Radiant Joy Inside Prison Walls

I hadn't seen so much radiant joy in a long time 

as we saw in the prison we visited last weekend.

Last weekend a group of twenty from our church practiced one last time and traveled the nearly 2 hours to the prison where we have ministered for around 20 years. 

It is always a blessing--not just to them but to us.

For obvious reasons, you don't take cameras in, or even cell phones, although this is one time I wished so badly that I could have captured in pictures for my blog what I can only try to describe in words. 

We have to get prior permission to even bring instruments. This time we had handbells--with all the foam pads and bell cases--and a musical saw, (something the guards do wonder about!) to be played by our dear Bro. Alvin Gafford, who is in his 90's, and still was willing to go play his saw 

even though he had to be wheeled in by wheelchair. 

And we waited nearly 45 minutes in the entry room before anyone showed up to let us through the metal detector and all the locked doors and gates.

The cold, blustery wind had been blowing dreadfully as we unloaded ourselves and our equipment.

You never know from one time to the next just what is going to happen. 

We just know that it is always worth whatever it takes to bring some joy to a place where 

joy doesn't grow on trees--not even Christmas trees.

Yet down in this prison, there is a core group of men who have learned to find joy in Christ,

and who have learned to make the best of their unfortunate situation,

and make, in a sense, a Christmas tree out of the tumbleweeds of their meager existence.

  There is one long outdoor stretch of sidewalk we have to walk through in the December cold, and I always enjoy that fresh air after the cramming through the metal detector and into the small hallway and small, fenced enclosure. 

The wind had calmed amazingly since we arrived.

I was exhausted and parched when we got through all the locked doors and gates and arrived to the last door into the dining hall turned meeting room.

As I turned away from the drinking fountain, I realized I was being watched by several pairs of eyes through glass doors.

Prisoners in green jumpsuits were smiling and waving, and I smiled and waved back.

We all hurried to set up our bells and equipment while the prisoners filed in.

The atmosphere was unusually charged with energy and excitement.

As  Bro. Robert led "Joy to the World," we sang, 

"He rules the world with truth and grace,

And makes the nations prove the glories of His righteousness, 

And wonders of His love.

And wonders of His love."

Those words struck me with a new and powerful force.

It was the "wonders of His love" that brought these men to this room and to this time in their lives.

It was the "wonder of His love" that had drawn them to Christ when they were down and out and messed up.

And yes, it was the "wonder of His love" that brought the twenty of us free people together to not just minister to the prisoners,

but to worship together with them as one.

Far be it from us to go in there and think we can look down our nose, or think we have a handle on life or are somehow better than they are because we didn't mess up like they did.

We are all messed up.

We all need Him Who loved us and shed His blood for our sins

to wash us white as snow. 

Just because maybe they've stolen and we've only lied doesn't make us better.

Just because maybe they committed fraud and we just sinned in our attitude doesn't make us better.

Just because maybe someone there got caught in a cycle of abuse, or drug abuse, or murder or some other scandal, and all we did was disobey or complain or act proud or throw a fit and then tried to justify ourselves

doesn't make us better.

We all had to come to the cross to be forgiven.

And there are no comparisons at the cross.

For all have sinned and come short of the glory of God.

 ******

But there we were, all behind bars for a little while, all having been caught in our pasts in some kind of sin or many kinds of sin, 

yet all having faced up and 'fessed up
and been brought to the gospel and finding peace and justification through Christ.

One man, whose face beamed throughout the evening, shared his testimony with Jonathan and me afterward as we mingled with the prisoners to shake hands and share a few words of encouragement to as many as possible. 

He showed us a long scar on his neck where he had sliced his artery in an attempted suicide two years ago.

"I died," he told us, "but they brought me back to life."

He told us how God had revealed Himself to him, and told him, "I have a purpose for your life!"

He said he has never been the same since.

He used to suffer so much from depression, but now in prison, he said, "I am freer than I have ever been!"

Partway through our service, the men wanted to sing a song for us.

Some of them had formed a choir, and one of the men who was a musician both played the piano and directed the little choir. 

They lined up facing us, and the director played an introduction and started the men singing "O Holy Night."

I watched, almost in tears, as those men's faces turned upward toward the director and toward us.

Their faces were radiant.

I have not seen that  much joy outside the prison walls.

Not in the faces of people shopping in the Christmas aisles.

Not even in the faces of people at our church.

We had to go inside prison walls to find such radiant faces, such amazing energy. 

I was sure the angels were smiling.

And sometimes it is in our chains of circumstances, 

our difficult places, 

our prisons,

charged with hurt and grief and guilt and painful experiences and accusations and scorn,

that we find real joy.

Not the joy that is spelled h-a-p-p-i-n-e-s-s,

but the joy that is spelled

G-O-D w-i-t-h U-S.

A joy that the world cannot give,

and a joy that the world cannot take away.