My team drove several hours from the border and camped in a city called Choluteca. The city is an odd mix of poverty and modern wealth. Choluteca has a Wendy’s and a Pizza Hut, but there are also slums where people live in garbage dumps just a few miles away. The odd contradiction was hard to digest. I walked around the town a few times to run random errands, and those same uncomfortable leers seemed to follow me. The men in Choluteca treated me and the other females on my team like dogs, hissing at us, whistling, and yelling out gross comments. This kind of stuff is unfortunately part of life sometimes, but the level of perversion in Honduras was more than I’d expected. Part of me just wanted to hide in my tent for the rest of the week.
Our team was given three choices for how we wanted to spend our time in Honduras (and hiding in our tents was not an option). One group needed to go back to Guatemala to get one of our vehicles that we’d left behind at a mechanic. It was finally fixed after weeks of repair and was ready to be driven to Honduras. Another team would drive to an isolated village in the mountains several hours away and share the gospel in the village. The rest of us would stay in Choluteca and find a place to volunteer for the next few days. We had no contacts here, but were simply using the city as a “base camp” on the way to Nicaragua because of its convenient location close to the Nicaraguan border. Despite my disgust for the men in Choluteca, I felt like I needed to stay behind and see what opportunities would arise in this city. I wasn’t sure where to begin, but knew God would open the right doors for our team. A few people decided to hang out at a local park and see what information they could gather about Choluteca. They happened to meet an American missionary who said she could connect our team with some local ministries. Roberta, one of the ladies on my team, went to the woman’s church to follow up the next day and met a pastor who was talking about a prison where he sometimes preaches. He explained that he had committed to preach at two different prisons on the same day at the same time. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do. Roberta gladly jumped in, thankful for the divine appointment, and volunteered our group to run one of the church services. The pastor gladly accepted our offer and gave us the directions to the Choluteca prison and told us to arrive there the following day at 1:30 in the afternoon. Two guys and four of us girls ended up going. To be honest, I was a bit intimidated to walk into a prison full of men, especially after feeling pretty frustrated by the men out on the streets. Yet, ironically, my experience in the prison is what redeemed my Honduran experience and what broke my heart for the country.
I entered the prison to find a large open area and bustling soccer field. They were men freely roaming around, not locked into cells. I noticed some of them staring and kept my eyes on the ground as a man led our group to the prison chapel. Once we reached the chapel I looked up and suddenly didn’t feel like I was inside a prison at all. The whole place was more like a small village than a jail. There were guards outside of the prison, but inside the men were free to do what they pleased. Every afternoon, about fifty or so men gathered together to hold a worship service. They had a sound system, podium, and several chairs filling the room. Though impressed by the chapel, I still felt a bit intimidated and had no intention of getting up to speak in front of all these men. One of the inmates started us off by leading worship and then invited Brent, my teammate, forward to speak on behalf of our team. He shared his testimony and invited any men up who wanted to receive Christ. Five men stepped forward; one was moved to tears as we prayed for him. Afterwards, I was invited forward to share a word. Suddenly, the intimidation disappeared and I felt like these men were nothing but big brothers sitting in my living room. I grabbed the mic and spoke about freedom. I told the men that the Bible says, “Where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom.” I explained that real freedom doesn’t come from a place, from getting out of prison, from earning money, or gaining material possessions. True freedom only comes from Christ. And because Christ is everywhere, you can be free anywhere. Our hope is in something eternal, not the circumstances of today. As I spoke, the inmates encouraged me with “amens”, “hallelujahs”, and applause. These men were more excited about the love of Christ than most Christians in America who have everything you could dream of. Despite everything they’d lost, they were still cheering at the word of God.
After I spoke, we invited anyone forward who needed physical healing or prayer in general. Half of the men walked to the front of the chapel. We laid hands on them and prayed. One of the older men just grabbed my heart, and I felt a strong sense that God had called him to be a father to the fatherless and a leader within the prison. I used my best broken Spanish to prophecy over him and tell him that God has a plan for him even inside the prison. I knew he understood what I was trying to say when he exclaimed, “Glory to God!” And, though this doesn’t happen often to me, I could tangibly feel the presence of the Holy Spirit rushing through my body. I knew God was moving in that place and in that man’s heart. His face lit up, and I watched as he then began to approach the younger men and start laying hands on them and praying for them.Lastly, before we left, Roberta called up the men who had been falsely accused of committing a crime, so we could pray for justice. She explained to our team that many innocent men in Latin America are thrown into prison, because the judicial system is so corrupt. Someone has to pay for every crime committed, but it doesn’t really matter who pays. Usually, the rich who commit crimes are able to pay their way out and force poor innocent men to pay the time for their crimes.
When Roberta called the innocent men forward, over half the church got up from their seats and walked to the front. I was blown away. The man I had just prayed for was part of that group. Yet, despite the fact that they had unfairly been thrown in prison, one of the inmates explained that many of the innocent men had not known Jesus before coming to jail and were thankful that they had had the opportunity to meet God while in prison. I was so touched by the hearts of the men and completely amazed by their unwavering faith. Sadly, before I knew it, our time was over, and a couple of the men escorted us back to the prison exit and said goodbye.We had thought that would be our only chance to visit the prison, but two days later we were provided with another opportunity. We gladly accepted and brought back a few more people from the team. This time, a few people were allowed to enter the second wing of the prison, a more “high security” area where the worst criminals are located. Roberta, Ben, and I returned to the chapel.
The brothers in the prison welcomed us back with open arms. We worshipped together, and then they invited Roberta forward to teach the word of God. She provided a teaching on our positions as children of God and explained the authority we carry as Christians. Next, Ben came forward and shared a brief word. He talked about our ability to hear God’s voice—that it is our right as children of God to hear the voice of the Father. He took a few minutes to single out a few of the men and prophecy over them in front of the whole congregation. One of the men was an older gentleman who Ben believed God was calling as a father and leader for the other men in the prison. He was clearly touched and came forward for prayer, raising his hands in praise to God. Next, Ben called out a younger man sitting in the middle of the congregation. He spoke destiny and truth over him. “Whatever you have done in the past, it is over and finished. You may have made mistakes, but it doesn’t matter. God has forgotten your sin and entirely cleansed you. He sees you as righteous.” Moments later, that man gave his life to Christ.At the end of the service, a few people came forward for specific prayer. The man that I had prophesied for two days earlier approached me and said that I had really encouraged him. He grabbed my hand and gave me a smile that made it all worth it. When I entered Honduras, I was so frustrated by the leering men that I’d felt I had nothing to give. And if I were to take the time to stop for anyone, the last person I thought I’d show compassion to would be a male inmate. But this man stole my heart and redeemed all the negative things I’d assumed about Honduras. Though the men on the streets had treated us women like nothing more than a pack of dogs, we miraculously found love and respect in this Honduran prison. Stronger than any culture of chauvinism, the power of Christ and love of God united us in that place. I pray that my Honduran brothers will receive the justice they deserve and one day be freed from the prison if they have been unfairly accused of crime. However, I am confident that if they remain in that prison, they will allow God to do great things through their lives in that place.
No comments:
Post a Comment