When I went to the jail this week I was surprised to see that the cell where I go was packed. Thirty-one guys are crowded into a one-room cell with a closet and an open bathroom. After the guards locked me in through the last double gate and walked away, I looked around. They were all new. No one knew me. All the old crowd had been sentenced, freed, or transferred to another prison. I explained who I was and they offered me a bucket to sit on. I hesitated because there were only a few buckets to sit on, but they insisted as they all sat down on the raw cement floor.

I explained the Discovery Group format in a couple of sentences, and passed the page with questions to one of the vocal guys. Everyone participated. They were all curious and respectful, and many responded to each question. Several said what when well for them that week, (Question 1 in our study). One of the guys saw the moon the night before for the first time in six months. He was transferred from another jail where he could not see outside. This cell has a two inch gap in the skylight area. Many commented on how cool it was to see the moon. Then another guy started thanking me for “coming to the most dangerous cell etc. etc.”. Finally I stopped him. “This might be dangerous, or maybe not. It doesn’t feel dangerous. I can sense the presence of God stronger here . . .”. I wanted to say “stronger here than I feel it in church” but I got interrupted. Everyone burst out cheering and clapping so loudly I couldn’t keep talking. Finally I cheered and clapped too, and then we carried on with our study.

The story was about when Jesus went to Simon’s house, and the prostitute washed his feet (Luke 7:36-50). They reread and retold the story a few times, and then tried to imagine what if they were at a pastor’s supper, and a prostitute wanted to wash their feet. Some of them had been to meals with pastors. Then the conversations shifted. “I went to a church to see this one pastor I knew. As we were talking a poor person came in. The pastor asked that person to leave the church building. If that person had been well-dressed, the pastor would have treated him differently.” 

This triggered another story. “One time I went to a church, wearing a R$900 (about $300 – an extremely extravagant amount for this crowd) blazer. Of course, I never paid for it. I stole it from (a well-know big store that everyone knows). I wanted to look nice for the pastor.” I interrupted him to verify that I was hearing correctly. Everyone is all ears, of course. These kind of bible studies are interesting. After he confirmed his story about how he was wearing his stolen R$900 blazer, he kept talking but I missed the rest of his story, as I was still trying to imagine the scene.  

As the group got to comparing pharisees and pastors someone says in a kind of discouraging voice, “It’s all the same. Everyone is the same.” Everyone was looking at me to see how I would respond to this. I smiled as I looked back at all of them. “Hmmm. You think everyone is same?” They were starting to nod as I continued. “You think that this prostitute got forgiven, became a pastor, and started treating poor people badly? And that you would do the same if you got a chance to be a pastor?” It got real quiet. This wasn’t exactly what they were thinking. 

This group of criminals was recently thrown together from about 10 of the surrounding towns. A few are from Marabá. They all await trial, so they have hope. The bad things that happened last week (Question 2 in our study) have to do serious arguments among themselves. They are just getting to know each other. After a long pause I carried on. “I have a dream. I would like to help you guys start Discovery Bible Studies like this in your home towns. You guys have credibility among your people. You are God’s best choice to help lead them to Himself.” It got quiet again. I gave them my WhatsApp number so we’ll see what happens. I have no idea how this could work out, but these guys consider themselves fearless so if God can get hold of them who knows how far they can go? Hopefully there are some Apostle Paul’s hidden in the group.

As I was leaving one of the guys asked me, “Would you call my aunt and let her know I’m here?” She lives in a town 400 kms away, where this man was in jail before he got suddenly transferred. He gave me her number. When I got home I called her. After many rings a woman answered. After I introduced myself she asked me to call back. “So and so just died, and I am in a funeral procession.” She sounded torn up and defeated. Someone at the jail earlier that morning said to the group, “It is hard to be a Christian.” I’m thinking the opposite is more true. It is hard to be a not-Christian.

All this confirms my belief that we are living in a region that is ripe for a church-planting explosion. Please keep praying for us.

Powered by WPeMatico