The Spirit of the Sovereign Lord is upon me,
for the Lord has anointed me
to bring good news to the poor.
He has sent me to comfort the brokenhearted
and to proclaim that captives will be released
and prisoners will be freed.
Isaiah 61:1
I memorized this verse and began praying it over myself about two years ago. During the month of January I truly saw it come into fruition in my life. Be careful what you pray for, eh?
In this blog, I want to highlight the second story that has to do with this verse’s fruition. In the first edition I published a week ago, I spoke about how I was able to go into the clinics of Lusaka, Zambia, to serve and share the love of Christ. This time, instead of working in clinics with the sick, poor and broken in spirit, I was able to visit with those who were captives and prisoners in the Lusaka Prison.
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Our time in Lusaka was extended past our original departure date and we had a few days open with no set plans. I’ve always wanted to visit with prisoners and I knew that if I were ever going to get that chance, it would probably be in Zambia.
I asked Pastor Brian what the possibility of this was and he said it would be hard to get in. They would want our personal information and passports. Plus, it can often cost the church money, as they might expect us to bring a plethora of food and hygiene products.
The prisoners hardly receive the bare minimum, so they are in need of food and supplies, such as: apples, bananas, water, laundry detergent, shampoo, soap, etc.
Even with the uncertainty, Pastor Brian said he would try to take us on one of our last days in Lusaka.
My team and I had a few days off so we went to visit Livingstone, Zambia. Home of Victoria Falls, one of the seven natural wonders of the world. Once we returned home to Lusaka, we heard the news that we were granted access to the prison on our last day.
We pulled up to a dirt parking lot with a large and dull concrete building in front of us. There was a giant, green, metal door on the front of this structure. When we approached the door, a small, square window opened and a guard spoke to us from within. It reminded me of Dorothy, as she waited at the castle entrance in Wizard of Oz; it was scarily similar.
Pastor Paul, a prison ministry director in the area, greeted us. He told us how privileged and favored we were for this opportunity. When Pastor Brian asked him to try to get us into the prison, he felt daunted and defeated by the task. He felt it would be wasted work.
But, God had different plans.
Pastor Paul went around town in a rush, turning in the proper paper work and our access was surprisingly granted. He talked about how he has been in his position for many, many years and that he has never seen a visit request approved in such quick notice.
Just before walking in, Pastor Paul warned us that this prison would not be like anything we had ever seen; that it would be nothing like the prisons in America.
Once we made it into the prison, we were given vests to wear.
In my preconceived thoughts of how this day might go, I suppose I figured we would stand in a cell hallway and speak to the prisoners from there. Or, maybe even have the chance to speak to them one-on-one, opposite a glass wall, via telephone.
I was wrong. Those aspects did not even exist.
We were taken into a large, outdoor room. There was no roof, just the open, cloudy and rainy skies above. There were tall concrete walls that went around the edge, with coiled wires ontop.
It sort of resembled a run-down bullfighting arena. The ground was loose, brown dirt. Instead of bleachers lining the high walls, there were small concrete huts where the prisoners crammed in at night to sleep. And instead of a show-down between one man and one bull in the circular open space, there were 7 white American missionaries and 500+ prisoners.
When I looked through the metal doorway that went into this room and heard that we would be led unsecured into the middle of this crowd, I had a brief moment of fear, apprehension and excitement.
With no real security with us, or in sight, horrible “What-If’s” floated around my mind.
We stepped into the “arena” and walked towards the center, with all eyes on us.
The men were dressed in street clothes, as the country cannot afford to dress their members in uniform. These clothes were obviously worn, torn and dirty, as I’m sure they don’t have many outfits to choose from.
The smell sort of resembled that of a boys locker room when they have just come inside from playing football on a hot summer day. The closer we got to the center of the crowd, the greater the smell became.
My teammate, Andy, shared a word to the men. The crimes of these men varied, as did their sentence terms. Some of these men were serving life sentences. There were a few prisoners who did not want to participate; they stood aloof, along the base of the outside walls. But everyone else, a vast majority, wanted to hear what we had to say. They showed respect, participated and paid attention much more so that I ever imagined they would.
When Andy was done preaching, there was an incredible amount of men who chose to accept Christ as their hope, redeemer and savior.
Once we left the men, we made our way to the women’s chamber. Their area was far from luxurious, but much more livable than the men’s quarters.
It sort of resembled a small community of concrete huts with a courtyard. There were clothes lines, swings and picnic tables.
The guards huddled all the ladies to the middle of the courtyard, underneath a few large trees. The ladies gathered, carrying their newborn babies, who involuntarily were born into this prison life.
I stood in front of them and gave them a word that the Lord had given me just minutes before walking into their chambers.
I spoke about the verse above. About how I prayed this verse over my life. About the times the Lord had woken me up in the middle of the night to pray for the unsaved. About the times the compassion of the Holy Spirit would overshadow me and I would weep for the lost, hurting and persecuted. About how now, I was in front of them, as captives.
Isaiah 62:1 says, “Because I love Zion, I will not keep still. Because my heart yearns for Jerusalem, I cannot remain silent. I will not stop praying for her until her righteousness shines like the dawn, and her salvation blazes like a burning torch.” I told them that this verse was how I felt… I was anxious and could not sit still until their salvation blazed like a burning torch.
I told them that I felt God’s compassion for them.
I told them that I cared for them.
I told them that I wanted to be able to see them in heaven one day.
I told them that Jesus was jealous for their heart, no matter what crime they’ve committed.
After talking for about ten minutes, I asked those who wanted to commit, or recommit, their lives to Christ to raise their hand. And just about every hand at these picnic tables was risen.
The only hand I personally saw not raised, was an older lady who was already saved and lead the introductory prayer at the beginning of our meeting.
We prayed together and some cried.
As we left, we walked around to every woman, offering hugs and handshakes.
When I was leaving, just about to walk through the secured gates and doorways, one lady yelled out, “See you in heaven!”
And I yelled back, “Yes! See you there.”
