“I was in prison and you came to visit me.”
That’s what Jesus said. He said, “Whatever you have done for the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.”
We had the opportunity to live this out at a prison in Nkhota-kota. Michelle Smith, on team MOR3, has been visiting prisons for more than 6 years in the Los Angelos area, and one of our pastors in Nkhota-kota has been visiting the prison for 5 years. In the morning, before we left to visit the prison, they shared stories and experiences with us to give us encouragement and an idea of what prison ministry often looks like. We learn it’s really a fertile field for the word of God. When the talks are done, the pastors leave and I bring up if anyone thinks we should prepare anything to speak. We have two people, Michelle and Julian Sutton who are going to talk, and everyone else says nothing more is needed. I suspect I’m going to say something but I don’t want to put in the effort; it’s a hot afternoon and I want to nap.
Later that afternoon we walk down to the prison. As we’re waiting outside on a bench, I start to get the sense that I really am going to say something, but having nothing prepared I get a little anxious and pray something like, “Ok God, I think you’re telling me that I’m going to be preaching, but I have no idea what you want me to say and I have nothing prepared, so it’s going to have to be all you speaking through me. (As it should be.) And besides all this, my hands are all sticky from the mango I just ate and I don’t really feel like touching my bible with them, so I’m not even going to use this short time to prepare. I’m willing to speak though, if you want me to, but you’ll have to put the words in my mouth because I’m definitely no preacher, unless you make me one.”
We get into the prison and it’s nothing I expected. There are probably a dozen cells for twelve dozen prisoners, and they’re all congregated in the open ground in the middle of the facility. As soon as we walk in they begin surrounding us, one: because we’re coming with the word of God (we heard them cheering and yelling for it when we were on the bench outside the prison), and two: because we’re white, and there are white women with us. But they’re friendly enough and keep a few foot distance; they know the rules. They are over-the-top friendly and receive us very warmly.
We open with a pastor giving introductions, we sing a praise and worship song with them, the ones who participate, anyways. Julian preaches and gives a testimony, so does Michelle. As they preach I start receiving ideas of main points to make when I preach, but I never get any idea of how to put it all together. Finally, I’m compelled enough to preach that I motion to the pastor and he allows me to stand and preach.
Unfortunately they don’t allow cameras or anything inside the prison. I wish they did so that we could have recorded my preaching on video, cause it was fire. And it completely was the Spirit speaking through me. If anyone knows me, I’m not much for talking, much an impromptu sermon at an african prison. I had no script or idea of how to put together these concepts I want to relate, so when I began I simply said, “As I was sitting on thr bench there I felt like God wanted me to give you a message, but I have no idea how to put all my thoughts together so I’m just going to start talking and we’ll see what happens.” So I start out with my own testimony, what God has redeemed me from and leading to what he is growing me into. Then I preached a gospel message beginning from the creation to Christ and the present time using prison metaphors, how we’re stuck in a prison of sin and death and what Jesus did is pretty much walk into our prison and say, “I’m going to take your place here and you can go live forever in heaven.” I said something about how I’m from America, a blessed land, and how they have so excitedly welcomed us into their “home” of this dirty prison to share the love of God with them, and if they welcomed us so warmly, why not welcome Jesus into their hearts, who came from heaven, the place that makes America look like hell, who also came to share with them the love of God.
I said something like, “Which of you wants to leave prison today and go to America? If I said to you, ‘I’m coming all the way from America to take your place here in prison. You can go back and live in my house, drive my car, have all my money and wealth, and I’ll take your place here in this prison for you,’ would you accept it?” Of course they all said they would accept it. So I said, “Then how much more should you be willing to accept Jesus’ sacrifice on the cross for your sins, taking your punishment for you and saving you from hell, which makes this prison look like heaven, so that you could live eternally in heaven, the place he came from and which makes America look like hell?”
Aha! There it was. They were hooting and hollering as I was preaching right up until that moment, when the truth smacked them upside the face and they all fell silent under conviction.
After Michelle and Julian preached we had an invitation to accept Christ, and probably about 50 people raised their hand and prayed to receive Christ. It was interesting, though, because most of the people who accepted Christ were in the same part of the group, while on the other side of the group no one raised their hand. After I preached I gave another invitation, and this time about a dozen people on the other side of the group raised their hand, and one man even stepped forward to receive Christ. I learned later they were muslims. The number of people who responded to the invitation that day was about 63. Praise Jesus!
