El Salvador was hot. We lived with a family of 7 (including Taco, the dog) in their house in Santa Ana. Our team joined anothers for the month so the 12 of us packed in with the family. The house wasn’t small by any measure, but even with 18 people living in one house for a month things can get pretty packed, and there is never any silence. So last month I learned a lot about finding my quite place and my rest in the Lord.
The majority of our time in Santa Ana we spent doing programs at two of the schools, working with a ministry at the church called bread and chocolate were we go to different locations around town and pass out bread and soup or hot chocolate, and giving testimonies during church services. My favorite thing during the month aside from fighting Taco, was being able to go to the jail and talk with the prisoners. This was one of the places we would go during the bread and chocolate ministry.
The jail isn’t far from our house. Its a blue and white building, tall and uninviting with police trucks and motorcylces scattered on the sidewalk infront. Some of the police hang-out outside in circles while friends and families wait to go in to visit and take food to whoever it is they know inside. The prisoners dont get fed otherwise because its only a jail and the maximum amount of time someone would be there is only about 3 weeks, and only after a few days would you get the chance to talk to the judge to see if you move down the street to the prison or get out. Its a speacial thing that the church gets to go in and minister because they dont really let people into the actual room were the cells are, they usually bring the person out.
We get there about maybe 8 o’clock and wait out front untill its ok for us to go back. They dont check us or make us walk through metal detectors, they just tell us not to have any pens or jewelry or cell phones. We walk out into a courtyard and down a sidewalk were benches are placed infront of the door thats our destination. People sit on them with one hand hand-cuffed to a rail on the wall. It looks like they’re waiting, but I guess everyone in a jail is waiting for something. I reach the threshold of the door and as soon as I cross it a wall of thick, moist, stench hits me right in the face. I look to my right, there is a cell with maybe 50 guys in it, all with their shirts off and huddled around the front of the cell. Bunkbeds stack three high and clothes are hung from the ceiling. The people from the church jump right into it. They start preaching and and saying a bunch of things in spanish. I just stand around cause I dont really know what to do. We dont have a translator and the 4 cells are already accupied by another. I find a spot on the wall. Im out of my element. My nose hurts from the smell.
Over my left shoulder are three hands drawn on the wall; the first is the shape of a “d”, the second like a “c”, and the third the thumb and fore-finger make a circle and the tip of the middle finger touches the top knuckle of the circle to make what looks like an “8”. “dc8”. I have no idea. I look around at the 4 cells; the biggest one filled with guys in the front of the room, the one across from it is much smaller and I see maybe three guys looking at us, the next one is the girls cell, and one more next to me. I cant really see in because two guys are there talking, a lot.
Lili stands next to me, my new team member, and were talking about I dont know what. A guy comes up to us from the church and asks us if we want to talk. I dont think we say anything to him, at least I didn’t, Im too caught off guard by the whole thing. I blink and the next thing I know Im standing infront of a cell full of guys all in their underwear, and no, Im not imagining it just because I have to talk. Its the heat. There is no ventilation in this place. There is a hose tied off to one of the bars that runs out the door and around the corner to a spicket, I can only guess that this is their shower. Lili and I stare, They all have tattoos. Tattoos are bad here, you only have tattoos if your in a gang. This cell is full of gang members. There is a huge drawing on the back wall, “18”. deis y ocho, d c ocho, d c 8, 666 : 6+6+6=18. This is their gang. I see it everywhere. Its all over the walls and the bodies of the guys that are all staring at me waiting for me to say something. I may be way out of a comfortable place but the Lord kept me from being nervous. I have much peace.
If there is one thing I dont want to do for these guys, its preach at them. I want to be real with them, I want to relate to them. Lili speaks fluent spanish and one guy in the cell speaks pretty good english. He lived in the states for something like 25 years before he got deported. We do the introduction thing and tell them where we’re from and what were doing. We start asking questions just to get to know each other and they cant answer much cause they’re in jail and it wouldn’t help their case; so mostly conversation about family. We lead into talking about the Lord and I get to share a story from my past that I hope can relate to them. They seem to like it and from there I tell them how there is so much more life in Christ, how he can give us more than I can even describe to them and not in the physical sense of things. They listen intently and we continue to chat and cut up with them untill were told to leave.
We got to go back 2 more times after that. We continued conversations about Jesus and the hope and life he brings. A lot of them said they understand it all, they just haven’t made the decision yet. I imagine its a bit harder for them; they’re in a gang, it means something when you choose to follow another leader. Those guys became our friends. They made us braclets out of something plastic and the last night we were there they asked me to stay with them in their cell, joking of course. It was just as hard leaving them after maybe 3 hours of conversation throught-out 3 weeks then it was leaving the family we lived with 24-7.
Those guys need hope just like the rest of us, and I would argue that they know it more than most people.
