Cristos
Society won’t miss those
Jesus lives in jail
I try to tell the cops
That he could be your brother
Walk in the chanclas of another
Born into drama
A brain that craves trauma
He says he’s facing life.
I see his young shoulders
Broad and able
But he can’t turn the table
He says it’s cuz he’s black
Looks at my pigment lack
Jesus lives in jail.
I try my best to listen.
He knows just what to say
Not suicidal, took my meds today
Empathy leads me
We are both breathing
Jesus lives in jail.
Hopes for visits and for mail.
Jesus bangs his head.
Hustles others for their bread.
Jesus cries for mother.
His pain he tries to cover.
Jesus cries and writhes.
He is the despised.
Jesus in a cage
Can’t contain the rage.
Jesus smears his feces
Delusional and reeking
Jesus hears the voices
They direct his choices
Jesus harms himself
Desperate for help
Jesus lives in jail.
Detoxing and frail.
Jesus won’t get fed
He’s already dead
Jesus lost his vision
Trauma is the system
Jesus can be sickening
Perpetrator victim
Jesus lives in jail.
I’ve seen his very eyes.
They’re weepy ruby red
Sunken into a head
That’s sucked up and kicking
Perpetrator victim
Jesus lives in jail.
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