Have heard a gazillion Christian speakers in my time. Some have been appalling, some terrible, some poor... Still others have been average, okay, better than day-time telly... However, then there have been the good, the exciting, the exceptional, the drag you out-of-your-seat and spank you with revelation types. I don't know about you, but I just love a good spanking with revelation...
So in terms of my sermon consumption... Well, in English I tend to be right up there, digesting every comment, side-thought, scripture, and gesture, whilst in Espanol... Well, everyone around me can be experiencing something rather mind-blowing, eye-opening, even death-defying, whilst I'm feeling like I could munch on a Snickers bar... Never get old, do they? Snickers... Really satisfy.
In any case, on this night, God was moving and there was just no denying it. I was a teensy weensy bit taken aback by all the razzmatazz, but knew that God was in it so continued to worship the Lord in my "own way", whilst also taking the occasional peek-a-boo at all the doo-dallies around the place (of which there were many... An Australian insane asylum would have shut our operation down within 30 seconds).
After the service our youth pastor, Eduardo, told me that the mighty man-of-God visiting speaker, a twenty-something-year-old Nica-fella, was coming back to our place for a night-time snack and some scintillating chit-chat. It's funny how the Nica-peeps who work for you can sometimes TELL you what is about to happen, rather than ask. But anyone who knows me also knows that I do love to indulge in the periodic boutique soirée, so there was to be no backyard brawl in this instance.
The bloke comes to our house, with his friend trailing behind, and it turns out that this lad used to be in prison with our youth pastor. (At this point Liz begins to race around our house, unashamedly hiding all our family heirlooms, expensive jewelry and excess cash that us missionary types tend to have on hand)
"Well, how supremely wonderful!", I say out loud. "Now, how do I get this pack of lying thieves out of my house?" I think to myself... Within moments I'm signed up to visit Tipitapa Prison with this ragamuffin bunch and we're hugging and praying, and trying to achieve personal space (me), whilst being excitedly spat upon through very loud Spanish speech, and all with Bette Midler's "Bugle Boy" playing raucously in the background... Truly, you couldn't write a more interesting script for my life...
The alarm clock goes off and I want to kill. After spending years in an industry where mornings are part-and-parcel of the profession, that blasted waking at hours prior to sunlight still kills me. I leap out of bed (hit snooze button 13 times, then toss-and-turn a further 18 times, before finally slithering off to the shower where I spend another 20 minutes humming and harring about the benefits of early rising. Surely those Proverbs that talk about rising early were misplaced...) The hot water runs out. And so, it would seem, my missionary work requires me to be up early, and half-washed..
I grab a towel and get on with the usual morning routine. My "youth pastor" arrives and we sink a couple of cups of coffee and head off to our amigo's house, in order to depart for Tipitapa Prison on-time. Of course, my youth pastor's wife' s Dad is also in prison and so she, Valeria, is joining us. I'm kind of miffed and kind of relieved, as Valeria will not tell me what her Dad is in prison for. He's already served some 20 years and has a few more years left. I know he isn't "in" for robbing lollies from tiny babies! But what could it be? I push and prod, but nothing, she just won't give...
We are practically flying through the streets of Managua because we are late. Now I know what you're thinking, it's not possible to be late in Latin America. But we are late... We're very late... Eduardo, before working with Capital on the Edge, worked in the Mercado Oriental. He's a bit of a crazy dude, and the benefit of his lunacy on this occasion is his knowledge of every twist and turn of the city's intricate transportation system, and also his appreciation of my loco driving. He loves my driving!!!
Eduardo's wife is in the back of our great big white car, being flung from side to side, and trying not to look at anything. The poor lass is terrified. The make-up case is no place to be seen, the girl's only desire is to get out of our automobile alive...
We arrive at the lead pastor's house, Maxy! Now Max is 27 years old and married to a beautiful Nicaraguan Mujere of a similar age. They welcome us warmly into their house.
Max and his family live near Carretera Norte, near the airport, on the "wrong" side of town. The area is chronically poor, hot, brimming with crime, and very dirty. Max's house is well lit, tastefully decorated and endearing. This family have sufficient funds to afford flooring for the main room of their house, which is partitioned into a living room (which they really do live in) and 2 bedrooms (Max has 3 boys aged between 4 and 13 years of age). I adore Max's house, you can feel the love of God.
People come and go, come and go. I'm Western and although very laid back, I even wonder what the dickens is going on. Two hours pass and nothing. More people in and more people out. Everyone is finely dressed, which is not an unusual feature of Nica culture, and excited to be amongst people who are passionate for a worthwhile cause.
Maxy has been in and out also, but in this sudden moment, his forehead tells me that the winds of change are blowing. He marches past me and beckons everyone within ear-shot. He briefly rallies us to war and then the prayers ensue. I step inside the circle of pastors and inmate family members. The feeling is sensational, like I'm in the middle of a cyclone. The prayers are powerful, determined, heart-felt, purposeful. I have butterflies in my stomach - I am with some of the most Spiritually Sensitive and bold believers I have ever come across. It's an honour to be with this group, I want the moment to last forever. And that's it, we're off...
Good-golly-gosh! I look around... There in the backyard (4m x 4m) is a washing machine, lots of boxes and odd ends, cleaning products, children's toys, etc... And all on a nice clean dirt floor. This is very confronting to me. The couple are gorgeous and dress so well. Once again I am reminded that poverty is not selective, and that most Nicaraguans, regardless of who they are as people, live in a World that is very different to the World I grew up in.
To my left there are two more doorways, partitioned solely by what looks to be curtain fabric. I choose doorway number one and BINGO, I have found the toily. I stand over the perfectly clean bowl and lower my trousers. To my horror, I feel dampness on my inner thigh! What could it be? Well... It's the dog!!! YIKES, is there no privacy, no etiquette, no decorum??? I finish my business and march out with a similar power that Maxy had worn prior to the prayer session. I've had my initiation, let's go to PRISON!!!
We head south past the airport, along the southern reaches of Lake Managua, past many-an-interesting sight, to Tipitapa. Now this small city is possibly the hottest city in all of Nicaragua. Please also keep in mind that Managua is the 2nd hottest capital city in the entire World. (second only to New Delhi in India) The city is beautiful, but hot, even at this time of year.
We arrive and are greeted by a handicapped fellow, who is accompanied by several local youths. He rattles off something in Spanish, but I don't really take it in. I am confronted by the starkness of this scenario. Tipitapa Prison is on the edge of Tipitapa, the urban converging upon the rural. It's haunting. Birds circle above the prison. Dust swirls along the extensive road. Poverty lingers in the air. It's oh so quiet... (Yes Bjork, I need you right now!)
The cars containing the other pastors and family members of inmates arrive. Everyone jumps out of their respective vehicles and the atmosphere immediately becomes alive with anticipation. We form another circle, similar to how we had positioned ourselves in Maxy's home. Again we're praying. Thunderous, roaring prayers, which quicken the breath inside of me. I'm in love with a group of prayers - people who take the things of God seriously and who love to love, just as Christ had during his time on this Earth...
I want to take the camera in but I am not allowed. I imagine all sorts of circumstances, contemplating every possible passage. But I am haulted by the Chinese looking Nica, who threatens me with 4 months in prison if I take one more step forward whilst still clutching my beloved camera. I briefly consider my options and return to the car. I can see the relief in the eyes of my companions, though at this stage some of them also look a bit frustrated.
I enter the "departures hall". (for lack of a better term) It is like an aircraft hanger, only filled with very sad spouses, who seem to be waiting an eternity for their five minutes with husband/father/brother/boyfriend, or whomever the lucky chappy is. We drift through the crowds of women and find ourselves at the front of the queue. The security personnel at this check-point seem to be lacking a sense of humour and so I decide at this moment that I will leave my alter ego, Nutbag Ned, outside on the curb.
I am frisked, scanned, padded and questioned. They seem happy with my responses and I am let through. We walk in two lines, women in one line and men in the other. We reach another check-point.
My newfound friends seem to find everything hilarious. I hear my name over and over again "Jed Breen" this, and "Jed Breen" that. They're continuously looking at me and laughing. I join in, knowing that I could well be laughing at myself, the hilarious joke that I am.
We enter the check-point and are stopped again. There is more laughter, and this time the guards even have a chuckle. Who knows what we're laughing about but it sure is funny...
We pass many quarters which seem to be reserved for visitors, less-than-naughty inmates, guards, etc. We round the bend and pass through a space that looks like it's trying to be a garden, but which isn't really succeeding. We enter through many gates and start to hear the roar.
I look up. There is a three story building in front of me. We enter into the lower floor and to my left and right are two wings of the prison. The roar is deafening now, like the roar of a Boeing 747. Smells like dog feces and urine fill my senses. It's overpowering. I lift my t-shirt over my nose. (which, ironically, makes me look like a new prisoner who hasn't yet received his Nica-prison-attire: a shirtless chest, pair of very white undies, plus jeans that sit too low on my botty)
We walk through the building and enter a second three-storey building. The same roar deafens me again, though this time I look up to the higher tiers of cells. Each wing possibly contains 200 or more cells. There are men everywhere. They are not wearing much clothing and all attention is on our party, for we have approximately 8 women with us. "Poor ladies", I think to myself. "They really are risking everything to be here".
We enter the third building. I am shocked by the men. They're clearly people of the prison world, with big attitudes, prison haircuts and jail fashion, plus you can feel the deviance surrounding these characters. It's as though everything is continuously being assessed, scrutinised, summed up. The men are not smiling and all eyes are once again on us.
We form two lines again. This time the men will go first, followed by the women. I step back. I cannot enter. A sudden hesitation falls upon my physical being and I become limp. I saunter backwards hoping I won't be noticed. The ladies march forward, into the sea of prison manliness. "NO! Those poor women... What's going to happen to them?" I scream at myself. The catcalls are loud. The women keep their eyes on the heels of the person in front of them and continue marching forward. Brave soldiers they are...
I suddenly feel a hand on my shoulder. Max has found me and foiled my attempts to slip out unnoticed. He pushes me forward and we too enter the "sea". To my horror, I receive ten times the attention that the women had received. It's because I'm "white".
"Hey Chele" they scream. Lots of catcalls and the fellas come right up to my face and contort their features. I really feel at this time as though I am staring into the eyes of demons. My heart is pounding and I am petrified. This is by far the most intensely terrifying experience of my life. And then I hear it, the sounds of angels...
In a matter of seconds I am thrust into the "chapel", which is just like a great big prison cell. Water is gushing from the walls and I don't know why. I don't think to ask either. I suddenly wonder about the recent hellish demise of more than 300 prisoners in a Honduran prison. A fire had started and the majority of inmates were burnt alive. How? It seems to me that prisons consist mostly of concrete and steel.
I scan the "room". Prisoners are freely worshiping God. It's kind of an odd moment, because I'm used to seeing people worship God in a Church building, or park, or some type of hall, but not in jail. I'm in a prison, and we're not in the middle of a Church service. Surreal.
Nothing is really going on. Yet the men in this chapel are worshiping God. There are only about twenty prisoners around me, but the steady flow into the chapel is increasing the numbers by the second.
Catholic graffiti is on the wall, and a young, well dressed Nica-man is playing the piano. And then it begins. For the next few hours I will be subject to the intense sounds emanating from the massive speakers. The sounds of evangelism.
The pastors don't start with a well intentioned joke, followed by a welcome and so-forth. No. It's straight into the heart of God. Tears flow and people kneel, jump, cry, laugh, raise their hands, scream out - It's intense! However... God is here. Prisoners are here. I am here. How cool is it to witness the outpouring of love from a higher being, into the hearts and souls of these destitute lads...
12 young Nica-men gave their hearts to Jesus today. These men have raped, murdered, stolen, abused, beaten, cheated, and drugged their way into prison. Life here at Tipitapa is not at all easy. But there is hope for those men who turn from their sins and embrace the love of an almighty God.
Today, 12 men have made the choice to walk away from a life of darkness and to accept a calling from God in Heaven, to confess their need of Him, to confess their sins to Him, and to invite Him into their lives, exchanging a life of putridity for a life of hope in Jesus Christ.
Today I walked fearfully into hell and experienced the intense love that God has for each one of us. I'm blessed to have friends all over the World. I'm lucky to have a family who cares for me. But the best part is, belonging to love, almighty love. Love from above, love deep inside of me, love ever-present...
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