Ahead of me

After this Jesus went out and saw a tax-collector named Levi, sitting at the tax booth; and he said to him, ‘Follow me.’ And he got up, left everything, and followed him. (Luke 5:27-28)

George Bluebird appeared out of nowhere. I hadn’t thought about him in years, decades actually.

I interviewed him in the mid-1990s as part of a story on prison ministry in South Dakota. The pastor of the congregation in the S.D. state pen directed me to George and set up a time for us to talk over a small table in the room where the men worshiped.

My first impression was that this man could reach across the table and squeeze the life out of me in seconds; his entire physical presence bristled with strength. But I had nothing to fear. George rested his forearms on the table, his immense brown hands lifting to illustrate his story.

He was serving a life sentence without the possibility of parole for beating an elderly man to death in a drunken stupor. He remembers little; the details are lost in the fog of drugs and alcohol that cloaked the contours of a lost night.

He showed me pieces of his artwork and told me about the purpose that kept him going though he knew he’d never again see the prairie sky as a free man. He worked with other Lakota prisoners like himself, telling his story, sharing what wisdom he gained lest they, too, get sucked into the black hole that defined his existence and determined his fate, to say nothing of the man he killed.

They’re young, George said. They’ll get out some day. I tell them what happened to me so they don’t come back here.

George was an elder, a sage, who’d reaped a bountiful harvest of humility and wisdom from stony ground. That labor had taken years behind bars and far too many days of disorientation and isolation in “the hole.”

The reason George came to mind is the verse above these paragraphs recounting Jesus’ invitation to Levi, a social reject, to follow him. Levi got up and followed. George got up and followed, too, though he could go nowhere other than where he was ... and still is as far as I know. I’m trying to find out.

When I imagined the scene, Jesus calling Levi, George was there. He appeared out of nowhere, walking just behind Jesus. He looked back at me and motioned for me to come long.

And that’s just about right. George is ahead of me, and I’m okay with that. I’m certain he possesses a depth and painful wisdom beyond my own. It’s not a competition, of course. The important thing is that we are there—that we understand we belong and are wanted there—following the One who is Divine Love personified, no matter where we happen to be at the moment.

We are where we are through decisions we made and didn’t make, through the actions others took or did not take in relation to us, through things that worked out exactly as we wanted and things that went wonderfully or terribly wrong. The idea that we have control over much of this is a grand illusion the strong whisper in others’ ears, trying to convince themselves.

Wherever we are, wherever we end up, however we got there, Jesus’ call lives in our souls. ‘Follow me,” the voice says, and on our best days, we do, recognizing the voice within is Love’s voice inviting us to learn, however poorly, how to live the Love who abides in the inmost room of our souls.

That’s what I saw in George and what I want to hear and know, feel and do every day, humbly recognizing and giving thanks for those who are ahead of me.

A few years ago there was a movement to secure George’s release. I’m trying to find out what happened with that, if anything. I’d really like to hear George is walking under a prairie sky, free as the heart I met years ago.

David L. Miller