High above the prison auditorium’s hardwood floors, fluorescent lights hum, turning back the early autumn dusk that has settled across the plains of eastern Oregon.
In the silence of the empty auditorium, Prison Fellowship volunteer leader Steve Kirkeby readies the overhead projector. Music leader Bill Miller tunes his guitar.
Suddenly, tromping feet thunder on the outside fire escape. A loud string of prisoners has begun its three-story ascent from the courtyard of Eastern Oregon Correctional Institution.
The men burst into the light noisily, chattering and smiling. Backslaps and handshakes greet Steve, Bill, and the other Prison Fellowship volunteers, including Steve’s wife, Verla.
For five minutes, “How you doin’ brother?”; “Amen, praise Him!” fill the air as 89 prisoners clad in denim mill about the auditorium — old and young men, white and black, Hispanic, Asian. Men with shaved heads. Men with dreadlocks. Together in assembly.
The noise dies down as Steve speaks into a microphone: “I’m glad to see everybody here.” “Praise the Lord!” erupts from the sea of prisoners.
Bill and his guitar bring the crowd to its feet, clapping and singing. “O Lord our Lord how majestic is your name in all the earth!” The inmates clap and wave their arms in praise—song after song after song. Some 20 minutes later, they end with “Behold the Lamb on His Throne.”
The men count off, “One! Two! Three! …” Under the watchful eyes of the officers, prisoners shuffle their chairs into seven circles. Each small group is led by a PF volunteer or a prisoner trained for the role.
Tonight’s Scripture? Matthew 10:32, “Whoever acknowledges me before men, I will also acknowledge him before my Father in heaven.” As the men analyze the passage, they aren’t distracted by the noise and echo in the large room; they simply huddle together intent on hearing what others have to say.
Like any Bible study, each group has its talkers and its listeners. No comment, no insight goes without some encouraging rejoinder.
When Steve calls “time,” each group sends a spokesman to the microphone to share insights with the larger group. “Is there a promise we can claim?” Steve asks.
Voices call back, “Yes!”
“He will acknowledge us if we acknowledge Him.”
“Amen!”
“God knows every hair on our head.” “He will provide!”
“Praise the Lord!”
As the evening fades, the men rise for prayer. One brother will be paroled next week. “We love him, Lord. We know You want him to succeed,” Steve prays. “We pray that his life would give you praise.”
The church behind bars sways to “Amazing Grace” then raises the roof on an added last verse: “Praise God . . .”
The evening closes as it began — smiles, laughter, handshakes, backslaps. “Take care, Bill.” “God bless you, Steve; see you next week.” Some linger in the light before prison regimen pulls them back to their cells where many will acknowledge their Lord before fellow prisoners.
Their voices fade as a guard prepares to lock the auditorium door. But the ring of praise lingers as Steve, Verla, Bill, and other Prison Fellowship volunteers gather their instruments of grace — Bibles, notebooks, overhead sheets, a guitar. Steve sits down to catch his breath, then joins the others as they head out the front door. Steve pauses at the entrance and looks back into the auditorium. He smiles and turns off the lights.
This story was originally published in 1993.