Besotted Opa

I find myself in a season of awe.

I am an “Opa” to five little ones, ages one month to six years. They all live relatively close by. I am with them frequently. In their midst, I glimpse much that is Holy, much that is “in the image of God.”

My wife and children have suggested the adjective “besotted” be added to the Opa moniker. I plead guilty. It also challenges me to think a little deeper. What do I return to these delightful little ones in response to the trust offered to me?

In this city exists a Circle of Support and Accountability (CoSA) for high-risk released offenders. I have been a volunteer member since the beginning, over ten years ago. The offenders we support have typically served time for sexual violence toward children – some with few victims, some with many. Understandably, this is an offence that causes great fear, revulsion, and anger in the community.

My Opa role challenges me to contribute to a future that is safer, gentler, more human. The beautiful little ones deserve that. But in my experience of our systems of justice, and in the outrage from the community, I see little that takes us in gentler and safer directions. The recidivism rate for offenders in this category is alarming. Revolving-door imagery is accurate, coupled with the much more serious consequence of more victims. Meanwhile, demands for harsher penalties become a popular means to garner political support, but offer little to actual public security.

Correctional Services Canada is beginning to recognize that the most effective method, by far, to successfully rehabilitate sexual offenders into the community is found in models of Circles of Support and Accountability. CoSA is a means of offering an informed and caring group of friends. In Prince Albert, as core members and volunteer support members gather together, we frequently remind ourselves, “no more victims.” This remains central. But something else happens. Awe happens.

The offenders, or “core members,” come out of stories of dysfunction and often, victimization themselves. Core members share their stories hesitantly, with great trepidation. They seldom come with denial or excuses. As those stories are gently received, trust is tentatively offered, and the sharing grows in transparency and honesty. Rarely do these offenders find community that does not vilify them, but when they do, glimpses of profound growth appear. Relationships form. Our gatherings are filled with laughter, teasing, outrageous stories, and also with intensely serious conversation. Tears are not infrequent. Time is set aside for prayer.

When difficult times arrive, as core members are confronted, they are able to deal with that confrontation as being about their actions, not about their spiritual worth. A powerful indication of strength and trust was brought home to me recently when I was confronted by a core member, who challenged my actions. When I consider how limited the supportive community this core member has available to him, I am in awe of his courage. Feelings of confidence and self-worth lead to a determination to live honourably. The larger community is, unknowingly, the beneficiary.

I am the beneficiary as well. Core members bring richness to my life. They show me the determination of damaged spirits to take responsibility, to live in wholesome ways. They allow me glimpses into life stories that are vastly different from my own. They teach me about honesty, determination, about struggle and courage. They become close friends. The safer and gentler world to which our grandchildren are entitled comes a little closer.

When we look around us to catch glimpses of holiness, how much do we limit our gaze? How much do our assumptions, feelings of revulsion, anger, and fear shorten our view? It’s easy to find awe in the innocence and delight of the wee ones. Can the image of God be present when the picture is less than pristine?

A season of awe indeed.