A precursor to Redemption.

The first time I went to Syl Apps, the youth detention centre in Oakville, was around 1990. The institution is a maximum security facility that houses dangerous youth offenders from all over Canada; it is also a treatment centre for troubled youth who, if left unsupervised, would injure themselves or others. As recently as last Sunday I listened to the account of a teacher at Syl Apps: one of her students was acting strangely. Is anything wrong? No. What did you just do? Nothing. Did you swallow something? Yes. What? A needle. The student, who compulsively swallows things – anything – was rushed to emergency. Others cut themselves.

The overall impression after my first visit was: these are children, they are innocent; why are they here? I quickly discovered that many had been sexually molested when they were young – very young. Children follow the example of their parents, so, in turn, they sexually molested those who were younger than them. Some were accomplished con artists: one in particular comes to mind. He was allowed to attend our church on Sundays; after years of visits by a volunteer from St. Hilda’s he was released. He stole the volunteer’s credit cards and accused him of abuse; later he was re-arrested and the last I heard was in an adult prison.

I was the volunteer for a troubled young man who was interested in playing the guitar: we played worship songs together; the times we had together were among the most powerful expressions of worship I have ever experienced. He had trouble controlling his anger. One day his mother was visiting him and took exception to something one the guards said. She jumped on the guard’s back, clawing at him, and had to be restrained. Her son witnessed this. After release, I believe her son re-offended and was sentenced to serve time in an adult prison.

Carrie, a 15 year old with a sweet temperament,  was in the treatment section of Syl Apps. Every time I was there for the chapel service she would give me a big hug when I arrived and before I left. She had imaginary friends and would probably be viewed as not too bright. During the worship she would sing and clap with gusto; not the same lyrics, tune or rhythm that I was playing, but that didn’t matter: her heart was close to God. I believe her expression of worship was worth more to God than the most perfectly performed anthem.

Eventually Carrie was released; but she had nowhere to go, so she lived on the street in Toronto where she was picked up by a pimp and forced into prostitution. A couple of weeks later, presumably because of poor performance, the pimp beat her to death. I am reasonably certain that Carrie is with Jesus, still singing, clapping and hugging everyone. She will be clapping in time now, and one day I hope to receive another hug from her.

Like it or not, our world is the battle-ground between good and evil. There is no standing on the sidelines: you have to choose a side, God or Satan. For my part, in spite of frequent stumblings and failures, I’m for God and I want to try to keep fighting until it’s over.