"With great power the apostles continued to testify to the resurrection of the Lord Jesus, and much grace was upon them all." -- Acts 4:33

I have been privileged to minister in prisons. Over 100 of them throughout the United States and Canada. I have never seen a happy prison. They are places where men and women are confined and caged. Most of them are dark, ugly places reeking with the threat of violence that sometimes erupts in a bloodbath.

In such places I say, I have been privileged to carry the message of Christ.

In the middle of my lectures I have broken up fights. I have wiped spittle from my face. I have had men come to the meetings with the sole purpose of taking my life. You must understand how little such an act means to a man who is serving two to four consecutive life terms for taking the lives of others.

These same men have wept openly and unashamed on my shoulder having felt for the first time in their lives, the love of God.

I was six feet two, and weighed . . . well, never mind. It was not unusual for the "leader" in a prison to introduce himself to me. One such man towered over me, glared down at me, his face inches from my nose and declared, "I am the toughest, meanest son-of-a-bitch in this place. I run this joint and everybody knows it." Hammer, (Not the entertainer -- there were other reasons they called him "Hammer"), went on to say in very explicit English, that if I had ideas about changing things, I should reconsider.

The final day of the seminar arrived. The final lecture, with one sweep of his long arms, Hammer took the microphone from me and spoke to a huge gathering of his fellow inmates, "You all know me," he said loudly, "You know none of you mess wit' me. You know I be the 'man' in this place." Then with tears he lowered his voice and said, "From now on, Jesus Christ is going to be the man for me." The crowd erupted in a standing ovation and cheers for him.

Similar experiences were repeated in prisons everywhere. In Foslom prison in California, a member of Charles Manson's cult held a Greek New Testament in his hands and translated it to me as if he were reading from Today's English Version. God had touched him so deeply that he had committed his time in prison to the study of the Greek language and the Greek New Testament. This was even before I arrived there to do my thing.

These presentations were not gospel-preaching revivalist camp meetings. They were not "crusades." They were the simple sharing of how God operates in the human heart and life. Usually, I did not extend a formal invitation to receive Christ. This was not a revival. That was not the way I worked. Yet on one occasion we did extend such an invitation.

The invitation 'call' went a bit like this, "Gentelmen, throughout this week I have heard that some of you have accepted Christ. I'm going to give you the opportunity to make that public. I know; I know that this is a prison. I know that this is not a nice place. I know what making such a profession may mean. You could be opening yourself to ridicule or violence.

We're not going to sing 52 verses of "Just As I Am." We're not going through the ritual of "I see that hand," and I'm not about to beg any of you. Instead, in the next 30 seconds -- absolutely silent -- if you have opened your heart to Jesus, or if you would like to do so now, come stand with me at my shoulder." I looked at my watch and said, "The clock is ticking."

Men started to come forward to accept Christ. When all was said and done, only four men of the original eighty remained seated. The rest all stood beside me, shoulder to shoulder, showing their new relationship with the Savior.

What came over these tough, hardened men living in these horrible places? How do you explain what happened?

-- PDM

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