Our team of volunteers met up together to carpool out to the Bledsoe County Correctional Complex late in the afternoon on Saturday. After praying together as a team, we loaded up in a couple of vehicles and started the 90-minute drive to the complex in Pikeville.

After making a quick stop to eat at a nearby diner (about 25 minutes of waiting and three minutes of eating), we drove into the complex and made our way to building number two. As we walked up to the visitor’s entrance, I couldn’t help but be impressed by the masses of razor wire set atop the building and adjacent fence like piles of deadly spaghetti. I stopped and took a photo (that I was later asked to delete).

Once we entered the building and got signed in, we went through a process similar to going through airport security, with the addition of a black light stamp on the hand, followed by a pat-down. From there, we met up with the Chaplain who led us through a double set of steel-barred doors, through cinderblock and steel hallways, and out into a courtyard. Again, razor wire could be seen everywhere.

It was at this point that I got some sad news: no photos of inmates. But not only could I not photograph their faces, I also couldn’t photograph them from the side or the back. I was also asked not to take any photos of the facility, including the entrance, and I was informed that all the photos on the camera would need to be reviewed. Huge bummer.

Next, the Chaplain lead us into the gym where we would be having church. Other than our newly-arrived team, there were five denim-clad inmates in the room who had been trained earlier in the day on how to run the audio/video equipment that had been installed earlier in the week. As I introduced myself to these men and started some small talk, I was struck with the thought that they were already owners and partners in this ministry.

Within minutes, inmates began pouring into the room, each warmly welcomed by our volunteer team. And as they walked in, it was clear that these inmates shared our sense of anticipation. Something special was about to happen in this room.

Because of some miscommunication, chairs hadn’t been set out in the gym floor, but the inmates began to sit down on the risers that lined one wall adjacent to the large screen that had been hung for our service.

And they kept coming. And they kept coming.

By the time all the inmates had entered the room, the risers were quite full. 156 men had joined us for our worship service, and it was an amazing thing to see.

It’s Time for Church!

After a short explanation of our church and this new campus, the lights dimmed, the music level rose, and our worship service began.

The inmates. How I wish I could post a hundred photographs here of their faces and their responses to the service: the way that many engaged in worship, some with lifted hands, and the way that they focused in to hear the sermon which had been prepared particularly for their campus.

By the end of the service, 16 men raised their hands indicating that they had prayed to follow Jesus, and as the service ended, we again shook hands with all of the men as many shared their enthusiasm for what they had just experienced.

“I get out of prison in three days, and this is the church that I will attend.”

“Next week, my goal is to bring three friends with me!”

“This is the kind of ministry that we need here.”