I was in prison, and you came unto me.

Matthew 25: 35-40 

For I was an hungered, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in:

Naked, and ye clothed me: I was sick and ye visited me: I was in prison, and ye came unto me.

Then shall the righteous answer him, saying, Lord, when saw we thee an hungered and fed thee? or thirsty, and gave thee drink?

When saw we thee a stranger, and took thee in? or naked, and clothed thee?

Or when saw we thee sick, or in prison, and came unto thee?

And the King shall answer and say unto them, Verily I saw unto you, Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.

I've heard this scripture hundreds of times, but I've never paused to consider the significance of the last phrase Christ lists: I was in prison, and ye came unto me.  Service is a big deal for those trying to live Christian lives in accordance with these principles: we visit nursing homes, make care packages for third world countries and disaster victims, and donate to charitable causes.  But never once have I heard suggested an idea to go visit those in prison.  Why not?  Are we not to be about the business of helping everyone who needs it?  And aren't those who end up in our justice system obvious examples of people who need help?  What are we so afraid of?  Being contaminated?  Getting hurt?  Exposure to things that don't fit nicely in our perfect little picture of how the world should be?

It's something that has caused me to question.  Our justice system is obviously imperfect, there's no doubting that.  I've thought for a while now about how much better it would be if we were to make greater use of rehabilitation programs as opposed to the traditional prison cell stay for convicts.  Why do we even call them that: convicts?  Our politically correct world has demanded that we see everyone else as the people they are and not as labels, but somehow those who commit crimes are overlooked.  They aren't people, they are criminals.  But what I think we fail to remember is that before they were criminals, they were people.

Everyone in prison is someone's son or daughter, sister or brother, father or mother, co-worker, or friend.  Crime doesn't happen in a vacuum.  Things happen to people, and then they choose to cope and respond.  The way we choose to react to our circumstances is ultimately our decision, but we still have to take the circumstances into consideration.  Isn't that what the "ideal" justice system would do?  Treat each suspect and victim individually, taking the time to understand where they've come from, who they are, and how it is that they've become that?  Isn't that how we would hope God will ultimately judge us?  While we don't have the resources or ability to perfectly understand and judge others, does that mean we shouldn't try?

Above all, I think that we overlook the most important aspect of those we deem criminals: they are sons and daughters of God.  They are here, just like we are, trying to prove themselves.  How dare we lock someone away for life, or take away their life, because they weren't privileged enough to grow up in a home that provided them with food, shelter, and transportation.  How unfair is it for us to take for granted the way we view the world, telling the schizophrenic that not only is the reality they have created wrong, but wrong enough that they no longer deserve a chance at a healthy life.  Where is our compassion?

I don't have all answers.  But I sure have a lot of questions.  This is the first major issue in my life that hasn't been provoked by an event that touched my life personally.  So I ask: why is it that our compassion tends to overlook those who have been the victim of circumstances in the past?  Why do our efforts cease once they deviate from competent citizenship?  Does one set of harmful actions really justify our tendency to give up on them?  Somehow, it just doesn't seem that simple to me.  But I guess that's why we stay away.  It isn't simple.

This was important enough to Christ that he commanded his followers to come unto those in prison.  If we claim to follow him, shouldn't it be important to us, too?  We can't build up others if we aren't willing to step outside of our perfect little lives.  You can't show compassion from a distance.

Compassion is messy.  It requires us to step outside of our comfort zone.  

And really, if you were in that position, wouldn't you want someone to give you a second chance?