We Judge What We Don't Understand

There’s a stigma that comes with being incarcerated.

There’s an even bigger one that comes with being a felon.

And honestly, I think people in recovery experience something similar.

Say the words felon or addict or recovering addict, and sometimes the rest of the story doesn't matter anymore.

People make assumptions.

They must be dangerous.

They can't be trusted.

They made their choices.

They'll probably go back to their old ways.

Maybe.

But sometimes those assumptions keep us from seeing the person standing in front of us.

Because the truth is, most of us judge what we don't understand.

We see the conviction, but not everything that happened before it. We see the addiction, but not the pain someone was trying to numb. We see the relapse, but not the fight it took to get sober in the first place. We see the worst decision, but not the years of someone's life that came before it... or the years that could come after it.

I'm not saying people shouldn't be held accountable. They should.

Actions have consequences.

But accountability and condemnation aren't the same thing.

Someone can be responsible for what they've done and still be worthy of dignity, compassion, and redemption.

That's one of the reasons I love prison ministry.

Because when you walk into a prison, you quickly realize you're not walking into a building full of monsters.

You're walking into a building full of people.

People who have made terrible decisions. People who have been hurt. People who are ashamed. People who are trying to change. People who have found faith. People who are still looking for it.

And if I'm being honest, sometimes the biggest difference between them and us isn't as big as we'd like to believe.

Sometimes it's simply that their worst decision got caught.

We're All One Decision Away

Most of us like to believe our lives are the result of nothing but good decisions.

They're not.

We're all capable of making a decision that could completely change the trajectory of our lives.

One bad decision.

One addiction that gets out of control.

One night.

One DUI.

One fight.

One desperate choice.

One relationship.

One moment of anger.

One thing that starts small and eventually becomes bigger than we can control.

I'm not saying everyone is equally likely to end up in prison or struggle with addiction. I'm saying none of us should be arrogant enough to believe we're incapable of falling.

Paul said:

“If you think you are standing strong, be careful not to fall.”
- 1 Corinthians 10:12, NLT

That's a verse worth taking seriously.

Not because we should live afraid.

Because we should live humble.

We don't know what desperation would do to us. We don't know what addiction would do to us. We don't know what losing everything would do to us. We don't know what one terrible season could expose in us.

It's easy to judge someone from the mountaintop.

It's a lot harder to understand someone standing at the bottom of the valley.

Recovery Doesn't Make Someone Weak

I've spent enough time around people in recovery to know something:

Getting sober is hard. Really hard.

But sometimes people hear that someone is in recovery and immediately see their past instead of their progress.

They don't see the meetings. They don't see the uncomfortable conversations. They don't see the years of sobriety. They don't see someone learning how to live without the thing that once controlled their life.

They just see addict.

And that's a problem.

We don't usually define people by every other failure they've experienced. So why do we do it with addiction?

A person is always bigger than the worst thing they've ever done.

A criminal record doesn't erase someone's humanity. Neither does addiction. Neither does relapse. Neither does a terrible season of someone's life.

Rock Bottom Teaches You Things the Mountaintop Never Will

This is one of the things I've come to appreciate about prison ministry.

Rock bottom has a way of teaching lessons the mountaintop never will. I know it did for me.

When everything is going well, it's easy to think you have life figured out.

You're successful. Your relationships are good. Your career is moving forward. People respect you. You have freedom. You have a plan.

Then life happens.

And sometimes rock bottom strips away all the things we thought made us strong.

It asks questions the mountaintop never asks:

• Who are you when nobody is impressed anymore? 
• What matters when you don't have much left?
• Can you admit you need help?
• What do you do when you can't fix this yourself?

Those are hard questions.

But sometimes hard questions produce deep change.

I've watched people become sober.

I've watched people reconnect with their families.

I've watched people discover faith.

I've watched people take responsibility for what they've done.

I've watched people stop obsessing over who they used to be and start becoming who they want to be.

That's powerful.

Because sometimes rock bottom becomes the foundation for something completely different.

Leave Room for Redemption

One of the things I wish more people understood is that a criminal record doesn't erase someone's humanity.

Neither does addiction.

Sometimes people are still being punished long after they've served their sentence.

People in recovery can experience something similar. They can spend years proving they've changed while other people are still waiting for them to fail.

I'm not suggesting we ignore the past. I'm suggesting we leave room for redemption.

Because if we believe people can change, eventually we have to give them an opportunity to prove it.

We can't tell someone, "You need to become a different person," and then spend the rest of their life reminding them who they used to be.

Paul wrote in 2 Corinthians 5:17 that anyone who belongs to Christ is a “new person.”

That's what I love about the gospel. It doesn't pretend the past didn't happen. It just refuses to believe the past is the only thing that will ever happen.

Why I Keep Going Back

I love prison and recovery ministry because it reminds me that people are more complicated than their worst day. It reminds me that change is possible. It reminds me that redemption is real.

And honestly, it reminds me that I need grace too.

Because I'm not standing outside those prison walls thinking, Thank God I'm not like them.

I'm standing there thinking:

That could have been me.

Maybe my consequences would have looked different. Maybe my mistakes would have been different. Maybe my story would have taken a different turn.

But I'm not arrogant enough to believe I'm incapable of falling.

None of us should be.

That's why 1 Corinthians 10:12 hits differently when you've spent time around people who have fallen hard:

“If you think you are standing strong, be careful not to fall.”

None of us are above needing grace.

We're all capable of getting lost.

We're all capable of hurting people.

We're all in need of forgiveness.

And we're all in need of someone to believe that our worst moment doesn't have to become our identity.

That's why I love this ministry.

Because every time I walk through those doors, I'm reminded that people aren't projects.

They're people. They have stories. They have families. They have regrets. They have dreams. They have wounds.

And some of them are becoming completely different people than the ones who walked into that prison.

Maybe we should give people room to become. Maybe we should stop assuming the worst. Maybe we should stop believing that someone's rock bottom is proof that they're fundamentally different from us.

Because none of us knows what tomorrow holds. None of us knows which decision could change the trajectory of our lives. And none of us knows when we'll be the person who needs someone else to believe there's still something good ahead.

So maybe we should stop judging people by the place where they fell.

Pay attention to what they're doing to get back up.

Because rock bottom may be one of the darkest places a person can find themselves.

But sometimes it's also where they finally learn what the mountaintop could never teach them.