A Resurrection Story
seeding the transformation of the world in the belly of a prison
Last night, I presided over a funeral for my friend, Zanne Ness. Zanne was a dynamic woman – a force of nature, really – who served as a deacon in the Episcopal Diocese of North Dakota and the founder of the Bread of Life Preaching Station at the North Dakota State Penitentiary. Last night’s funeral was the second funeral I participated in for Zanne, the first taking place over the weekend at St. George’s Episcopal Church in Bismarck. But Zanne, who I visited weekly in her last few months of life, wanted me to understand, last night’s funeral was the “real deal.” The funeral at St. George’s was the dress rehearsal, the bishop’s participation notwithstanding.
Thirty-eight men gathered in a stuffy, low-ceiling room at the center of the North Dakota State Penitentiary, an altar set up on the stage, with chairs arranged in eight rows along a center aisle. The prison chaplain whisked me into the janitorial closet that was serving as a sacristy, where I quickly donned my vestments. Paul, a man Zanne came to love and mentor their 14-year relationship, stepped in the makeshift sacristy to offer some directions on the service. As he prepared the chalice, paten, cruets, and elements, Paul told me how he had hoped to be discharged in January so he could have that final cup of coffee with Zane, “beyond the walls.”
Zanne had orchestrated the liturgy, readings, and music carefully, every jot and tittle of the service planned with precision. She was intending to communicate two different messages, each tailored to the very different communities, as her parting gift to the people that sent her and to those to whom she was sent. These funeral services were the giftwrap, and I was the delivery boy. True to form, even Zanne’s funeral was not about her; it was about those she loved. As preacher for both services, I felt the weight of the sacramental task assigned to me, equal parts pastoral and prophetic.
To the 200 or so people gathered at St. George’s, I reminded them of Zanne’s commitment to follow Jesus beyond the walls. Beyond the walls of that beautiful church, beyond the walls of her comforts and conveniences, beyond the walls, even, of her own understanding, Zanne followed her good shepherd. I reminded them how Zanne understood that Jesus never speaks about the call to discipleship in metaphors. As many metaphors as we hear for the kingdom of God, Jesus always puts the call to discipleship in the imperative.
Come. Follow me.
Not believe in me. Not worship me. Not, wear a t-shirt with my name on it, or post memes about me on the internet. Follow me. Or as the Greek literally means, here, “come after me and take my place.” Stand, where I stood. Do as I did.
And, that is exactly what Zanne did. Over and over again, she poured out her life for the life of those beyond these walls of her church. She poured out her life for those within the walls of our government-funded human warehouses – places where discarded men are hidden away so our communities will no longer feel the need to be responsible for them. But these men were not lost to Zanne. She saw them for who their Creator made them to be, for the blessing each of them was formed to bear into the world. Blessings all too often crushed under the weight of their mistakes or bad choices; blessings dulled by the pain that drove those choices and was transmitted by them; blessings lost in the guilt, shame, and judgment apportioned to each according to the sum-total of their worst mistakes. Blessings the world could not see.
But, they were blessings Zanne did see, and she reminded these men that they are made in the image of the Holy One, that they are shaped in the hand of the Almighty to bear into the world that lost, forgotten blessing that they alone could bring. Zanne knew, no matter how different her “guys” were, no matter what mistakes they had made, no matter who they had harmed, no matter whether they were “worthy” of forgiveness, they are beloved of God. Belonging to the one flock, gathered up by the good shepherd who knows them each and calls them by name. And, because that same good shepherd called her by name, Zanne understood that she had to get beyond her own walls to gather up God’s beloved.
And it was there, at the margins of all power and privilege and prosperity, that Zanne found salvation. Over the last few months of her life, she often reminded me, Jesus never tells a disciple who asks about salvation, “Don’t worry about it. I got this. Just make sure you write fancy hymns and prayers about me when I’m gone.” Quite the contrary! Jesus actually instructs the rich young ruler, if you want to share in God’s reign, “[G]o, sell your possessions, and give the money to the poor … then come, follow me” (Mat 9:16-22).
Zanne understood the call of discipleship, the call of her shepherd, as a call beyond the walls. To stand where Jesus stood. To do as Jesus did. To feed the hungry. To clothe the naked. To welcome the stranger. Zanne recognized that, as we seek liberation for the oppressed, we find our own liberation. Because our salvation is all bound up together.
This was the message Zanne asked me to share with her friends and family and St. George’s, and it is one she continues to offer any of us who hope to follow her Good Shepherd. It is also the lesson her “guys” at the prison taught her every Wednesday night at 630pm. And, as I joined these men in the passing of the peace – bearhugs and handshakes, sometimes the words, “I love you, brother,” where there just as easily could have been beatings or shanks or threats – I recognized that, down in the belly of that prison, we are seeding the transformation of the world.
How will each of us join this resurrection story? It is not just the story of Zanne Ness, or of her “guys” in the North Dakota State Penitentiary. It is your story and mine. And join it, we must. The life of the world depends on it.