Screwtape’s hotline phone rang.
“WHAT IN MY NAME IS GOING ON?” The searing, rasping voice of the Chief clawed its way into Screwtape’s ears, shredding his viscera. “Under your very nose! Reports of my children MY CHILDREN! turning away from me! Turning away to the Enemy! Stop this calamity, or I will devour you!”
Shaking, Screwtape put down the phone. It was true. Hardened criminals -- child murderers, rapists, drug dealers, blackmailers; all kinds of degenerates, were falling on their knees, weeping. A plague was sweeping maximum security installations, led by the prison ministry of Jerry Langston -- once the underworld’s greatest hope for ultimate victory. Jerry preached a message of forgiveness, and the message was running wild.
"You all think you're miserable wretches, beyond the reach of God's forgiveness," Jerry repeated in sermon after sermon. "Well, you're wrong. I am the worst among you -- the worst -- a child killer. -- And yet, I found forgiveness. It is yours, too." Jerry was a spellbinding orator. But more than that. His simple, open style was the opposite of the slick productions of TV evangelists. He was frank and honest. Every service concluded with the hymn, "Amazing Grace." There was never a dry eye in his congregations of the toughest, most calloused characters.
----
Jerry received early parole for his work in prisons. The culture of crime within prisons -- the hierarchy of cons, sexual abuse, drug running and phone scams had been miraculously wiped out. Wardens had become more like dorm mothers, since harsh discipline was no longer necessary.
He went straight home. Mary, Joe and Alice met him at the door. Words were not needed. After a week, he told his mother, “I’ve got to go. I’ve got things to do.” Mary nodded.
----
The receptionist at the abortion clinic looked at Jerry warily. “I forgive you,” he said. “May I see the doctor?”
“The doctor is busy.”
“I’ll wait.”
Jerry sat patiently and waited for an hour. Then another hour. Then another hour. The receptionist eyed him suspiciously. Finally, she called the police. “There’s a person here I’m concerned about,” she said.
An officer appeared and walked up to Jerry. “May I see your identification, sir?” he asked.
“I forgive you,” Jerry said as he gave the officer his ID and a friendly, open smile.
“Thank you,” the officer said. He checked his smart phone for any warrants. “How long have you been out of prison?” he asked Jerry.
“One week.”
“Come with me, please.”
At the police station, Jerry forgave everyone he saw. Finally, the officer let him go, saying, “You know, with your record, you really shouldn’t be going to abortion clinics.”
“I forgive you,” Jerry said with a grin.
Over the next several weeks Jerry personally offered forgiveness to every abortion doctor and their staffs in the state, as well as everyone he met on the street.
The strange sight of a young man walking down the street shaking the hand, hugging and forgiving every person he met soon attracted the attention of a local news reporter.
"Hi there. What are you doing?" The reporter asked.
"Just offering forgiveness," Jerry said.
"Isn't that God's business?"
"We're here to do God's business," Jerry answered. "People are hungry -- hungry for love. Hungry for a hug. Hungry for forgiveness. I'm just trying to lighten their load a little bit."
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