This is going to be a rare autobiographical posting. People often ask how I got involved in prison ministry. Normally, I don’t like telling stories about myself, but, in this case, it’s not really about me, as you’ll see.
Some 20+ years ago, shortly after we moved to Durham, I was approached by Steve Tuten, who was in charge of prison ministry at the congregation I then attended. He asked me if I’d be interested in getting involved in the work at Butner. At the time, I knew what my gifts and talents were: prison ministry was definitely not one of them. Steve, though, was a modern day persistent widow and finally wore me down to the point that I agreed to go with him for one Sunday...just one Sunday...
When we arrived for the service, I noticed a couple of men seated toward the rear and gesticulating to each other. I had learned sign language in Greensboro and could tell they were, in fact, signing. I approached them and learned they were deaf, but interested in the service. Naturally, I interpreted the service for them, as I had done many times in Greensboro. Afterwards, one of them asked if I was going to be back next week, as they wanted to talk about the Bible. What could I say?
On the way home, I asked Steve if they had been to services before. He told me no, that this was their first time. The following week, after another round of interpreting the service, they asked if I would be willing to have a Bible study with them. From that moment, my fate was sealed. Even someone as rationalistic as I could tell when God was opening a door and kicking me through.
So, you see, this story really wasn’t about me at all. But, then, for Christians, what story is?
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