My Call to Prison Advocacy

by Dick Busch

Some years ago I befriended a young Christian serving a life sentence in a Virginia prison. Little did I realize the impact this would have on my life. As a result of our relationship I began to read newspapers and magazines through a new lens. Stories about crime and prison provided a window into the human disaster that is our criminal justice system. I also read the Gospel narratives with fresh eyes. Jesus chose the company of outcasts and had a lot to say about liberating prisoners and restoration. He became a convict himself and was executed by the state.

Slowly, I felt myself drawn to volunteer with a prison-related ministry. I kept hearing about the integrity and compassion of CURE (Citizens United for the Rehabilitation of Errants), a grass roots organization to reduce crime through reform of the criminal justice system. A friend described its work as “a long faithfulness in the same direction”.

I was at a crossroads, in a space between calls. I felt “called out” but with no idea of what would follow. Instinctively, I knew that discerning God’s call requires time and patience. Prayer, reflection, solitude, and conversations with wise friends would help. This was a time to be open and move slowly. Waiting is something few of us do well. Months passed. I tried not to put pressure on myself or give in to the impatience of others regarding the future.

Time to Act

A year ago, I finally felt ready to act. I telephoned Charlie Sullivan, the Co-Founder and Co-Director (with his wife Pauline) of National CURE. Could we meet? Six blocks from the US Capitol in Washington, their office is perched in the attic of a Roman Catholic rectory. At the top of the stairs stood Charlie, a winsome Southerner with a warm handshake. Over mugs of coffee we shared our stories.

I recall Charlie saying one out of every 142 Americans is behind bars—over two million people. Half of the inmates are under thirty years of age, most for nonviolent drug offenses. There is no money to provide drug treatment. Money is going to buildings and maintenance, instead of educational and vocational programs. This is like building hospitals in order to end diseases. Is it any wonder that the recidivism rate runs close to 70%?

We talked of many things. Then surprisingly Charlie asked if I would consider lobbying for CURE in the area of faith-based concerns. Something about the word lobbying put me off. It evoked images of influence buyers and sleaze.

 I was at a crossroads, in a space between calls. I felt “called out” but with no idea of what would follow. Instinctively, I knew that discerning God’s call requires time and patience. Prayer, reflection, solitude, and conversations with wise friends would help.

Yet at the same time I found myself reflecting—what is so strange here’? Without using that language I had been “lobbying” for the Gospel, for people, and for programs for almost fifty years.

There was a sense of rightness about the invitation. I heard it as an answer to prayer. I left our meeting laden with pamphlets, articles, and documents. Even with my background in parish ministry, seminary education, and teaching, policy advocacy would require a steep learning curve.

For the Voiceless

Soon Charlie started introducing me to the ways of Congress. Together we walked the halls of Herod. It became obvious that prison issues are a low priority. That is one reason to keep coming back. I do not recall his exact words, but once he said something like “Our work involves wearing out shoe leather speaking for the voiceless in these halls of power.”

One particular day stands out. I had been visiting in Congressional offices circulating a proposal recommending that there be one prison chaplain for every 500 inmates in federal correctional facilities. Later that evening I stopped for a traffic light. Quite unexpectedly, I heard a voice. Ordinarily, I do not hear voices. They are not part of my religious experience. Yet, I clearly heard, “You are to be there for me on behalf of them.” That was all. Stunned, I sat there until honking horns insisted I drive on.

I am moving slowly, with little to show for my efforts. Some days I am bored and don’t know what else to do. There is call here, and the challenge is compelling. Clearly, this work requires the stamina of a long-distance runner. I recall that voice in the night and take heart.

Richard A. Busch is a member of Friends of Jesus (Church) in Washington DC. He directed the Continuing Education Program at Virginia Theological Seminary for 25 years. Currently Dick is an advocate for prison reform issues with C.U.R.E. (www.curenational.org).