free indeed

This week Beth and Jeremy gave me an opportunity I've never had before...Beth by schooling and keeping the littles for a few hours, and Jeremy by being the Chaplain at the highest security prison in Mississippi. Since he joined our church, Jeremy has been talking about a long-awaited baptism at the prison...involving men from all three of the churches within the prison.  As soon as we heard there'd be THIRTY men getting baptized, many out of the Muslim faith, Matt was there.  And thanks to Gaga, I was too, and thanks to the Lord at work, almost 20 men and women from our church were too!  

I have been to prisons in Haiti, but never in the States...and I had no idea what to expect. Just knew there was no place in the world I'd rather be that day.  There are so many random things to share I'm not even sure how to frame it. 

Most of the men we worshipped with on Wednesday have maximum life sentences. Many are on 23 hour a day lock down. It took us a while to get in, and then we were blessed with a tour of the kitchen and education wing, a cell block and the gym where the churches meet. So many heavy doors. So much heavy dark block.   We learned what the different colored striped pants meant, learned about the three separate churches that cannot intermingle, walked through Jeremy's office where you can always come to get a cup of real coffee, if you sit down and drink it with Jeremy, and learned that our presence meant that the whole prison was on lock-down.  So the only prisoners we saw were in green and white, friendly and quick to visit, working at all the various stations.

As we headed down a long dark hall for the baptism, there was only one truly unsettling moment...a loud and steady echoing clinking of keys and chains, and a first prisoner in hand and ankle cuffs, high-level pants and led by an armed warden, heading somewhere. 

Stepping out into the sunshine for the baptism was SUCH a gift, and having it outside in the prison yard was life-giving. Sunshine. Fresh air.  A big tank of water, a drum set and podium.  Miranda, our lead singer at Wellspring, all kinds of bold and ready to go.

After we sat, there were a few family members around us, obvious mamas and sisters and girlfriends, waiting too.

Finally, all the chairs a few yards away arranged in squares started filling, first with men in green and white pants and t-shirts signifying they were the pastors of each church, then ten or so men in green and white pants, filling in the chairs. Next came about 20 men in red and white pants, the white stripes mostly washed pink. Then one man...the only from the third, solitary confinement, cell-to-cell church...the man from the hallway, the man in chains. 

I've never worshipped under the sky surrounded by barbed wire and chain link, sitting next to almost 40 prisoners, covered in every kind of story, scar and scary tattoo imaginable, surrounded by my church, lifting my voice with Miranda's. The sun on our faces was powerful enough, but pour it all it, the air was sweet and expectant. A first pastor, long ago saved, trained and seminary ordained all in prison, shared about his church, Battle Plan Church, and a few of his men shared brief their stories...I once was blind and now I see.

They called the first name, and a short man covered in tattoos up his neck and arms and legs, stood.  

A small old woman dressed to the nines bouncing on the edge of her front row seat jumped to her feet. She turned to all of us and pointed to the prisoner.  That's my SON! she yelled to us all, beaming.  That's MY son!

And first man in, that was it. 

We were done. 

Matt started crying instantly...all the shame of that man's past washed in the blood and made FREE. His mama was no longer ashamed.  She was PROUD, and that's what the cross does. 

One after another after another our eyes poured with hope and redemption as man after man went down in the water. Their faces, tattooed with tear drops and spider webs and gang symbols, took your breath away, full of peace and JOY, and their urgent and certain declarations, "I BELIEVE", one after another, was almost more than you could sit through.  

Sitting there, our testimony His blood, was one of the most powerful experiences of my life. 

Second pastor, powerful stories, twenty men in red and white, several powerful stories of utter brokenness from the very beginning, and Jesus found. 

They found Jesus in that prison. Many of them will still be there when their final days come, but again and again we heard of the freedom they have found that many on the outside still have yet to find. 

One after another, we all lifted puffy eyes to the One who makes us ALL clean and Who redeems the unredeemable. 

When I thought SURELY 30 men had been baptized, the final pastor stood. Solitary confinement block.  Bucket-pastor.  Sits on an upturned 5 gallon bucked and scoots from food flap to food flap, every day, every prisoner. Talking about anything. Introducing Jesus. Praying with those who can't yet. 

He only had one.  One He left the 99 for. The man in chains from the hallway, spending his one hour out of his cell in the sunshine, being washed clean. 

We had thought we were out of tears.

As we all sang our hearts out through Victory in Jesus...I'll never sing it again without my heart in that prison yard.  That's the victory I have, too. Hallelujah. 

As everyone filed out, we thought we were heading home, only to realize that the smell of frying catfish that had wafted through the whole service was for us.  ALL of us.

Those who had a family member or two headed inside to eat together, and we went through the line we were directed to, picking out fish and coleslaw and chocolate cake. When I saw a few new brothers eating with family, I wondered where everyone else was...and where the rest of the church was...and where Matt was? 

I found him...back out in the prison yard, his styrofoam box of catfish splayed out on the table between himself and Mr. Solitary Confiement, both of them diving in as Matt asked him questions about his family.

Mental picture I'll always have. 

I married a man who loves Jesus and has let it wreck him entirely. I'm thankful.

And the rest of our church, spread out in the now-blazing sun, filling in as family with every brother (of any color striped pants) who didn't have family, sharing chocolate cake.  We are part of a special church who thinks it IS the church instead of thinking it goes to one.  I'm thankful. 

One man had been introduced for baptism with the exact same name as one of our friends in Haiti, and I found him and settled in...careful to leave any talk of who he once was behind, anxious to learn who our brother is now.

Whether it's boxes of rice and beans or fried catfish, the Lord has showed me again and again that there is no place that He is not, and that there is NO PERSON who cannot be our true family.  When you sit down and eat with ANYONE, you can see Jesus. And eating lunch with him Wednesday in the places where HE IS was one of the privileges of my life.

The man I ate with to my left has been there since he was 17. Has never met his child. 

The man to my right, has been for almost 20 years, and hasn't seen his daughter in over seven years...now 25. On paper, he will be in prison for several more lifetimes...but his eyes shone knowing long before that, he'll be all eternity free with Jesus, with a whole bunch of brothers and sisters in that courtyard.

As I pray through my little yellow piece of paper, bulletin of the day, the names now have faces and stories...and that's how we're supposed to pray. Family for family, for He whom the Lord has set free is FREE indeed.

Before we had finished eating, Miranda and several prisoners took over the cajon box drum and were singing Trust in God top of their lungs, and heaven felt a whole lot closer than it has in a long time.

I'm thankful.