The Enigma Machine!

The guard screamed at the boys. She swore up and down, calling them every name in the book. She didn’t care that I was standing a few feet away, that a volunteer could hear her use such profane language.

I thought to myself, “Imagine what she’s saying when people like me aren’t here.”

The boys responded in-kind by matching her energy. They yelled back. They became even more rambunctious. They pounded on heavy metal doors; the sound of cold steel echoed off the walls. I could feel trouble brewing.

I decided to play it cool. I was going to have to be the one with a level head.

I sat down and started to play my guitar softly. “Simple Twist of Fate” by Bob Dylan. A spell-binding song that always seems to calm my students down. C, to Cmaj7, to C7. A simple chord progression that sounds lovely.

One of the boys walked over. He had a sheet of paper in his hand. On it, a cipher was scrawled. I pointed to the symbols, “You making your own code?” He eyed me with suspicion and hesitancy as he asked if I knew anything about cryptography.

Some years ago, I had watched The Imitation Game, which depicts Alan Turing and his success decrypting the Nazi’s “Enigma” code. Essentially, Turing designed a machine that allowed him to decipher the code. All I remembered about the movie is that his invention was an early precursor to today’s computers.

I looked at the boy. Probably no older than 14, 15, tall, skinny, too skinny. Hair in a big afro, face marked with scars. He looked no different than any of the other countless boys I’ve seen in juvie before him. Clearly, life hadn’t been too kind to this kid.

I’ve learned that if you want to calm a crowd down, you need to speak quietly. They’ll hush as they strain to hear you. I kept my voice low as I spoke to him and the other boys who now surrounded me.

If you’ve read this newsletter before, you’ll know that I follow the Socratic method of teaching – meaning I ask open-ended questions of my students. I don’t tell them the answers; I simply try to ask questions that guide them to their own understanding. It’s “give a man a fish…” stuff. If I tell them the answer, they’ll forget it. But if I can teach them how to work through problems on their own, they might just eat forever.

So, I began to teach. Sure, I knew some things about cryptography, I replied. I then asked, “Do you know who’s considered to be the father of cryptography?” He parried back, “Duh. Alan Turing.” I was impressed. “Why was he working as a cryptographer?” My question was met with a puzzled look. “I actually don’t know,” he said.

I continued. Whenever a student is stumped, I’ll throw out a hint.

“It was in the 1940s. What was happening then?”

“Great Depression.”

“No, but close! Great Depression was a few years before.”

His palm smacked his forehead. “War. Duh.”

“Which war?”

“Vietnam.”

“Again, close, but before that.”

You see, in the beginning a lot of students HATE this teaching method. They just want to be told the answer. They don’t like running around in circles, trying to work through an entire series of questions. But over time, they grow to love this method. Because once they master it, the new students look at them like they’re geniuses. It works wonders.

He replied. “World War.”

“Yes! And Alan Turing worked for the British. What did he invent?”

A light bulb went off. They kid yelled “Wait!” and ran off.

I was left sitting there, guitar in my hands, clueless and confused. I heard him rummage through his cell.

He came running down the stairs. The guard yelled at him, demanding that he walk. He didn’t slow down. He was so excited.

He flipped through the worn book, searching diligently. Then I heard a big “AHA!” as he found what he’d been looking for.

He proudly showed me the page. There it was, the Enigma Machine, invented by Alan Turing.

The other students came rushing over, then stepped back and gazed at him in wonder. A smile beamed across his face.

In that moment, in that run down dorm in a chaotic and dark and smelly youth detention center cellblock, he was a genius. He was the kid who showed everyone just how smart he was. He’d rediscovered his loveliness.

A new guard approached me on my way out the facility later. “You bring your guitar in there? They don’t smash it?”

I gently explained that I’d been working at the facility for several years now. I told her that the boys matched whatever energy you brought. If you “turned up,” they would too. If you trusted them, they’d trust you too.

She nodded along. I prayed for her. She has a hard task ahead of her.

C.S. Lewis writes, “Don’t waste time bothering whether you ‘love’ your neighbor; act as if you did. As soon as we do this we find one of the great secrets. When you are behaving as if you loved someone, you will presently come to love.”

This week, may we all follow Christ’s example as we love our neighbors.