Making a virtue of vacillation

Because people saved in prison sometimes fall away after release, the term “jailhouse conversion” has come to mean disingenuous religion or a ploy for leniency with the parole board. I don’t think so. Men really do come to faith while incarcerated, and if some slip away afterward it is not because repentance wasn’t authentic but because the world outside God’s woodshed is full of traps and they let down their guard.

A certain inmate was a great encouragement to me in our 10-year correspondence, far too much of a paper trail to be faked. When my faith was middling, his soared. Under the mighty hand of God’s discipline, he said no to drugs, gangs, sex, porn, and foul language. He was bold in evangelism to his cellies. There was something sharp and clear in his speech that is rare enough in any Christian setting.

I spoke to him on the phone last week and something wasn’t sharp and clear anymore. He has a girlfriend now. We got into a discussion of dating and I kept talking about “purity,” but he kept saying “nobody’s perfect.” I told him that sounded like he was already planning to fall, and that anybody who answers an exhortation to purity by saying “nobody’s perfect” has opened the door a crack to the devil. (I told him the devil only needs a crack.) He replied that I need to “have a little faith in” him, repeating it several times as other red flags popped up.

He said the woman had invited him to her bedroom, but he had stood firm, and she respected him for it. Whaaa … ? I guess he figured that report would sound better to me than it actually did. I said whatever happened to “do not be unequally yoked”? Then he walked back the bedroom admission and said the woman had been joking. I asked if she claims to be a Christian. He was happy to tell me that she is very willing to go to church with him and that she doesn’t talk dirty. Whoopee.

When I noted that he talks differently than he did in prison, he said, “I’m not going to make God any promises I can’t keep—and I can’t be sure I can keep that promise [of purity].” He said it boldly like I should be impressed and not notice his making a virtue of vacillation. I pointed out that when he says he can’t promise not to sin, he is actually denying God’s ability to keep him from sinning. I reminded him of his favorite verse: “I can do all things through [Christ] who strengthens me.” I reminded him of a man who made promises to God, and that it was a good thing. King David’s speech was full of muscular “I wills”:

“I willsing of steadfast love and justice; to you, O LORD, I will make music. I willponder the way that is blameless. … I willwalk with integrity of heart within my house; I will not set before my eyes anything that is worthless …” (Psalm 101:1–3, ESV).

We all have our turn to be weak. Even David. Whether counseling a slipping brother or doing self-counseling, you will find the Bible bracing, sober, and earnest:

“Therefore lift your drooping hands and strengthen your weak knees, and make straight paths for your feet, so that what is lame may not be put out of joint but rather be healed” (Hebrews 12:12–13, ESV).