They Never Told Me About Going To Jail.

When I was a teenager and dating Dallise, I left her house late one night going home on back country roads in South Georgia. I got pulled over by a policeman who jumped out of his car with his pistol drawn and pointed over the top of his car door. He screamed at me to put my hands on top of my car and spread my legs. I was in no position to argue, so I did exactly what he said, but thinking this was obviously a mistake. He said I was speeding and resisting arrest, though I explained I never saw his flashing lights in my rearview mirror. Notwithstanding they escorted me back to the police station and after making a somewhat convincing argument, they let me go with a fine.

It was many years later that I was again arrested and spent two nights in the Birmingham, AL jail. Our church was participating in Operation Rescue. We planned to stage a sit-in on a particular weekend to block the doors of abortion clinics, hoping to save a few babies who might otherwise have been aborted those days. There were four Pastors on staff and it was decided that we should not all participate on Friday in case the police held the arrestees through the whole weekend. One of us would need to be available to lead the Sunday service. I was the elected hold-out for the Friday Rescue. As expected everyone was arrested by mid-morning, men and women and teenagers. But they were released late Friday night, so I was free to do the sit-in the next day. I was arrested fairly early, my hands cuffed behind my back with the tough white plastic zip cuffs, shoved into the paddy wagon with a few others and hauled off to the county jail.

It had been decided that we would take no personal ID with us and that we would each give our name as "John Doe"when booked in. It was thought this might drag out the process a bit and perhaps attract more media attention to the effort. We were all placed in a large common room with 5'x7' individual cells surrounding the perimeter. We were not in with the general population of the jail; we were isolated only with our group, so we certainly felt no danger. We were free to talk, fellowship, pray and read our Bibles together, which we did. It really was turning into just a nice day with other Believers.

We were given an evening meal, then shortly afterward guards escorted each of us to our own individual cells. When the big metal door slammed shut behind me, it no longer seemed to be a day of fellowship. I was wondering why we were not released like the group the day before, but then remembered we had not given our real names and the police were not going to be so easy on us. The cot which stretched from wall to wall in my cell had no sheet, just a hard plastic mattress and no pillow. I had my own little private toilet and sink, but it was very austere.

Somehow, I finally drifted off to sleep, only to be roughly awakened about 3:00 am and dragged down the hallway by the night guard. In my sleepy state, I was having trouble focusing on where I was and why I was being treated this way in the middle of the night. The officer had realized they had failed to fingerprint me and they were going to do it now. He demanded my name, to which I replied John Doe, having finally remembered where I was and why I was there. He explained this game could be played both ways and they did not have to, and would not, release me until they had my real name and felt that I was being cooperative. In spite of the sleepy stupor hanging over me, he finally had my undivided attention. I snapped to alertness and blurted out, "Philip Goodson. That's Philip with one "L". He fingerprinted me and returned me to a fitful night of waiting for morning when I felt sure I would be released.

For whatever reasons the police had, none of us were released on that Sunday either and we all spent a second night in jail, a little less traumatic than the first. Finally, late Sunday we were bonded out upon agreeing we would not participate in Operation Rescue again for some determined period of time.

I don't really think this experience qualified as having been arrested for my faith. I certainly did not suffer and I was not persecuted or even mistreated. We did some "soft time" for taking a stand on an issue about which we felt passionate. I want to believe it made a difference in Birmingham and that a few babies might be alive today because of our actions.

But I have to say that nobody in Bible College told me I might spend a couple of nights in jail. By the way, whose idea was it that I was the one elected to wait until day two and spend two nights in the 5'x7', when everybody else on staff got to go home to their nice warm beds?

They Never Told Me About Unrighteous Indignation...

I have experienced moments of righteousness indignation. There are certain injustices that must be met with a certain extreme level of anger. It demands reaction. Jesus displayed that type of anger when he overturned the moneychangers' tables.

I think God blessed me with a pretty easygoing personality. I am not too easily angered. The problem is that easygoing personalities have a really ugly side. If pushed too far, the circumstances can devolve into UNRIGHTEOUS INDIGNATION. I don't like the picture of who I am when that happens, although from the perspective of 25 years later, it does have an element of humor.

We once faced an accusation by a Grandmother of inappropriate discipline of her Grandchild in our Daycare Ministry. She was so incensed on the phone that we could not speak civilly, so I invited her to my office for further discussion. It picked up where the phone call ended, definitely not on a pleasant note.

The tension escalated until I became very defensive and ultimately stated EMPHATICALLY, "This meeting is over!!" She hotly replied, "Don't tell me when this meeting is over! I'm not finished!" At this point, I had reached the "ugly side". I slapped my hand on my desk several times demanding that she leave. When she refused, I turned off the light, walked out and shut the door behind me, leaving her in my darkened office.

Of course, she hotly pursued me still irately berating me. I followed her across our building to be sure she did not engage any of our workers, and even though she never let up on me, I had gained control of my own emotions and was relatively calm again - that is, until she whipped around right in my face. She screamed, "Don't you follow me!" That sent me right off the deep end again. I explained loudly that this was my sidewalk and so was the surrounding 5 acres and that I could walk anywhere I wanted to, violently waving my arms to accent my attitude.

As our voices climbed the decibel scale, she drew back her hand to slap me in the face. Out-yelled at this point, all I could do was lean into her pointing at my cheek, daring her to go ahead and slap the snarling cheek I presented to her. I'm sure it must have taken great restraint on her part to withhold her desire to deck me.

I distinctly remember to this day the fearful prayer coursing through my thoughts at that moment, "Dear God, She is going to knock me on the ground. My only request is that you help me not to cry when she does." For whatever reason, she did not follow her instincts to oblige my foolish offer of a free shot at my jutting law, for which I will be forever grateful.

She left, but filed an official complaint and soon a pair of police officers showed up to question me about the incident. I was more than happy to answer their queries until they read me my Miranda Rights. I have to admit that was a bit unnerving. I invoked my rights and called our attorney. Thankfully, we were able to resolve the issue without bruises or bloodshed.

The ugly side of an easygoing person is just that - UGLY! I'm mostly thankful my actions did not result in cosmetic reconstruction. I did, however, undergo a painful spiritual reconstruction and I don't think I have ever stooped quite that low again in unrighteous indignation.