Remember those in prison as if you were their fellow prisoners, and those who are mistreated as if you yourselves were suffering. Hebrews 13:3This morning I am drawn to write about Olavi (OH-lah-vee). I don't know much about him, but what I know, I admire greatly.
When our string quartet was planning to visit Estonia, our tour director (Kari of the bus fame below) asked me if we'd be willing to play in a prison. A member of the church where we would play in Tallinn was a prison chaplain, and had asked if we would come. I wrote back to Kari and said yes, of course!
We ended up spending most of Sunday playing in two prisons. And it was a very meaningful, thoughtful time for me.
Olavi grew up with no faith during the time when Estonia was under Soviet rule. When he became a Christian his parents disowned him. He persisted, his heart truly given to Jesus. He felt a calling to prison ministry, and was hired by the Estonian government to do that work. People around him can't understand why he likes doing it. The pay is minimal. Other chaplains only go to the prisons on Sundays; Olavi is there every day along with one fellow chaplain.
As I sat there and watched the two chaplains work, I was struck by several things. First of all, the chaplains were truly happy to be there, doing what they were doing. Their faces exuded joy and peace. This was a particularly joyful day for Olavi because he conducted baptism for a young prisoner, as I mentioned here.
Second, the prisoners' faces and demeanors struck me. They looked like a really tough lot to work with. Their faces were hardened and scarred, several noses broken. You would remember these faces (see the one in the background in the picture below). I would not have wanted to meet these guys on a dark street. There were haunted, sad and lonely looks in most of the eyes.
And finally, the circumstances around us reminded me of the poorest places where I grew up in Asia: ugly surroundings, unfinished block walls, dark, dank-smelling stairwells and hallways with narrow wooden doorways, faces looking out the windows and watching us as we went through successive courtyards on our way to the chapel. Men walked in circles in the courtyards as we passed. Prison is truly an awful place to be when you're in Estonia.
It's not work that I would do, driving an hour each way daily to the two prisons we visited, spending time with these men who may or may not be thinking straight. But these chaplains are answering a calling.
At the second prison I watched a young man come up to Olavi after the service and ask politely if he could talk with him. They moved back in the pews to talk. The picture is above. Look at the expression on Olavi's face as he listens. Many of us could only hope to have a friend or pastor who would listen with that kind of love and sympathy on his face.
After they talked for some time, Olavi prayed for his young friend. I have no doubt that it made a difference. For both of them.
Sometimes I long for work that is this raw and up-front in terms of fulfilling the things Jesus told us to do. I want work that makes a visible difference in a stark world, work where I can go home at the end of every day and think, "I made one person's life better today." I want something to be able to point to that indicates the world needed me to be born.
As I think about it, though, it's not about what gem you can take home and feel good about. It's about doing exactly what Olavi is doing--responding to the call, and doing the work God put in front of you to do, to the best of your ability. It's about focusing not on satisfying results or trophies, but on your faithful answer to God's call, day by day.
Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with all your might, for in the grave, where you are going, there is neither working nor planning nor knowledge nor wisdom. Eccl. 9:10
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