As I have written before, the servant of that church was, in all appearances, a very different man from the one seen by his wife and children. But I do remember many happy and peaceful times with my family, and I hope they do too. I loved them dearly (still do), but for some reason was unable to show it enough.
I was well versed in the scriptures, as well as with the most popular commentaries, so I was able to hold my own in the pulpit or in spirited discussions of Christian subjects. The interesting thing, however, is that had I been asked a few questions then that I freely put forth to people today, I would not have had an answer.
It was actually my dad and I who started the jail ministry, following the call from the jail chaplain to churches around the area. We represented the Chapel once a month by conducting a service at the county jail in downtown Orlando. We were locked in a room roughly 15 X 20 in size with 10 to 20 inmates, who were brought from their individual cells to our service. Both my dad and I played the guitar (he better than me), and we would alternate in preaching the sermon.
Funny thing about jails. Everyone gets saved. And everyone's innocent. "I don't know how my fingerprints got on the door of that stolen car, but my heart belongs to Jesus!"
Eventually other men of the Chapel would take a turn with me in the services. I was most interested when Dr. D (see previous blog) would accompany me. He would let the inmates ask questions, and quite often some would put forth queries that had vulgar language or innuendos. Dr. D didn't flinch. He answered each question using medical terms associated with the vulgarity referenced, finally bringing it back around to a Biblical response. There were no follow-up questions.
In our jail training we were instructed to neither pass or receive messages with the inmates, no matter how innocent, because they could be coded signals for illegal or deviant activities between the inmates and someone on the outside. We were told to come, do our service, pray for them, and don't look back.
One time, however, an inmate who had just gotten out, recognized me in a Burger King. He was stilled "saved" but needed some cash. I gave it to him and invited him to come to our service at the Chapel. He had no transportation, so I had to pick him up each time. I soon realized that his portion of the conversation while we traveled was all about how "hot" certain women were at the Chapel, how another acquaintance of his was "going to get what's coming to him," etc., etc.. No matter how hard I tried, I was unable to turn the conversations around or get him to participate in the jobs I found for him in the area, or be patient and gracious for the free meals that were lined up for him.
The pastor (called a full time worker at the Chapel) had a similar experience, where he followed a new believing inmate's care all the way to the state prison. Jim (the pastor) wrote and visited him, got him assigned to the prison chaplain and picked him up many months later when he was out on probation. He stayed in Jim's home for several days, after which Jim got him an apartment in the home of one the regular attendees at the chapel. A month later the fellow stole from his landlady and took off.
Maybe jail ministries are a good thing, but follow-up is a bummer.
My other area of interest was children's musicals. All three of my girls were enthusiastic participants and never (that I knew of) selfishly concerned themselves about who got what part. The only problem I had was occasionally with some parents who couldn't seem to get their kids to rehearsals, but were offended that they didn't get leading roles. The only other problem I had was with one accompanist --- me. Yes, I had the bright idea to accompany the kids on The Music Machine. Up to this point I had limited experience and ability on the piano, but I did know how to read music. To make matters worse I was bent on memorizing the thing, so that I could keep more eye contact and head-directing going with the children.
For more weeks than I can remember, I was at the Chapel 5:30 every morning practicing the musical. While I'm not an accomplished musician, I have a knack for rating music, and I was my worst critic. The night of the performance it seemed only a miracle got us through. Thankfully, I was hidden in the dark with only a small light for my music, but embarrassment could easily be read on my face. A great weight was lifted from me on the last note. The audience was gracious, and the children were forgiving. And I never pulled that stunt again.
One of my favorite musicals was one that combined adult solos with the children singing. I pressed my dad (who had a great baritone voice) into service, along with some wonderful talent in the congregation, and the performance was probably our best.
Looking back I believe that all of what we go through, no matter how insignificant, creates the shape of our spiritual development. Like the potter's clay, the object may often need to be re-shaped as we learn new things and challenge old. The years at the Chapel were a memorable experience.
But the Lord knew I would not stay. So he prepared to take the clay pot, giving it all the free will he could put up with, and mold it into something new. He may have created light in a day, but he would take almost 25 more years to re-make me. And I'm pretty sure he's not done yet.
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