I wish I could have taken photographs inside the Cambodian prison.
I wish that I could have taken photographs of the faces of the men I taught English to this month.
I so deeply wish that you could see how beautiful their faces were. How inspiring their dedication to learning was, how unforgettable each and every member of the class will always be to me.
I wish that I could show you what it was like to walk through those gates every morning, turning my phone into the prison guard and stepping from the outside world of unfathomable freedom, into a world where freedom is only a dream for all who live inside.
I wish that I could show you what it was like to walk down the outdoor corridors, surrounded on all sides by chain linked fences topped with 2 feet of barbed wire, men hanging off the fence-links, staring silently, wide-eyed, at the white American woman passing through the prison yard.
I wish I could show you that they were so very respectful, and never called out to me crudely, but only to say “Hello!” and “Are you from America?!”
I wish I could take you through the prison with me.
I wish that you could see what I saw.
That you could greet the men with a smile on your face, just like mine, because being treated with respect, dignity and with warmth is sometimes the greatest gift we can give to others.
That you could understand the weight in my heart that was dropped from the very first moment I stepped under the arched gate and realized how desperately the world needs more Christians to care about prison ministry.
I wish I could explain how fulfilling it was to watch the progress of my students over the three short weeks we spent together.
I wish I could describe what it was like, sweating nonstop, beating off what seemed like thousands of flies, as they sat at rickety, old wooden desks and I taught them from the front of a covered, outdoor pavilion in the crazy Cambodian heat.
I wish I could explain the insurmountable high it was to see them grow in confidence, and clarity and understanding.
I wish I could explain the joy that blossomed through me when they unabashedly tried, and the amazing pride that I felt when they succeeded.
Their capacity for learning was unlike anything I have ever seen, and I am so deeply inspired and honored to have been in their presence to witness it.
These men started out with zero understanding of the English language, and in just nine class periods, they had memorized the entire alphabet, learned how to read calendar dates, learned how to introduce themselves, exactly how many vowel sounds each vowel has, dozens of vocabulary words, and how to pronounce the differences between long and short vowel sounds.
By the end of our time together, we were reading 5 sentence paragraphs out loud with perfect pronunciation and fantastic clarity, and I can’t even tell you how loudly we clapped and cheered over each individual man’s victory and progress, because each man so deeply needed affirmation. He needed response, encouragement, acknowledgement that he had done the task and had done the task well.
Now, I must stop here and say that I was, indeed, amazed during my time in this prison, to see that the wardens and the guards actually treated their prisoners with respect. They called them by their names. They invested in their lives. The warden I worked with was a Christian man, and he did everything he could out of his own resources to try and provide care and discipling for these men.
It was such a refreshing sight to see programs at work in a prison system that actually seemed to benefit the men and women who resided within the walls of the prison.
I don’t want to misrepresent the hard work this man has done to create trust and foster growth among these men by treating them the way Christ would treat them, because he has done so much and his care for his prisoners is so evident. It was an honor to work alongside him for the month.
However, it was clear to see by the way that their eyes lit up when I encouraged everyone to stand up and cheer for his neighbor who had bravely stood first and recited alone an entire paragraph, that human beings can never receive enough grace and encouragement.
It breaks my heart that there are countless men and women all over the world who are in the same correctional situation, so desperately craving acknowledgement, craving dignity, craving decency. And a large number of those men and women do not have such a man caring for them in the love of Christ.
I understand that humans are capable of terrible things. Unimagineable. Unforgettable. “Unforgivable.” Actions, choices, decisions have weight. They bear consequences. They demand justice. These are facts of life that I will not begin to attempt arguing against, and I refuse to claim that I have the answers to the gaping holes that are undeniably evident in our own country’s correctional facilities and judicial systems.
But it does begin to beg the question, “What more could we be doing?”
What more can we do to reach these people in our home prisons, our home penitentiaries, our home maximum security facilities? For no matter what they have done, they are still people.
They are still humans. They were still created in God’s own image and likeness and I would just like to state the fact that as Christians, we have a responsibility to care for the men and women in prison, just as much as we have a responsibility to care for the men and women who are homeless.
There are still hundreds of thousands of souls that crave a reuniting with the Holy Spirit in our local and federal prisons and there are still hundreds of thousands of humans (not just “inmates”) that need to hear the LIFE-SAVING message of the gospel of Jesus Christ.
Yes, there are thieves in prison. Yes, there are drug dealers in prison. Yes, there are addicts, murderers, rapists, traffickers, pimps, sex offenders and serial killers in prison. They have done horrifying things. They deserve to serve the consequences of their crimes, because human beings always have a choice and they do not always chose the right decision.
I will not argue that.
But I will argue that we are sinning just as much by turning a blind eye to those men and women’s spiritual needs as they have sinned in committing their crimes.
I will argue that we are called to forgiveness, just as they are called to repentance.
I will argue that it is your responsibility, my responsibility, our churches’ responsibilities to be ambassadors for Christ and to go into prisons as salt and light, bearing the torch of the unextinguishable flame of the gospel to those men and women.
If we don’t, who will?
If we don’t remember them, they will be forgotten. Many of their souls will pass, not into glory, but into eternal torment. They will be hidden away in 4×6 cells, with no hope, no joy, no affirmation. No nurturing. No counseling. No salvation.
People in churches often romanticize what it means to “reach the unreached.”
If you want to reach unreached people, don’t get swept up in the idea that you have to buy an expensive plane ticket to a faraway land and win a million foreign souls for Jesus, or whatever else those romanticized notions are selling you.
If you want to reach unreached people, go outside. Get to know your neighbors. Invite the grocery store clerk you’ve had countless small talk conversations with into your home. Feed the hungry people who stand in line outside of food shelters.
Go into the prisons as volunteers, as missionaries, as pen pals, however you can- and don’t be afraid to share your life and your faith with the people that you meet there in those walls.
Life in Cambodia this past month has changed everything for me. My eyes have been opened to the true brokenness of the human condition, for its impossible not to see such overwhelming pain behind the walls of any prison establishment.
But, my eyes were also opened to the true beauty of the gospel message, and how it has called so many obedient servants to take the gospel into undesirable places, and to reach people that society would otherwise deem as “unwanted.”
I am so thankful for the long-term missionaries who have left their homes and families to pour into that prison on a daily basis. My time in Cambodia was never meant to be longer than one month, but they have dedicated their lives to evangelize to the men I met at the prison, and to the women I met at the prison, and even to the prison staff, and the world needs more of that, friends. From you, and from me.
Please commit to praying for them with me, every day. For their provision, for the growth of the gospel into all the crevices and hidden crannies of their hearts, for their faith to be made strong, and for their lives to be forever changed when the time of their sentences has come to an end.
Join with me in thanking God for the work that He is doing in the Kampong Cham district prison, and for the fact that sharing Jesus with others can sometimes be as simple as telling a few people how to pronounce vowel sounds, and cheering for them when they’ve done it correctly.
