Hank Dixon - A Lifers Journey: Prison Chaplaincy from the Inside Out

Contents

A Lifers Journey

Prison Chaplaincy

from the Inside Out

Hank Dixon

Copyright 2021 by Hank Dixon

Cover art: Walking through the Valley (oil on wood), copyright 2012 by Theresa Dixon

Cover layout copyright 2021 by Story Perfect Dreamscape

When you walk through the waters Ill be with you by Gerald Markham 1976 Kevin Mayhew Ltd. Reproduced by permission of Kevin Mayhew Ltd. (www.kevinmayhew.com). Licence No: KMCL110221/01

Scripture quotations taken from the HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION.

Copyright 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission from the publisher. However, brief quotations may be reproduced in the context of reviews.

Published June 2021 by Prairie Heart Press, an imprint of Story Perfect Inc.

Prairie Heart Press

PO Box 51053 Tyndall Park

Winnipeg, Manitoba R2X 3B0

Canada

Visit http://www.prairieheartpress.com for more Canadian prairie books.

Dedicated

to

Linda

I was drawn to the Light

which sought me out.

I handed my life

into His great care,

with prophets and apostles,

echoing through time,

All will be well, if you rest in His call.

I could not foresee

the gift He would give.

Her eyes sparkled and danced,

the first day we met.

Her gentle grace,

quietly touching,

my hardened shell.

A whisper of Wind spoke softly to tell,

This is the one you dreamed of in a cell.

Faithfully you walk

close by my side,

through valleys and hills,

with your love and light.

As we grow old,

together as one,

a whisper of Wind, speaks softly to tell,

This is the one you dreamed of in a cell.

Introduction

Those who bear the mark of pain

are never really free.

They owe a debt to the ones who still suffer.

This is your beginning...

(Author Unknown)

The Place of Reckoning

I did not want to go back to prison. That wasnt my plan. I hated the place. Yet here I was, wrestling with exactly that pull. A light wind caressed the surface of the lake, creating a gentle rhythm of water lapping up against the grey, pocketed chunk of granite on which I sat.

My perch rose about four feet up from the shore, half in water, half on the beach. Its rounded shape revealed it to be a souvenir of the last Ice Age, discarded at the edge of this body of water known as Little Tupper Lake. The boulder sat at the end of a short path, a ten-minute walk from the parsonage in North Brookfield, Nova Scotia, where I had pastored for the last six years. My trips to this ancient rock were becoming more frequent as I wrestled, argued, and battled with my God. The world outside was quiet and serene. The world within was in turmoil. I was losing the battle.

The struggle began months earlier through a series of events that culminated in a visit with a special friend, Sr. Teresa Currie. Our daughter Teresa is named after her, a measure of her impact on my life. Sister T, as she was known, could bewell, to be nice about ita stubborn, persistent firebrand, all wrapped up in a deeply caring prison chaplain who loved to spoil her namesake. Years before, she had abandoned the confines of a habit and cloistered living to minister to men in prison.

As we were about to leave her house, Sister T looked at me. Hank, have you ever considered prison chaplaincy?

I was taken aback. She had stepped into a sensitive place in my life. Others had ventured there and were met with an angry rebuttal. After serving nine years in prison, the last place I wanted to be was back inside.

My resistance to returning grew out of two reasons. First, bad things happened there. I simply did not want to go back. Second, I knew that my past, in certain circumstances, could be my greatest deficit inside the wall. I always felt those who were so certain I would be successful back inside had never read Jesus comments on the subject. After a visit to his hometown, He remarked, A prophet is not without honour except in his own town. (Mark 6:4)

This time, though, as I stood in the doorway of Sister Ts house, surprise shifted to confusion. No anger rose up. Her eyes told me she was asking because she truly believed this might be Gods calling on my life.

I fumbled to find an answer. Ill think about it, I finally said.

That became my problem. I did think about it, and the more I thought about it, the more her words worked their way into the deep spaces of my heart, merging with Gods voice calling me back in.

So, there I sat, on my perch before the lake, my place of reckoning. The future I had so carefully planned out was brought to a sudden halt as this persistent, troubling call refused to leave. The prophet Jonah and I could have kept each other good company. I knew which direction his situation had gone. Fortunately for me, Little Tupper Lake was not the domain of big fish. I tried to muster excuses, only to be reminded that Moses used the same lines. I also knew where that situation had gone. Perhaps most troubling, were Jesus words to Peter after he was given his calling: I tell you the truth, when you were younger you dressed yourself and went where you wanted; but when you are old you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will dress you and lead you where you do not want to go. (John 21:18)

Those words struck at the core of my rebellious spirit, even though Id known from the beginning that my walk with the Lord would entail sacrifices and challenges. After being released from prison I met my beautiful wife, Linda. We were married in 1987. I pursued further education: a Bachelor of Arts, Master of Divinity, Internship as a Baptist minister, Ordination with the Canadian Baptists of Atlantic Canada. I was determined to follow through on the call God had placed on my life. There had been many difficulties to get to this point. Like many other pastoral couples, Linda and I sacrificed a great deal to pursue the call into ministry.

But this call to go back inside was more than I had bargained for. It was too much to ask. So, I fought and argued, until this one fateful evening, as I sat on that ancient rock mulling over my options for escape, when a confrontation with my conscience pierced home:

Hank, how can you say no to the One who restored your life from the dark pit you drove it into?

There was silence within. I stared out at the creation around me, warm clouds drifting through the sky, casting shadows over a soft wind-swept lake. I wept. I had lost the battle. I was going back to prison.

The Journey Inside

It had been fourteen years since I left prison. I remember the day well. It was July 4th, 1985. Sister T agreed to drive me to the halfway house in Halifax. On my way up to the main entrance, I stopped by Admission and Discharge to pick up what few belongings were still in my personal effects from 1976. With a single box in hand, wearing an ill-fitted pair of dress pants and an out-of-date sports jacket that draped over my shoulders like a worn rug, I moved through the main entrance, barriers and gates slamming shut behind me. I must have been quite the sight. I didnt care. I was getting out of prison.

The day was a flurry of activity, but one moment is stamped in my memory. As I stood at the main entrance waiting for Sister T to arrive, the officer behind the desk looked me up and down. With a distinctly condescending tone he growled, Youll be back.