Book Excerpts

It's November 2020 and the United States begins to break records for daily cases and deaths from Covid 19. Cases are spiking, the country is divided in many ways: Should we rely on herd immunity or continue lockdowns? Is being forced to wear a mask infringing upon my constitutional rights or protecting the public?

And yet at this correctional institution, a faith and character-based men's prison in Florida, an unusual gathering is happening right outside the double razor wire. Prison Fellowship, the ministry founded by Chuck Colson—former "hatchet man" and White House Counsel in the Nixon administration, not to mention a former inmate—is preparing an outreach for the prisoners.

Cars pull up and disgorge masked Prison Fellowship workers, church members, and a choir. Among the cars is an SUV driven by Jeff Andrews. Jeff is an ex-convict and unusually successful businessman who has spoken often for Prison Fellowship beginning in 1989 after his final release in November of 1988 from FCI Morgantown. He speaks any chance he can get about the total turnaround in his life when Jesus spoke to him when he—almost by accident—read 1st Corinthians 13 in Danbury Federal Prison at midnight on December 17, 1987.

He hasn't been asked to speak for a while—he thinks maybe he's too long in the tooth or perhaps they think he is too distant from his salvation experience or just maybe Jeff's radical message doesn't fit their "normal" testimony mold in 2021. It is designed to reach the prisoners in a very real way and isn't some sort of Sunday School pitch.

Jeff is extremely excited and "on fire" with the Holy Spirit, and it takes him a while to work his way to the stage for his keynote testimony; he's greeting old friends and making new ones on his way there—shaking hands with some, bumping elbows or fists in the new Covid salute with others.

The skies are a deep blue, the temperature is a pleasant 55 degrees as it is autumn in Florida. It's a good day. At 9:00 sharp, 450 prisoners in bright blue uniforms with white stripes on the sides of their pants file out into the large recreation field and line up with less than a foot between each one. Most stand at parade rest, although some kneel down. Behind and on both sides of the platform are all of the prison guards, administrative office workers, and DOC officials. Mixed in are a number of Prison Fellowship District, Regional, and State managers—40 people in all—plus the choir from Christ Followers Church. Anthony, the Prison Fellowship MC, walks to the mike and welcomes all attendees, makes a few announcements, and explains a bit about Prison Fellowship. Pastor Hill follows with a short testimony of hope, and then the choir from CFC stands and leads the prisoners in powerful praise and worship. Although they are outdoors, their voices seem to fill the space as they have a very powerful broadcast sound system that can be heard for miles.

Anthony introduces Jeff, a tall man in his mid-70s, with glasses and slightly long, slightly unruly hair. He lopes to the microphone, smiles his infectious grin, and begins giving his testimony.

Back in 1987, I was in Danbury Federal Correctional Institute. I'd actually turned myself in in 1983 because I was tired of being a fugitive on the run for ten years, and I had an amazing offer from the President of IPC Technologies (a company I had helped him start in 1981, while a fugitive) and now because of his promise to stand by me, I finally had a chance to go straight.

One day, I went to a Bible study in Danbury—not because I was interested in the study, but because I wanted to take care of a bully who'd hurled a chair at the Bible study group as they walked to their meeting the week before. Since I was a kid, I've always wanted to protect the non-aggressive and innocent. I have to admit that I was sorry that he wasn't in the TV room the next day as they had shipped him to Lewisburg FCI the night before. I left the study with a Bible and no intention to return.

I was torturing myself with questions about my desire to go straight. What was I doing? During an incredibly restless night after the study, full of grief about losing my wife to another, I pulled out the Bible they'd given me. That little orange book, so small, what did people find inside that thing? I flipped it open to a random page and studied the words. It was sure written differently than the Cussler stuff I'd read and reread. It was a bunch of poems with two columns per page and small print. I decided on a random passage and read:

If I speak the languages of men and of angels, but do not have love, I am a sounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and I have faith, so that I can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. And if I donate all my goods to feed the poor, and if I give my body to be burned, but do not have love, I gain nothing. Love is patient; love is kind. Love does not envy; is not boastful; is not conceited; does not act improperly; is not selfish; is not provoked; does not keep a record of wrongs; finds no joy in unrighteousness, but rejoices in the truth;

Something captivated me, kept me going through the words even though the tiny print was difficult to read in the moonlight from the window. I felt there was wisdom in the words, that if I listened, I would be able to change myself.

I knew that something was wrong with me. I felt that the words I'd just read might save me from all of this, if only I could understand and follow them. The book was good for me. It was a book about love. I needed to learn about love, didn't I? What the hell was love? What the hell was anything except jobs, money, and consequences?

Just then I felt something shift inside my head. I shuddered in my bed. While the shadow of a guard moved past the cell door, a cleansing tide was washing over me, tearing out my fears.

I liked this book right off because it wasn't about my world. It was about something different, a place I had never gone to, a concept I had always hated but never understood.

Maybe this book could teach me how to deal with my new life. Maybe I would learn how to keep myself away from anger. Perhaps I could even grow to love someone. I continued reading:

When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put aside childish things.

"A man… what the hell does this book know about men?" I scoffed. Alright, it was over. I was done with the book. Who were these people to tell me whether or not I was a man? Who the hell were they? To me, a man was a person who had steady nerves in order to weather the gauntlet. The knives and guns of our world would penetrate flesh, but it was the ability to handle pain that kept a real man strong and ahead of the pack.

I stopped reading and searched the room. Something was missing. I could see more clearly, as though I had emerged from a tunnel. It was difficult to grasp, to explain, but a dull film of anger and resentment had been lifted from my eyes. My anger and anxiety were being peeled back. I noticed small and beautiful things I had never noticed before. The cinderblocks, the lines on the wall, the faces of men in the bunks; everything was so peaceful, and I didn't want to disturb it.

"You're losing it, Jeff." I heard myself whisper. Something overtook me. I was no longer in my bunk…

The Mercedes that often appeared in my dreams was back and I was driving, searching the rearview mirror for a man in the back seat. It wasn't me this time, though. Somehow, it was someone else behind the wheel, but I was looking through his eyes. I checked the speedometer, lit a cigarette, and tapped my thumb on the wheel. I was headed to Seattle again.

Something from the back seat gripped my neck. I breathed in deep and remained focused. I didn't give the bastard any attention. I wasn't going to cave in this time. I was going to stay on the road and keep the car moving at a steady pace.

"You're going to miss me, baby." It was Jen's voice in the back seat. I smelled her breath blowing through the cabin like deadly perfume. I ground my teeth violently and kept my eyes away from the mirrors. I knew that it was not Jennifer in my back seat. And somehow I knew that if I looked, I was as good as dead.

"Alright, Jeff, suit yourself. But remember, you can never have me back."

I heard the rear door open and her living body slapped the pavement, skipping like a stone along the frozen Montana highway. The door slammed shut and I was alone, back in my cell, staring at the full moon.

I felt ill as soon as I realized what had happened. It was the sickening sensation men get when giving up a habit. The old me was dying, dying, withering. It was a good thing, and I knew it had to be done, but the process was painful. I continued to read the book, knowing that it would help me.

Now I know in part, but then I will know fully, as I am fully known. Now these three remain: faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love.

If I did not have love, I had nothing.

Sure, I'd moved some mountains: mountains of drugs, jewelry, cash, and stolen cars. Yeah, I'd run my mouth a lot to big-time suits and stolen their money or walked off with their girlfriends. So what? All that work but nothing to show for it! I had been there, seen that, stolen this, scammed this organization, made off with this much money, screwed this person, beat that guy up… I had done it all.

I reread: Now I know in part, but then I will know fully, as I am fully known. Now these three remain: faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love.

It made sense. The greatest was love. Sure. Right. Of course. Without love there was nothing. Without truth there was nothing. I had been duped by the world into becoming a loud-mouthed idiot—a godless moron without any conception of compassion. A feeling came over me as though I had been tossed into water. My body remained still but somehow moved and undulated with the waves. The Earth turned and the cell remained motionless. Far off a dog barked, a phone rang, someone robbed a bank, a guy went to the store to buy cigarettes and never came back, songs played, humanity continued to move forward, and the moon stared down at me like a painting on the wall.

A voice spoke to me:

Pick up your cross and follow me. You will not return to who you were.

And then it said something I really liked: Do this and all of your dreams will come true.

Tears jumped out of my eyes. I hadn't cried since I was maybe eight or nine. I hadn't really felt anything since then. But right then, I felt it. All of it. I knew what these words meant. I realized that this must have been God, Jesus, or something like that. It was the book. It was helping me. Perhaps this meant that I had a chance.

Jeff continues to speak to the prisoners, explaining a little about his past and that for what he has done by God's law and man's law, he deserves death. But Jesus did for him what He is willing to do for every person on the planet who will listen. He gave Jeff salvation, and He wants to give salvation from sins, and give eternal life to all. "You see," he explains, "you cannot earn your way to heaven and freedom. We are all sinners, and all deserve death." Jeff continues with a few related Bible verses as his eyes widen. He seems to have problems focusing on reading the Scriptures. A few of the Prison Fellowship people look at each other wondering what is wrong with this normally loquacious speaker. Then they look out over the crowd, and their eyes widen as well.

He later said, "I couldn't believe it. As I spoke, I saw a vision of warrior angels over the prisoners. They wore armor, carried swords, and had huge, white wings unfurled over the prisoners as if they were protecting them from demonic powers. The air shimmered around them and the light around them was golden. It was awe-producing and breathtaking. It was so emotional. I was shot through with reverence and joy and love and godly fear all at once."

Jeff stumbles to the end of his testimony and sits down wondering if he is the only one who sees this. Lazaro Lopez invites the prisoners to receive the free gift of salvation from Jesus Christ. He explains that they can't be good enough to earn salvation—no one can—and that all they need to do is believe that Jesus paid the price for their sins and receive that gift of payment. Many respond to the dynamic presence of the Lord.

The meeting closes and everybody is hugging everybody—Covid or no Covid. Administrators hugging guards. Choir members hugging Prison Fellowshippers. The prisoners stand frozen in place!

It seems to Jeff that the Prison Fellowship men are a bit confused about what's going on, but the rest are soaking in the presence of God. The two-hour meeting passed quickly. Or slowly. Or somehow outside of time?

They return to the pedestrian details of life and all load up and travel to Tony and Al's Deli in Starke for lunch. Of course, everyone is talking about the warrior angels. Jeff sits next to the warden, Barry Reddish, who he thinks is a dynamite guy. Barry is a committed Christian and perfect to lead this faith and character-based institution.

After the great Italian subs, everyone returns to the prison for the afternoon session. There's a quietly buzzing excitement along with a bit of an adrenaline rush from the morning as they take their places. 400 more prisoners in blue uniforms file out of the prison. The format is the same as in the morning.

When Jeff moves to the microphone to begin his testimony, the sky is just as blue as it was earlier, with one small grey cloud on the horizon which begins to move very quickly in their direction but with no wind to push it along! As he speaks with his customary abandon, the cloud moves closer and closer in a matter of minutes. In the middle of his testimony, the dark grey cloud boils directly over the compound and he startles as thunder rumbles over the sound of his voice and lightning shoots through the cloud, again, and again, and again! The angelic presence is even more powerful than in the morning. Satan is trying to rob the prisoners of this opportunity to hear and respond to the message of God's grace, but the warrior angels fight back. The guys still stand at parade rest as all of this goes on. It pretty much stops Jeff in his tracks as no one can hear him. He ducks under a tarp and tries to continue, but there is no way he can get all the Bible verses in; it is an abrupt ending. The meeting comes to a close with many more salvations. This day is an experience for all present to guard in their hearts and hold dear for all their lives.

~~~~~~~

Now before you set this book aside, shaking your head at visions of warrior angels, let's consider a time (among many) we see this in the Holy Scriptures:

In the book of 2nd Kings, chapter 6, the king of Syria was warring against Israel. He had a little problem. Every time he made a battle plan, God communicated the plan to Israel's prophet, Elisha, who communicated the plan to the king of Israel. Imagine the tactical superiority of having God spy upon your enemy!

Of course, the king of Syria thought one of his men was betraying him, but his men convinced him that the problem was not any of them, but God's servant Elisha. The king then found out where Elisha was and sent a great army by night to surround that city:

"When the servant of the man of God [Elisha] rose early in the morning and went out, behold, an army with horses and chariots was all around the city. And the servant said, 'Alas, my master! What shall we do?' He [Elisha] said, 'Do not be afraid, for those who are with us are more than those who are with them.' Then Elisha prayed and said, 'O Lord, please open his eyes that he may see.' So the Lord opened the eyes of the young man, and he saw, and behold, the mountain was full of horses and chariots of fire all around Elisha." (2 Kings 6:15-17)

The same warrior angels who appeared to Elisha's servant appeared over the prisoners at the correctional institution. We will learn much about the angelic conflict in the Bible through Jeff and through Dr. Frank Calhoun's essays as we read this book.

From that day until this (July 30, 2023), Jeff goes to prison every Wednesday and has a Bible study with a group of guys. Jeff says, "They're a solid group of guys. We study the Word and talk and pray and love on Jesus, and He always shows up. It becomes very emotionally charged at times and God pours Himself out on everyone there. The men leave, usually so filled with what I know to be a contagious hope, as we always have new visitors coming in to join us. You have to remember we meet during the prime time (1:30 to 3 pm), just after the afternoon feeding, and just when many other activities are going on like Commissary, GED, Job Training, College Courses, Anger Management classes, AA, etc., etc." In other words, we have a lot of competition, and the inmates give up something in order to attend the Bible Study and learn about our beloved God the Father, Jesus, and Holy Spirit.