When I was
released to the general population, I avoided any church services or other
religions activities. I could not see where God was at work in my life, and I
doubted God’s love for me. At times, I doubted God’s existence all together. In
my mind, God had given up on me and I had given up on God. After all I had
destroyed in my life, who could blame God. Once, there was a Christian musical
group who visited the prison and I could hear them singing on the yard through
my window. I wanted to cry, but quickly pushed it all back down. I didn’t want
to have an emotional experience while I was at the bottom causing me to call
out to a God who either wasn’t there or didn’t care about me. I had already
been down that road before, and I wouldn’t let that happen again. I didn’t want
hope, because hope seemed to just be an avenue to disappointment.
People kept
inviting me to join a fellowship group called Kairos. I wasn’t exactly sure what
a fellowship group even was, but I knew I was not interested. I declined any
offer to sign up for it, until the brownie showed up. There was a Kairos “walk”
which is a three-day weekend event where new member are allowed into the group.
Other than that, I didn’t know much more. One of the guys I was friendly with
came back from the first day of the walk and handed me a brownie. Keep in mind
that even the very best of prison food is still horrible, but this brownie was
heaven on earth. It was so good to sit and eat this magical morsal causing me
to immediately have a change of heart and decide I may, in fact, be interested
in Kairos.
Still, I did not
want to get tricked into getting back into Christianity. I just wanted another
brownie. I started quizzing the other guys who were Kairos members about what
happened during the three-day walks. My suspicion was the weekend was designed
to evoke an emotional response leading to a religious experience. I was going
to be prepared for any trick they would throw my way. I went from cell to cell
asking questions and it didn’t take very long before I had pretty much pried
almost everything that would happen each of the three days of the Kairos
weekend. With my battle plan ready, I was ready to sign up for Kairos and
waited for the next walk to come around.
A few months
later, the chaplains put up a list with the names of the inmates who had been
selected for the upcoming Kairos weekend. My name was on it. Looks out
brownies, here I come! I was prepared and ready to go.
I went to the
first day just looking for a break from the usual prison routine and something
good to eat. I was also preparing myself to withstand their attempts to break
down my walls I had spent so much time and effort building around my heart. It
was great. I had a pleasant day of talking with some nice guys and we did eat
some food which was a million times better than what the prison offered. That
evening, I left just as dead inside as ever. Mission accomplished.
Day two was even
better. The food was great and the conversation was even better. At the
beginning of the day, we were assigned to tables with four inmates and three
outside volunteers. Each table was a “family” named after a person from the
Bible like Matthew, Mark, Luke or John. We would eat each meal together and
work together on different group activities over the course of the weekend. My
family was the table of Matthew, and there were two volunteers I really
connected with, Bo and Mike. It was nice to have conversations about things other
than the favorite prison hot topics such as what would the next meal be, how
many women you slept with or how much money (ridiculous lies most of the time)
you had hidden somewhere waiting for you when you got out of prison. (One of my
all-time favorites was the guy who said they discovered oil in his front yard and
the gas station they build there had made him a millionaire.) The talks and
presentations were not anything I hadn’t heard before, but it was still nice.
By the end of day two, I felt good but was still dead inside; but I felt
happier than I had since coming to prison. Everything was going according to
plan.
I woke up early
for day three and everything seemed to go just as the previous two days until it
happened. I knew about the food and activities beforehand, but there was no way
to prepare for what happened on day three. It wasn’t fair. I had put so much
effort into preventing Kairos from provoking an emotional response, to giving
up on hope or love or happiness or… It wasn’t fair.
An older man named
Jim, probably around seventy-years- old, slowly walked to the podium to read a
short devotion from the Kairos book. He spoke two words, ‘Father, teach…” and
then broke down and sobbed. He didn’t just cry, he did the shoulder shaking,
moaning, blubbering snot-baby cry. It was uncomfortable to watch him be so
overcome with emotion, and I didn’t understand why. He was just reading
something someone else had written. It
wasn’t as if this were some deeply personal testimony he was sharing. He was so
full of emotion that he never finished and someone else read the rest of the
devotion. Kairos continued; but, for me, Kairos stopped.
I couldn’t get
what had happened out of my mind. I kept asking myself, “Why would a grown man
come to a prison and cry like a baby in front of a bunch of strangers?” I
didn’t have an answer and was having a hard time thinking about anything else.
The Kairos weekend carried on, but I couldn’t pay attention. For the most part,
I sat with my head down and was unaware of my surroundings. A few guys noticed
I was troubled and encouraged me to pay attention. I thought about getting up
and walking out of the building because it was beginning to happen. I was
beginning to ask myself questions I thought I already had the answers.
When that man
cried, I had to admit something was happening in the prison gym. When I
asked myself what these people were here and why that man cried, in the back of
my head I kept hearing, “Because they love you.”
“Why would they love me? Don’t they know
what I’ve done? Not even God can love me,” I said to myself head down and
unresponsive to what was going on around me, but I knew the answer. They were
here and love me because God was here and loved them. Then the next step in
that thought progression came. God loved me.
That evening, each participant was given a
short time to speak to go up to the podium and speak to the entire group. I
hesitated at first, but knew it was something I needed to do. It was time for
me to be honest about what was going on in my heart. It was time to let the
walls come down; and if I said it out loud, it would be harder to deny later. I
stood up and told them all how I had been feeling. I was so nervous and
emotionally devastated I can’t remember all I said, but I was honest for maybe
the first time in my life. It was a blur and I felt like passing out. I barely
remember anything I said, but I do recall saying I had felt no one could love
me because of the things I had done and all the people I had hurt. I had killed
on of God’s faithful children and critically wounded a mother of five children.
I was a monster, I felt like I belonged, and needed to be locked in a cage.
Still, I could feel the love at Kairos, and I knew God loved me now.
I don’t know if I spoke for two minutes or
two hours; but, when I was done, I was bawling my eyes out and felt drained of
all strength. At some point, I realized everyone was on their feet and
cheering. I couldn’t process what was going on. It was just too much for me to
handle, but I knew it felt good. It felt real.
A few moments later, while others were taking
their turn to speak, I prayed for the first time in a long time. “Lord, forgive
me for doubting your love for me. Thank you for not giving up on me. I don’t
know what happens now, so help me survive my life in prison.” My old plan to
end my life was out the window, and it was time to rethink what I would so with
my life. It was odd, but I had found a certain comfort in my plan to take my
own life. I had begun to think of it as my release date—a date when the
hardship of prison would be over. I was unsure what I was going to do now, but
I realized I was going to have to trust God with the rest of my life.
Where I had just enjoyed Kairos before, the
gym had become this amazing holy adventure that I never wanted to end. It was
as if I could almost see angels flying around the gym and the presence of God
was undeniable, it seemed I could reach out and touch the supernatural with my
fingertips. God was more real at that time than I had ever known. I knew
without a doubt He was real, He loved me, and I had been forgiven. Despite the
fact I was still in a prison gym serving a sentence of life without parole plus
thirty-five years, I was free.
On the final day of the Kairos weekend, we
were led out of the gym into one of the dining halls. There we were asked to
answer three questions (WHAT WERE THE THREE QUESTIONS?) and each of the inmates
were presented with a cross others had prayed over for the entire weekend. When
I came forward to receive my cross, one of the volunteers leaned over and
whispered I my ear and said, “You may have another opportunity to share your
story. Do it.” I wasn’t sure what he meant and filed it away in the back of my
mind.
It didn’t take long for me to find out what
he meant.
After we all were given the necklace with a
cross, we were taken back to the gym; but before we got there, I could hear
something. As we came closer to the gym, I could make out music playing When the Saints Go Marching In. When we opened the doors to the gym, my
head exploded. The place was filled with people, and they were all standing on
their feet and pounding their hands together to the beat of the song which they
were singing at the top of their lungs. There was a section of seats prepared
for us, but they had formed a corridor of people we had to pass through to get
there. As we walked between them, they shook our hands and welcomed us into the
Kairos family. It was overwhelming and I was lost in a sea of smiling faces
surrounding me. To say I was at a complete loss would be the understatement of
the century. It was something I had never experienced before, and I felt such a
strong wave of love crash over me that I quickly burst into tears. I attempted
to fight them back, but the tears would not be denied.
It was the closing night and all the Kairos
members, their families, and others from the churches in the surrounding area came
to see what God had done. All the inmates who were Kairos members were there as
well, so the gym was packed. The sight of all the faces filled with joy and
love was so unexpected and wonderful. I was overcome by it all as the powerful
emotions filled me completely up. It seemed so foolish I hadn’t believed God or
anyone else could possibly love me. To prove it wrong, all I had to do was look
around. As much as I wanted to, there was no denying this special moment was
real.
Again, the intense emotions caused
everything to blur, and it was difficult to concentrate on what was going on
around me. Everyone was seated and two guest speakers, the unit’s chaplain and
the warden, each took a turn encouraging those who had just completed the
Kairos weekend. Then just like the night before, the inmates were asked to come
forward to share what they had found during the Kairos weekend. I was scared to
death to stand in front of so many people and share something on such a
personal level, but I knew I needed to do this. I hesitated at first and others
went to the microphone before me. A few of the volunteers must have noticed
and, when they caught my eye, encouraged me to go forward. I finally mustered
up the courage and walked to the mic.
‘My name is Benjamin Darras, Kairos 15,
table of Matthew,” I began as we all did. Then I told them the short version of
my story including the crimes I committed and the crushing weight of the guilt
and regret. When I told them of my secret plan I made before coming to Kairos
to commit suicide after my mother died, it brought tears to the eyes of all the
mothers in the audience. I told them of the love I had found and felt while at
the Kairos weekend. Finally, I shared the love and acceptance I felt at that
very moment. For so long, I had felt like I was a monster for the crimes I had
committed; but, in truth, I had always felt like a horrible person. In my mind,
all I could see was I was so messed up inside, they had to lock me away from
society for the rest of my life. There was no redemption for me. In my mind’s
eye, I pictured the average ordinary person being scared of me, hating my guts,
or wishing I was never born. I believed all these things completely, but here
were all of these people listening to me share my story with faces, not filled
with fear or hate, but with love and compassion. They were crying with me. It was more that I could have ever hoped for, but here it was.
When I stepped away from the mic, the Kairos
community stood to their feet and cheered, I was so shocked, that someone come
up, put his arms around me and helped me to my seat. I was emotionally spent
and physically exhausted, but it felt wonderful. Soon after, the ceremony was
over and we went back to our buildings.
For days afterward. The memories of the
Kairos weekend played over and over in my mind. I was still a bit shell shocked,
and I didn’t realize how much of my day was spent lost in thought until another
inmate asked me, “Did aliens abduct you at Kairos or something? What have you
done with Ben?” I spent a lot of time in prayer trying to figure out how I
would live my life now that my old plan had been ruined. I still worried about
the prospect of the endless years and growing old in prison until some illness
finally overtook me. However, even being filled with anxiety, there was a
feeling of peace deep inside. I knew it would be okay somehow. Life in prison
wouldn’t get any easier, but I knew God would help me find my way through it.
Over the next few months, I stayed faithful to Kairos attending every Wednesday night meetings as well as the larger monthly meetings held on the first Saturday of each month. I even started playing the guitar for the music portions of the meeting. It was nice to be able to play again and was something I thought I would never do again. Things were looking up.
