Phillip where art thou?

 “Imagine being someplace you know so well but are lost and don’t have any idea how to get out.” - Kenyatta Rogers

I got to know Phillip over the many weeks I had him in class. He would often approach me after class to chat about the lesson or to share some insights he gleaned from the scriptures. Unfortunately these times were brief, by design. The guard was always on time at the end of class to escort me through the prison yard and back to the exit. Building relationships with the inmates was frowned upon; I was just happy to have a place in the lives of these men, even if it was only within the context of a classroom setting.

I struggle, for this is not how we are wired. We are wired for so much more, for deeper connections with one another. Sin separates and divides, this will only be fully rectified in the next life.

Phillip had a way about him. When he spoke, there was silence and an intentional listening by the other men in the class. Phillip was soft-spoken, insightful, yet a reluctant leader. He stood about 6’ tall with a frail lean frame and reddish-blonde hair.

I don’t recall which winter Monday morning it was when Phillip told me his story, but it was on a morning when the guard was uncharacteristically late to escort me out. He shared how he came to prison in his late teens and how he sowed & chased the pleasures of his flesh for 30 years and how all it brought was emptiness and pain. His story is all too familiar, a story that seems to echo across so many men that find themselves in this place they call home - horrid family situations, drug and alcohol abuse by parents and siblings, which lead to crime after crime. The kids get caught in this web that only pauses in the four walls of a cell.

Phillip’s young adult life was formed in prison, a stark, colorless place. He was sentenced to fifteen years and he served every last one of them, walked out a free man - well, on his exterior anyway. He was anything but free inside. Between the loss of meaningful connections, and the dysfunctions of the connections he retained on the outside, Phillip quickly concluded that he had it better, significantly better, on the inside. He became so institutionalized he literally imploded internally. As he shared this I couldn’t help but think of the Old Testament story of the Israelites having been set free, yet longing to go back to their lives of slavery in Egypt over their freedom in the wilderness of the Sinai Desert.   

Phillip returned to prison, but this time he wasn’t caught committing a crime, he was committing a crime to get caught. A hold up at a convenience store while on patrol ought to do the trick. Yep, another 15 year sentence, Phillip was actually hoping for more. As I stood listening to Phillip, I was startled by the voice of the guard yelling for me to get moving. Phillip’s closing words to me were, “I have served over 14 years of my second sentence and I’m  petrified to be released again.”

A few more weeks went by, and I found myself taking role and noticing Phillip’s absence - he was never absent. I asked, “Where’s Phillip?” A man spoke up and said, “Sadly Phillip had a heart attack and was taken to the hospital.” “What? Was he okay? Where is he? Will he return? Will he survive?” These are questions that someone on the outside asks, questions that are welcome and answered in short order. Not so with prisoners.

 I never saw Phillip again. We talked about him in class from time to time. The men shared how beside himself he was, how he couldn’t face getting out. And even though the men assured him that things were different now, that there are support systems in place now that didn’t exist 15 years ago, Phillip’s anxiety just mounted each day closer to his release.

 I often ponder Phillip in my heart - I may never know, on this side of the grave, where he is or if he survived. I learned things about him, and I learned things from him, this ended too soon.  There is a burden of loss volunteers have to carry. Phillip is my brother in Christ, he had a deep love for Jesus and I’m confident we will chat again here or more likely, on the other side of this life.

No longer as a slave, but better than a slave, as a dear brother. He is very dear to me but even dearer to you, both as a fellow man and as a brother in the Lord.

Philemon 1:16