The roar of pernicious voices seems to remain constant, as the clanging of keys and the slamming of steel barred doors mingles therewith. Towering five stories above the concrete foundation, I sit, leaning against the steel wall of this ancient cell. A small 5 ˝’x8’ cell where numerous others have dwelled. Examining the surroundings I am spoken to by the screaming silence of the captives of old, dating back to the early 1800’s. Most of the early prisoners of this dungeon were those known as “dead men walking”, a term for those on death row. I imagine many men became right with the Lord, even within this very cell, while awaiting their execution. I find it all quite intriguing, even though the historic realm is of the horrific sense. The outskirts of the “penn” is dreadful to the greatest degree. The walls are solid granite, flat gray in color, peaks touching the sky as an ole mid-evil castle, appearing to be ruled by the prince of darkness, an unseen sign reads “all who are forced to enter here shall ne’r depart alive”.
Yet in the marvelous presence of an all powerful God, the true and living God, the greatest Bishop of souls, the all wise and only Potentate, I am drenched in the glory of His serene love. And standing boldly upon the power of His given Word I enact it’s miracle speaking “peace unto this house” and peace has fallen in the rain of the Holy Ghost with fire. In Luke 10:5-6, Jesus says, “And unto whatsoever house ye enter, first say, “Peace be to this house. And if the Son of peace be there, your peace shall rest upon it…”. This peace I know, the peace of Christ Jesus my Lord and Master right here amidst the most wretched place I have ever been. The extreme marvel of it all leaves me breathless.
Jeffrey B. Quante
March 12, 2001