"Do you think God's gonna punish me for that?"
All of the inmates got quiet and looked at me. I was in a large community cell deep in the Fayette County Detention Center talking to a guy in an orange prison jumpsuit, and he was telling me about messing his life up on drugs, having fourteen children by eleven different women, and trying to get closer to God and change his life.
He had just told me about constantly doing the wrong thing. Then he asked that bombshell question. I really didn't know what to say, but one thing was for sure- it was a question on every single one of the inmates' minds. They all knew I was a minister. Their entire lives had been one of punishment for what they had done. It was their world. They were used to getting caught, getting punished- in other words, they were used to judgment. They wanted to know if they could expect more of that, not only from the justice department, but also from God.
How would you answer that question?
I've never felt uncomfortable being in the prison. By the way, when we go into the prison to teach fatherhood skills to the inmates, they don't come out to the visitor area. We go through door after door after door into the very heart of the prison right to where the inmates live. For two hours a week, I'm literally an inmate.
But I've never felt uncomfortable there. I actually wish I could be there more often. See, the gospel was intended to be a blessing to people who are broken and hurting. Jesus' message of redemption and forgiveness and grace resounds with people who have no illusions of their own goodness. People like the guys in the prison.
It's sad that I see more hunger for God in prison than outside the prison.
I have had more conversations about God, more chance to share my testimony, and been asked more questions about faith in my visits to the prison than I ever have anywhere else. And when I share with these men, who are used to nothing but punishment and judgment, the wonderful story of Jesus and His sacrifice on the cross for their sins, it is like nothing I've ever experienced before.
The man in the orange jumpsuit was a black man. A man from a different race. We really had nothing in common. He grew up in the inner city- I grew up in the wealthy suburbs. He had children by 11 different women- I have children by my wife of seventeen years. He is an inmate- I am a minister. And yet, as he asked me that question, I sensed we had more in common than most people would imagine.
This man standing before me had become a Christian while in prison. I asked him if he had a Bible. He lifted up his mattress and pulled out a Bible that looked like it had been through the ringer (definitely more worn than the Bibles I see on Sunday morning) and I went to the story of the thief on the cross in Luke 23. (Advice to Christians, when dealing with hurting, broken people, always, and I mean ALWAYS, take people to the cross. Take them to the greatest story of mercy, grace and hope ever written.)
I still had not answered his question. Instead, I read the following from Luke 23:39-43:
"One of the criminals who hung there hurled insults at him: “Aren’t you the Messiah? Save yourself and us!”But the other criminal rebuked him. “Don’t you fear God,” he said, “since you are under the same sentence? We are punished justly, for we are getting what our deeds deserve. But this man has done nothing wrong.”
Then he said, “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” Jesus answered him, “Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in paradise.”
I read that loud enough for all the inmates in the room to hear. I didn't really have to- they were already quiet. I closed the Bible and handed it back to the man. I said, "Jesus said that to a thief. A criminal. Do you think He would tell you anything different?"
He continued looking at the Bible, but he nodded his head. He asked me if I could stay a little longer and talk some more, but I had a meeting to go to. I told him that next week, I would schedule some time and we could go through more of the Bible together. He thanked me and made me promise to be there next week.
I shook hand with all the guys, and then I said, "Guys, you may not believe this, but I actually really look forward to Tuesday mornings. I really enjoy coming to see you all."
One of the guys said, "Man, thank you for coming. You don't know how much we appreciate it."
I wonder how many of these guys would ever set foot in a church. Probably not many of them. But the hunger for grace, the hunger for God's word, the hunger for redemption- believe me, it's alive and well. If criminals won't come to church, then I guess the church has to go to them. I think that's been Jesus' plan all along.
When I come to the end of my ministry career, I would imagine that I will look back and see the time I got to read Luke 23- Jesus's amazing words spoken to a criminal 2000 years ago- to a roomful of inmates as one of the most memorable and most important things I ever did to bring the message of Jesus to a hurting world. I wonder if I'm being as big a blessing to them as they are to me. God is good.
All of the inmates got quiet and looked at me. I was in a large community cell deep in the Fayette County Detention Center talking to a guy in an orange prison jumpsuit, and he was telling me about messing his life up on drugs, having fourteen children by eleven different women, and trying to get closer to God and change his life.
He had just told me about constantly doing the wrong thing. Then he asked that bombshell question. I really didn't know what to say, but one thing was for sure- it was a question on every single one of the inmates' minds. They all knew I was a minister. Their entire lives had been one of punishment for what they had done. It was their world. They were used to getting caught, getting punished- in other words, they were used to judgment. They wanted to know if they could expect more of that, not only from the justice department, but also from God.
How would you answer that question?
I've never felt uncomfortable being in the prison. By the way, when we go into the prison to teach fatherhood skills to the inmates, they don't come out to the visitor area. We go through door after door after door into the very heart of the prison right to where the inmates live. For two hours a week, I'm literally an inmate.
But I've never felt uncomfortable there. I actually wish I could be there more often. See, the gospel was intended to be a blessing to people who are broken and hurting. Jesus' message of redemption and forgiveness and grace resounds with people who have no illusions of their own goodness. People like the guys in the prison.
It's sad that I see more hunger for God in prison than outside the prison.
I have had more conversations about God, more chance to share my testimony, and been asked more questions about faith in my visits to the prison than I ever have anywhere else. And when I share with these men, who are used to nothing but punishment and judgment, the wonderful story of Jesus and His sacrifice on the cross for their sins, it is like nothing I've ever experienced before.
The man in the orange jumpsuit was a black man. A man from a different race. We really had nothing in common. He grew up in the inner city- I grew up in the wealthy suburbs. He had children by 11 different women- I have children by my wife of seventeen years. He is an inmate- I am a minister. And yet, as he asked me that question, I sensed we had more in common than most people would imagine.
This man standing before me had become a Christian while in prison. I asked him if he had a Bible. He lifted up his mattress and pulled out a Bible that looked like it had been through the ringer (definitely more worn than the Bibles I see on Sunday morning) and I went to the story of the thief on the cross in Luke 23. (Advice to Christians, when dealing with hurting, broken people, always, and I mean ALWAYS, take people to the cross. Take them to the greatest story of mercy, grace and hope ever written.)
I still had not answered his question. Instead, I read the following from Luke 23:39-43:
"One of the criminals who hung there hurled insults at him: “Aren’t you the Messiah? Save yourself and us!”But the other criminal rebuked him. “Don’t you fear God,” he said, “since you are under the same sentence? We are punished justly, for we are getting what our deeds deserve. But this man has done nothing wrong.”
Then he said, “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” Jesus answered him, “Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in paradise.”
I read that loud enough for all the inmates in the room to hear. I didn't really have to- they were already quiet. I closed the Bible and handed it back to the man. I said, "Jesus said that to a thief. A criminal. Do you think He would tell you anything different?"
He continued looking at the Bible, but he nodded his head. He asked me if I could stay a little longer and talk some more, but I had a meeting to go to. I told him that next week, I would schedule some time and we could go through more of the Bible together. He thanked me and made me promise to be there next week.
I shook hand with all the guys, and then I said, "Guys, you may not believe this, but I actually really look forward to Tuesday mornings. I really enjoy coming to see you all."
One of the guys said, "Man, thank you for coming. You don't know how much we appreciate it."
I wonder how many of these guys would ever set foot in a church. Probably not many of them. But the hunger for grace, the hunger for God's word, the hunger for redemption- believe me, it's alive and well. If criminals won't come to church, then I guess the church has to go to them. I think that's been Jesus' plan all along.
When I come to the end of my ministry career, I would imagine that I will look back and see the time I got to read Luke 23- Jesus's amazing words spoken to a criminal 2000 years ago- to a roomful of inmates as one of the most memorable and most important things I ever did to bring the message of Jesus to a hurting world. I wonder if I'm being as big a blessing to them as they are to me. God is good.
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