Jail Diary
I went back to jail last night.
After nearly a three month hiatus -- during which we sold our house, moved to a new place, got the kid off to college, etc. -- Carla and I returned to our ministry at the county jail. We conduct a Bible study one night a week and lead a Chapel service every other Sunday.
During our time off, a strange thing happened. I began to feel -- I don't quite know how to describe it -- Dry. Brittle. Hollow. I began to detect a creeping cynicism in my outlook on life. Slowly, almost imperceptably, a change was occuring within me. I busied myself with theological studies (and debates) but they began to feel like nothing more than academic exercises. Worst of all, God felt distant. I questioned Him about this but there was no response. Only a dull, dry silence.
I knew something was amiss, but I couldn't put my finger on it. It wasn't until last night that I saw what had been going on.
Last night Carla and I sat on plastic chairs at a round table in a brightly lit "multi-purpose room" at the jail. We were joined by three inmates, whom I'll call Kenny, Myron and Ray. I won't bore you with too many details of what transpired, but I will say that for the first time in three months, I felt alive and invigorated. I felt the Holy Spirit. Around us. In us. Through us.
Kenny has been a Christian since January of this year. That seems to make him the expert on matters Biblical and Theological. He wanted me to discuss the structure and organization of the Bible and I obliged him, explaining how it's best to think of the Bible, not like a book, but like a library.
Myron is a handsome and intensely quiet Native American in his (I'm guessing) mid-twenties. He prayed the Lord's Prayer, led by Kenny, last week. So now he is a Christian (according to Kenny). As we read and discussed scripture, Myron began to open up bit by bit. When I explained that, prior to becoming a Christian, I knew nothing about Jesus except that He died on a cross and I was supposed to somehow feel guilty about, Myron grinned and nodded. "Exactly!", he said.
Myron told me how he grew up in New Mexico. How he nearly died several times as a child. He told me that for as long as he can remember he had been filled with anger and hatred. As we read scripture and talked about Jesus, Myron's eyes clouded over with tears. I could see a battle raging within him between hardness and softness. Dark and light. Love and hate. Anger and forgiveness. Carla read 1 Corinthians 13 and we talked about love. We talked about the God who is love. Myron's eyes clouded over again. "I've never loved anyone.", he whispered, "I don't think I can." "That's OK," I said, "God loves us first. He pours His love into us and it begins to overflow out of us. God loves other people through us. That's what you're beginning to feel." Myron smiled, nodded, and wiped at the tears forming in the corners of his eyes with his shirt sleeve.
After the meeting, Ray, who had been largely silent, pulled me aside. He told me he had had encounters with God. As he spoke, he became animated. He began telling me about two entities that look like orbs of energy which he is in contact with. The entities download information into the back of his head. One is good. One is bad. Sometimes they confer with each other about him, while he watches and tries to catch what they're saying. He wound up in jail because he listened to the bad one. Carla slowly moved away from Ray, but he was even more animated now and didn't notice. "Why not look beyond those two orbs", I suggested calmly, "and look directly to Jesus? He's greater than both of them." Ray looked thoughtful. "Hmmm. I think I see what you're getting at", he mused.
Will Ray escape his "entities" and look to Jesus? Will the walls of hatred and anger in Myron's heart continue to crumble as the living water of God's love bubbles up within him? Will Kenny continue to seek God and read the Bible? I'm praying that the answers to these questions are all, "yes". I can't wait to go back to see what God does.
Many years ago I had a waking vision. I saw a pond. The water was foul and brackish. Dark green algae covered the surface. "What does this mean?", I wondered. "It's your heart", said God matter-of-factly and without the slightest hint of accusation or condemnation. "You have to let the water flow through, otherwise, it turns stale."
I had forgotton that lesson until last night, when I went back to jail.
After nearly a three month hiatus -- during which we sold our house, moved to a new place, got the kid off to college, etc. -- Carla and I returned to our ministry at the county jail. We conduct a Bible study one night a week and lead a Chapel service every other Sunday.
During our time off, a strange thing happened. I began to feel -- I don't quite know how to describe it -- Dry. Brittle. Hollow. I began to detect a creeping cynicism in my outlook on life. Slowly, almost imperceptably, a change was occuring within me. I busied myself with theological studies (and debates) but they began to feel like nothing more than academic exercises. Worst of all, God felt distant. I questioned Him about this but there was no response. Only a dull, dry silence.
I knew something was amiss, but I couldn't put my finger on it. It wasn't until last night that I saw what had been going on.
Last night Carla and I sat on plastic chairs at a round table in a brightly lit "multi-purpose room" at the jail. We were joined by three inmates, whom I'll call Kenny, Myron and Ray. I won't bore you with too many details of what transpired, but I will say that for the first time in three months, I felt alive and invigorated. I felt the Holy Spirit. Around us. In us. Through us.
Kenny has been a Christian since January of this year. That seems to make him the expert on matters Biblical and Theological. He wanted me to discuss the structure and organization of the Bible and I obliged him, explaining how it's best to think of the Bible, not like a book, but like a library.
Myron is a handsome and intensely quiet Native American in his (I'm guessing) mid-twenties. He prayed the Lord's Prayer, led by Kenny, last week. So now he is a Christian (according to Kenny). As we read and discussed scripture, Myron began to open up bit by bit. When I explained that, prior to becoming a Christian, I knew nothing about Jesus except that He died on a cross and I was supposed to somehow feel guilty about, Myron grinned and nodded. "Exactly!", he said.
Myron told me how he grew up in New Mexico. How he nearly died several times as a child. He told me that for as long as he can remember he had been filled with anger and hatred. As we read scripture and talked about Jesus, Myron's eyes clouded over with tears. I could see a battle raging within him between hardness and softness. Dark and light. Love and hate. Anger and forgiveness. Carla read 1 Corinthians 13 and we talked about love. We talked about the God who is love. Myron's eyes clouded over again. "I've never loved anyone.", he whispered, "I don't think I can." "That's OK," I said, "God loves us first. He pours His love into us and it begins to overflow out of us. God loves other people through us. That's what you're beginning to feel." Myron smiled, nodded, and wiped at the tears forming in the corners of his eyes with his shirt sleeve.
After the meeting, Ray, who had been largely silent, pulled me aside. He told me he had had encounters with God. As he spoke, he became animated. He began telling me about two entities that look like orbs of energy which he is in contact with. The entities download information into the back of his head. One is good. One is bad. Sometimes they confer with each other about him, while he watches and tries to catch what they're saying. He wound up in jail because he listened to the bad one. Carla slowly moved away from Ray, but he was even more animated now and didn't notice. "Why not look beyond those two orbs", I suggested calmly, "and look directly to Jesus? He's greater than both of them." Ray looked thoughtful. "Hmmm. I think I see what you're getting at", he mused.
Will Ray escape his "entities" and look to Jesus? Will the walls of hatred and anger in Myron's heart continue to crumble as the living water of God's love bubbles up within him? Will Kenny continue to seek God and read the Bible? I'm praying that the answers to these questions are all, "yes". I can't wait to go back to see what God does.
Many years ago I had a waking vision. I saw a pond. The water was foul and brackish. Dark green algae covered the surface. "What does this mean?", I wondered. "It's your heart", said God matter-of-factly and without the slightest hint of accusation or condemnation. "You have to let the water flow through, otherwise, it turns stale."
I had forgotton that lesson until last night, when I went back to jail.
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