365 - Ecumenism and Prison Chaplaincy

Ecumenism and Prison Chaplaincy
By Ben W. Bledsoe

WHEN I came to work for the State of Tennessee's Department of Corrections in 1973 as Chaplain at the Ft. Pillow State Farm (adult mate prison), I was about as green a novice as the State of Tennessee had ever hired. I had been pastor of Southern Baptist churches in Arkansas, Texas, and Illinois before coming to Memphis. My background and training were conventional, mainstream, evangelical Southern Baptist. My minister father, and his father before him, were both Southern Baptists. I was thoroughly indoctrinated in the faith by strong church Sunday schools, vacation Bible schools, revivals, and educational institutions-Ouachita Baptist College (University, now) and Southwestern Baptist Theological Seminary.

I relate all this to emphasize the degree of my "confidence in the flesh." I married a good Southern Baptist girl from a rural Arkansas deacon's home. I did all the right things suggested by our association of churches, attended the annual conventions, and read most of the unsolicited material originating from denominational headquarters in Nashville. My churches had all the worship and training programs expected of most other Southern Baptist churches of our size. We did all the right things, completed all the right courses, and filled out all the right forms. Nobody was more red-lettered, white-starched, and blue-nosed, all-American, Southern Baptist than I.

As with most Southern Baptists, I was typically uninterested in ecumenism. In fact, as a denomination, Southern Baptists have been suspicious of attempts at unity. We chose to maintain our separateness and exclusivism from other faith groups, joining them only for special community events, such as Thanksgiving services and Easter sunrise services, and then only if we were given major parts on the program.

We gave various reasons for our refusal to work too closely with other faith groups. We had our own organization in which we associated with other churches of "like faith and order," and we didn't have time for so many other meetings, especially if it meant we were going to be involved in theological conflict. We knew the opponent if another Southern Baptist and we knew how to debate, but we didn't (don't) have much stomach for public debate where we might be embarrassed or lose face with our own kind. "Not enough time" probably was (is) a factor in

Ben W. Bledsoe is Senior Chaplain at the West Tennessee Reception Center, Memphis, and former minister of the Mount Olive Baptist Church, Somerville, Tennessee. He also has a private counseling practice in Memphis.

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Southern Baptist's non-participation in ecumenism, but that excuse is weak, given our willingness to waste time at any number of meetings with our association of churches. The truth is we're scared-scared we might be proved wrong, scared we might have to give up and give away some cherished Southern Baptist principle under pressure from an outside group. Doctrinal (Baptist) distinctives are precious to us, not easily surrendered; such principles as the autonomy of the local church, the competence of the individual believer before God, baptism by immersion, total reliance on the Bible interpreted by the Holy Spirit as God's Word for faith and practice, and a strong emphasis on a Southern Baptist style of evangelism and missions. We didn't much want to be a part of an organization that exercised so much control over us without our being able to exercise an equal amount of control over it. We felt we just couldn't trust all those other denominations and churches.

Another reason we couldn't be actively involved in ecumenism was because we are not a church, but many churches. Our emphasis has been on the local church body rather than the corporate universal body. We feel more comfortable telling our leaders what we want them to do instead of listening to our leaders tell us what to do. Traditionally, we have said, "In order for Southern Baptists to be a part of the World Council of Churches (or some such organization), it would have to be voted on in each local congregation, and then the vote would apply only to that congregation." And, then, in any meeting of the WCC, each Southern Baptist congregation that was a member would expect to have a vote. No other member church of the WCC would want to be a member of a Southern Baptist organization with that much power, but it's the only kind of organization most Southern Baptists would join.

The obstacles seem insurmountable for ever getting full Southern Baptist participation in ecumenism. And it was with this kind of indoctrination that I entered the prison chaplaincy. I still am a Southern Baptist, but now with an ecumenical flavor which I think is broader (some would say more "liberal") than I used to have. It is an outlook that I believe came about as a result of that move into prison.

I

Prison ministry gave me an education I did not expect. As a matter of fact, I had expected to be more of a teacher (if not a savior) to convicted felons, unbelieving employees, and a heartless system, but certainly not a student. Oh, I expected to have to learn the in's and out's of the trade, specialized tasks of a professional correctional employee; but I couldn't imagine prison teaching me anything about church, religion, or God. Was I wrong!

I chose the chaplaincy because of disillusionment in the local church. I wasn't getting what I wanted from the parish pastorate. I abandoned my earlier career track of church climbing when I realized I probably was not ever going to be invited to become pastor of First Baptist Church, Dallas, Texas. My timing was off, my success in church was limited, and my name and face recognition were much too provincial;

367 - Ecumenism and Prison Chaplaincy

besides, it would be a long time before Criswell would retire. As my rise to denominational fame slowed, my disillusionment and anxiety accelerated. I couldn't understand how one could do all the right things and still not reach the right goals. I was trapped by my frustration, so I began looking for a way out.

Prison chaplaincy was perfect. It was still religious ministry, and it was available for easy transition. I was surprised to discover later how many prison chaplains enter this ministry by a similar route. Rarely does a clergy person prepare directly for chaplaincy. I'm becoming more convinced that seminary education should require a chaplaincy internship before graduation.

One of the first things I learned in my new field of ministry was that God's Kingdom was present and influential outside my denomination's faith group. I discovered God in prison, among people who were not Protestant, and some who were not even Christian in the conventional definition of the word. My struggle with this lesson is not over, and to many it may seem elementary; but to a leopard with my indelible spots, changing was not easy.

But I was changing, partly because I felt I needed to change and becoming a different kind of minister allowed it, and partly because a new setting forced me to change. I couldn't work very long among such plurality and diversity, staunchly maintaining my exclusivity and religious arrogance. My Southern Baptist brethren might appreciate my maintaining such strong Baptist conviction, but I saw it leading to suicide, not martyrdom. I wanted a chance to test some other methods before volunteering for the stake.

I also learned that not all change is compromise. I discovered the doctrine of accommodation--something known as "live and let live." Under the circumstances, some of my precious Southern Baptist distinctives didn't seem to matter as much as they did in the local church. How "right" something was done seemed to give way to how helpful or appropriate it was to someone. For example, the position of the pulpit relative to the congregation didn't matter when you didn't have a pulpit. Who administered and who received communion wasn't as important as proclaiming Christ in one more way. The question of "why" something was done came up often, and gave many opportunities for witnessing and explaining. Every denomination's distinctives are challenged in prison and those that don't hold up will quickly give way to something that seems better. The Holy Spirit still has a way of keeping the fundamentals fundamental. I remember one worship service in which a Roman Catholic brother and a Church of God in Christ bishop assisted me in conducting a service of communion. Not one of your more routine experiences.

II

I have also learned a great deal about working with black churches. Since about eighty percent of our inmates are black, we have a sizable number of black religious volunteers who help with our prison ministry.

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I've developed a greater appreciation for "good" black preaching. And nothing compares to a soloist, choir, and congregation of black singers when they are "on." Charismatics and Pentecostals are active in prisons, and prisoners seem to appreciate their more energetic Spirit-filled services. I learned where to draw limits and guidelines, maintain decorum, and protect inmates rights. But generally I've developed a stance of loose control and tolerance. Occasionally, I have to bite my tongue, sometimes I urge caution, infrequently I challenge (usually in private), and only rarely will I have to dismiss a volunteer because of security violations or insubordination, not theology.

I'm changing, and sometimes in ways I never expected. One of my most cherished surprises is a bronzed plaque I received from the local Black Muslim organization honoring me for exceptional service to them in their prison ministry. I was the only white person present at that banquet, but I felt like I was at home. It felt like what I thought the family of God should feel.

My relationship with Black Muslims is mentioned, because it is perhaps the most extreme example of the ecumenical spirit encountered in prison ministry, and one I can safely assume would never have happened had I remained as pastor of a local Southern Baptist church. There have been contacts, encounters, and relationships with every religious group in the city of Memphis that has any interest in prisoners, all of which have been enlightening and generally positive. I do not challenge theological differences in prison unless some direct attack is made on another faith group. Ideas are discussed, heatedly at times, but in an atmosphere of inquiry based on sound reasoning and openness to proof. No one has absolute doctrinal authority except God, who reveals something to us all, making it important for us all to be heard.

Prison produces some of the best informed practical theologians, plus lawyers, con-artists, and survivalists. (Is there a connection?) It's amazing what remains or becomes important when life becomes stripped of its irrelevancies. Every doctrine I ever learned has been challenged, which makes the fundamentals more solid and the shaky even less substantial. My creed has been reduced to the necessarywhatever fits in the forced union of belief and practice. What I thought was nailed down, fixed for eternity, has now become dynamic, fluid, and constantly changing. What really is absolute has remained so. I'm just not as certain as I used to be about what all those absolutes are.

III

I am also discovering, and becoming more appreciative of, the fellowship of accountability and support among fellow chaplains that transcends the local church. I appreciate my local church. As a matter of fact, I preach in a small rural church in a neighboring town and my own membership is in a loving and accepting church in Memphis. My church is heterogeneous, while the chaplain's group of which I am a part has much more in common with one another in spite of the fact that we

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represent a variety of faith groups. Our common tasks and concerns in prison ministry are shared with more compatibility than my church fellowship. This was emphasized for me once again at our recent training meeting in which state Mental Health chaplains met with prison chaplains and shared together those things about our ministry that helped us all. Our diversity is treated with good natured humor, but respect. We speak from our distinctiveness and listen to our unified plurality. No one feels threatened or intimidated, but when differences in theology or ecclesiology arise, we deal with it honestly. But theology is not our primary interest; the task of Christian ministry in prison or mental health institutions is. The reason for ministry may arise from different motivations and be colored by our unique background and training, but the fact of ministry is never questioned. We look for ways to improve, be more creative, be more personally fulfilled, and share what we have found with our denomination and church. The task molds the theology.

In preparing for my assignments to speak to my chaplain's group, I have a special feeling of relaxed tension. I work hard to put something meaningful together that I want to meet a need in myself and in them. I struggle to say it well, because I value their approval. But I feel comfortable enough to express anything in almost any way I choose. My chaplain buddies know me, where I'm coming from, and they accept that. They tolerate my craziness, laugh with me at our absurdities, and together we have great fun learning more about what it means to be the people of God at work professionally in a unique setting.

Another element of this fellowship of support and accountability is found among the special group of inmates loosely identified as a Bible study group or a Chaplain's Assistants Committee. These inmates, though powerless in many ways, exert a strong influence on me in the form of non-verbal sanctions and their courage to confront me. They keep me honest and alert. They help keep my job lifted above the routine and boring level of usual business. They help me develop an appreciation for life seen from another angle. They make me study to find fresh ways of presenting old, tired truths. They test me with their creative ways to fool the system. We've learned together to see the absurd in the deadly serious, and laugh to keep from crying. We've influenced each other, and I can only hope they are more God-conscious without my being any less.

Another group I've learned to appreciate in prison is the staff. Working with other state employees who have particular jobs to do, while I operate as the only professional religionist, gives me a unique, enviable, and powerful position. I have jobs dictated by policy, and some governed only by the informal policy of my values and character. People no doubt see me through different lenses representing their expectations and tempered by the reality of my personality. I'm naturally closer to some, more accountable to some, give more of myself to some, have differing degrees of religious service to offer, but the whole experience is

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set in a context of life without the formal trappings of religion and ecclesiastical structure. To most, I'm simply "Chaplain"-with who-knows-what meaning attached to that title. I am constantly interpreting my reason for being to someone, and reinterpreting it for myself. Being a chaplain means some kind of vague, religious person whose duties may range all across the gamut between dispensing soap and toothpaste, performing weddings, leading tours, counseling, settling disputes, resolving questions relating to sentences, mediating family matters, and supervising religious activities. The church was to me never so varied in its ministry-or exciting.

IV

Whether I'm a Southern Baptist, Roman Catholic, or Orthodox Jew makes no difference to a confused, hurting, or troubled prison inmate. How empathetic, competent, efficient, caring, and helpful I am makes a world of difference. What I am is based on the experiences I've had with people, places, and situations. Those and my reactions to them, my reflection on and understanding of them, makes me the kind of ambassador of God's kingdom that I am.

All religious faith groups cannot have a representative in every prison, but they do have an ally in the prison chaplain with as much understanding of the church's ministry as anyone can in the circumstances a prison calls forth. The prison chaplain represents the Kingdom of God like no parish minister or clergy person can. The spirit of ecumenism is probably at work in the lives of chaplains like no other professional minister, although ecumenism may not be their major goal.