In the first week of April I attended the Kairos Short Journey, a three day non-denominational Christian retreat. It was the third time the Kairos were allowed to hold the Short Journey on death row in the last 18 months, a sure sign the prison system is slowly orientating toward more programs. There is still a ways to go in the fight for education in prison, but the Short Journey is an excellent step in the best possible direction.
 
Kairos is a non-profit Christian organization that brings the Good News of Jesus Christ into prisons. They are Christian Action at its finest, fulfilling the necessity of faith-works. For those unfamiliar with the saying “Faith without works is dead”, it simply means that one cannot believe in God and accept the label of “Christian” without doing as Christ commanded—administer to the poor, sick and imprisoned. Love one another. The Kairos choose not only to bring us the love of God, but their time energy and belief in our value as human beings. It is how they live and after meeting them and hearing their lectures I was/am in awe.
 
The first day I didn’t know what to expect. As a confirmed Catholic I have a specific set of ideas about God the Father, His Son and the Holy Spirit. I am very much my mother’s son in devotion to the teachings of Jesus in action, even though I fall way short of that standard much of the time. I try my best and ask God to help me along the path.
 
My mother was mine and my siblings CCD (Confraternity of Christian Doctrine) teacher for several years until we became adolescents and she grew away from the church. It may not have seemed like I paid attention as a kid, especially considering the way I acted in my teen years, but her lessons have helped me return to Christianity as a more humble and contrite adult. So I had a small advantage on the first day of Short Journey because the other guys at my table were not avowed Christians. One was a Muslim, another what the Muslims call an “apostle” (that’s a long story I’m not getting into), two had no specific religious beliefs and then there was me.
 
There were four separate tables with five death row prisoners at each and three Kairos volunteers. Each table was designated Matthew, Mark, Luke and John. I saw at the table of Mark with some interesting people, but at first nobody (prisoners) really knew what to say. One of the volunteers started with some small talk, and it was on. Then came the call for breakfast.
 
It may help to know that outside of Christian ministry in prison the Kairos are known for their freshly baked cookies. Each death row prisoner receives a dozen cookies the two times a year the Kairos come to Central Prison and minister to the general population. It is a gift of love without any strings and even as I write this I fear some hateful person reading this and worrying we’re receiving special treatment. No need to worry about that. They bake cookies for the entire prison, which means even the guys in solitary or butt-naked in mental health. A lot of cookies (for staff also) and a lot of love without condition or status.
 
Anyway, to preserve the sincerity of this three day retreat, for 8 hours each day we sat at these tables on Pod 4 and were not allowed to leave unless it was an emergency—even my lawyer was kindly asked to reschedule his visit. So rather than go to the chow hall (thank God for that favor) the Kairos brought breakfast, snacks, lunch and more snacks. The food was crazy awesome and the best I’ve eaten in 18 years in prison. I could write a poem about the meatloaf. . . . .
 
Well sated, seated at our tables, we listened to each volunteer give a talk about Jesus Christ in his life and a specific portion of a three day lecture on recognizing the need to change or the need for God in our life, encountering Christ and understanding what His presence in our life means, and determining what we need to do to overcome the obstacles in accepting God’s grace. It would be difficult to summarize a single day of lectures without creating some really long blog posts. I did, however, take notes for a reason and will certainly try my hand at writing how the volunteers of the Kairos were able to show me a happiness I didn’t know was missing. This post is simply to express my thanks to Sandy, Karl, Roy and the other volunteers for bringing the Good News and Christian Action to death row. I hope and pray I do their lectures and lessons justice in future posts.
 
To be continued in Kairos Short Journey: part two.

The following poem was composed by guest writer Darrell Maness.
 
 
You have no idea what it feels like to be me,
To realize that you’ll never again be free,
Missing your grandparents passing, friends never lasting—all gone.
You have no idea what it feels like to live a life full of slights
All because of a mistake you made one night.
You have no idea what it’s like to experience these things,
That the color of this red jumpsuit brings.
You have no idea how hard it is to fit in,
And to wash your clothes in the same pot you piss in.
You have no idea just how much it hurts,
To feel like God can’t even get rid of this curse.
You have no idea what it’s like to live with fear,
To wake up every day with your enemies so near.
You have no idea how people tend to look at us
With fear and hatred, like we’re caged animals, but mostly in disgust.
You have no idea how hard it is to get better,
When every day your heart’s broken from not getting a letter.
You have no idea what I’ve had to go through,
Put yourself in my shoes and you wouldn’t last a day or two,
You think you know, but you have no idea!

At the age of sixteen I was a naïve idiot living in a small town on the coast of Maine, wishing with all of my teenage might life was more exciting. In a rush to fulfill that wish I squandered the potential of my future on drugs, a desire to fit in amongst my peers, and rebellion. Beginning this road to nowhere was the act of dropping out of high school. Though I was only an average student with difficulties concentrating in class, even haphazard learning ending in a diploma would have been better than my decision to quit school. Every problem thereafter can be thrown at the feet of this colossal error in judgement.
 
My next mistake was my choice in “friends”. I use the term loosely because they were the worst sort of people I could hang around—burgeoning drop outs and criminals who cared nothing for their future or mine. Yet I hung around them because drinking beer and getting high and skipping Ancient Medieval History was way better than learning about the Tigris-Euphrates river valley and the cradle of civilization.
 
My body and mind were attuned to instant gratification of animal desires: SEX! PARTIES! FREEDOM! Like a brightly lit Vegas strip the appeal of adulthood was impossible to resist when hormones and stupidity hurried my steps. Never mind the responsibility or maturity that should come with getting there.
 
Sure the Catholic Church and my Sunday school teachers taught me valuable morals. Of course my parents warned me to do the right thing even when it was really hard. And I really wanted to be an obedient son, but it was hard to fight the need to be perceived as “cool” or acceptable to my peers, to combat poor impulse control and curiosity. I applaud any kid who has the common sense and fortitude to finish school and transition to college, the military or a trade. The obstacles I faced were not insurmountable. I simply wasn’t up to the challenge and wish the idea of a successful life dominated my thoughts rather than the things that did.
 
It’s difficult to be forgiving of my past mistakes when viewing them from the hindsight of a prison cell. There may have been other circumstances influencing my poor judgement, but the bottom line is they were my choices to make. In a matter of three years from the day I dropped out of school to being charged with capital murder I chose freedom from responsibility every time because a lack of education made me blind, deaf and dumb to the future.
 
Death row changed everything.
 
Not only was my freedom from responsibility at an end, I was about to find out we are all held to account for the past eventually. At night, in the silent darkness of a cell where it’s just you and God, there is no way to avoid the conversation in your head space. At least, it occurs in the minds of people who know they really screwed up. I am one of those people and it was my conscience roaring back to life after being suppressed with drugs and alcohol. There is nowhere to hide from the “me” I should have been rather than the one awaiting execution and it has forced me to reexamine the life I threw away in excruciating detail.
 
After four years of this a Catholic priest who delivered our Thursday Mass made a statement after yet another of my theological questions. “You need to get something on your mind.” He said it kindly, knowing I was hungry to learn but starved for material. There are no educational programs on death row, no access to the Internet or a library, and our only connection to the free world is the mail. When I asked the priest what he meant he said, “How would you feel about taking a college correspondence course?”
 
Skeptical, I shrugged, “All I have is a GED I got at the Maine Youth Center. It’s been eight years since I’ve been in school.”
 
He smiled then. “Are you interested in trying to learn?”
 
“Yes.”
 
“That is all that matters.”
 
Six weeks later I began my first college correspondence course, an introduction to social psychology through the study of group behavior, relationships and theories on social influence. After finishing the course I discovered that I LOVE learning and it can be fun when you have an interest in the subject; success feels great after such a long time in the shadow of failure; and a willingness to pursue an education is important because the mind will otherwise grow stagnant in the same pattern of thinking.
 
I was fortunate my newfound sponsor wanted to invest in my potential for growth despite my status as a death row inmate. This once in a lifetime second chance to learn had to be seized and utilized to the fullest degree. My entire life in the free world was a study in failure resulting in my imprisonment. I didn’t want to fail anymore. The idea of doing so after being granted this opportunity filled me with fear, determination and purpose. I would not fail.
 
So I continued to enroll in courses, acing one after another. One day I spoke with my sponsor, “You know if I keep this up, and I fully intend to, I could get a degree or something.”
 
“That sounds like a plan” was all he said.
 
I had awakened to the reality that I could define my future. There was nothing I could do about being on death row but my time would be spent educating myself in all of the ways I should have as a teen. With every bad decision I made in the free world firmly in mind, my first good decision on death row was choosing to learn from past mistakes.
 
In spring of 2013 I graduated from Ohio University with an associates in arts degree with a social science emphasis. This was possible because I prioritized education and decided I will not succumb to the ennui of prison or be just another inmate. At no point has it been easy nor is there anyone I can turn to if a particular subject is too difficult. I persevere because for those of us on death row this is the end of our world and I will not have it said of me that I didn’t try hard enough to change. Giving up is easy and many of my peers scoff at the idea of an education, but many more wish they had such an opportunity.
 
I realize my educational experience and radical change in thinking are atypical for death row and many who serve life in prison, but they should be a blueprint for what rehabilitation looks like. People came to prison because they lack a better way to deal with life’s many circumstances. Without any understanding of conflict resolution, problem solving, critical thinking or other basic concepts explored in high school and junior college the people who quit school are at a distinct disadvantage. Even more so if they can’t, don’t or won’t learn a trade. This is why prison must be a last resort for learning, not a human warehouse where our potential is wasted. The sooner the public understands this and is willing to fund trade schools and post-secondary degree programs in prison, the sooner politicians realize the only way to effectively keep people out of prison is providing education to prisoners, the better off all of us will be.

The loneliest chair in the room
Is the one sitting far to the left.
As it faced an inevitable doom
Of opinion, silent, of rights bereft.
 
Slumping in that puddle of dark
Quivered the most callow of youths.
He gaped at the box as if to remark
Upon a number of twisted truths.
 
Except, the Jabberwock stalked the aisle
Unfurling its wings and displaying fearsome teeth.
It roared, slavered, clawed and pounced--
Many a prey had so ended underneath.
 
There were no warnings of the Jabberwock
With its diabolical lies and reptilian weep
It bellowed, “End this murderer’s clock!
So we can all go home and sleep!”
 
A round of applause from the mome raths
Their minds noxious with not.
They sat in the box and ruminated
On a verdict of acquittal? I think not.
 
“That chair is reserved for the guilty!”
Cried the borogroves in a righteous lather
“Let the Thirteenth enslave the filthy
For no other reason does this Court gather.”
 
The loneliest chair in the room
Is the one sitting far to the left.
As it faced an inevitable doom
Of opinion, silent, of life bereft.
 
 
 
This poem was created based upon the creative writing prompt to write a poem based upon one of our favorite poems. Mine happened to be “The Jabberwocky” from Lewis Carol’s “Through the Looking Glass”. As you can imagine The Loneliest Chair is the defendant’s chair in the courtroom at a capital trial. At no other place can I think of a more desolate point in time.