In the summer of 2024, I joined a nearby ministry that took the gospel into a local detention center, talking about the God of the Bible and his son, our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ, to young men and women incarcerated for felonies and awaiting transition to prisons where they would serve their sentences.

I had just been confirmed in the Catholic Church a year earlier, so I was skeptical about how much value I could add. It was also the first time I was making my way through the Bible in a serious manner, using a Didache Bible, which incorporates the Catechism of the Catholic Church.

Without His sacrifice on the cross, there is no resurrection, He does not achieve victory over death, and our path to salvation is forever obscured.

The woman who coordinated the ministry ran each week's 45-minute session for about a dozen or so attendees, all there voluntarily; most were black and male. Each meeting involved a Bible reading followed by discussion and questions and answers. It was very moving to watch the inmates work their way through the Bible. They were earnest in their questions, observations, and admissions about the reality of their lives.

At my third session, after the opening prayer, the coordinator introduced the topic for the day, and she asked me to lead the discussion on what it means to be a man. I was caught completely off guard. But then something miraculous happened: For about a minute, I said things that not only had I never said before, I had never even thought them before.

In retrospect, I now understand what Christians mean when they say that the Holy Spirit spoke through them.

I told these young inmates that there were two essential characteristics of manhood: the willingness to take responsibility and the courage to sacrifice.

To that end, I said, Jesus was the ultimate man. He took responsibility for each one of us and, as Tim Tebow puts it so beautifully, the wounds inflicted upon Him are our sins. Because we cannot redeem ourselves from our own sin without the grace of God, the God who loves each one of us sent His son to bear responsibility for what we cannot: literally the moral weight of a world that is drowning in the wrongs of each person.

Jesus also satisfied the second element because he willingly sacrificed himself on the cross, not just for us, but (paraphrasing Tim Tebow again) because of us. His death was the ultimate sacrifice because it was voluntary, substitutive, and redemptive. Without His sacrifice on the cross, there is no resurrection, He does not achieve victory over death, and our path to salvation is forever obscured.

I told the young inmates that no matter why they were there (we never discussed their crimes), it was time to take responsibility, so that when released they might find a better path forward.

It required doing things that were simple but profound, starting literally as soon as they walked out of that room:

• Resist the temptation to join gangs.
• Stand up for an inmate who needs help.
• Improve their reading, writing, and basic math skills through the prison library.
• Start or join a Bible study.
• Pray daily, not only for the Lord's forgiveness, but to hear His words.
• Profess Christ as their Savior.
• Speak plainly and without profanity.
• Harm no one, and never seek vengeance against another inmate or a guard for a perceived wrong.

I also told them to build physical discipline — which works in tandem with spiritual discipline, as it had in me — because if their bodies were to be temples of the Holy Spirit, then they were responsible to guard and develop their physical capacities, which are a divine gift.

As the Gospel of John tells us, Jesus carried his cross — the horizontal beam, which likely weighed about 100 pounds — to Golgotha, where He died. How many American men could pick up and carry 100 pounds even 100 feet, let alone doing so while beaten and bleeding?

I talked about my own life, how I came to finally acknowledge Christ as King, and how He freed me from lifelong addictions to both pornography and anger. I said that if they doubted the love of a God whom they did not know (as I long did), they might reflect on my life experience.

My mortal father, a Marxist, had limited capacity for responsibility and sacrifice because of his unremitting mental illness. However, God the Father, in His boundless mercy and wisdom, did not forsake me even when I did and said horrible things; He guided me when I was at my poorest and weakest, and He steered me through a life full of completely improbable twists and turns that ultimately all worked for my good, which is His promise. And then, I finally opened my heart to Him and His word.

When I was done, there was dead silence.

After exiting the building and meeting in the parking lot, as was our habit each week, the coordinator was in tears. She said, "I don't know where to find more godly men like you." She was absent for the next couple of weeks, but during that time, she clearly reconsidered this immediate post-meeting assessment.

In a late July 2024 conference call, she dismissed me from the ministry. It dawned on her after my testimony that she could not have a Catholic man on her team. She further went on to explain that there could be no theological distance between her and others who presented to the inmates, and thus neither I nor my Didache Bible were welcome to return.

I was appalled, but I replied by quoting Christ himself. In the Gospels, Jesus basically told the apostles (paraphrased): "If someone will not hear your testimony, shake the dust [of their house] from your feet when you depart" (Matthew 10:14; Mark 6:11).

I never went back, and I never heard from her again.

RELATED: Why Christianity is a pilgrimage — not a vacation

ZU_09/Getty Images Plus

The final twist to this tale is my departure from the Catholic parish where I came face-to-face with the risen Christ. Things started to slide downhill when the parish promoted content developed by Jesuit Fr. James Martin to adults in a class on Catholicism. Martin was Pope Francis' personal emissary to the LGBTQ alphabet mafia and recently persuaded Pope Leo to allow a procession with a rainbow cross into St. Peter’s Square.

However, the parish did not believe it important to tell recipients who Martin was or why he was controversial.

The coup de grâce was a homily on Mother's Day in which the priest — who in Masses I attended had never once asked assembled parishioners to pray for Christians slaughtered weekly in Nigeria by Islamic jihadis or for girls whose spaces were invaded by men in dresses — requested prayers for those facing persecution.

He identified three persecuted groups: the aborted child, the illegal immigrant, and the gay person. To conflate the murdered babies with deportation of people here illegally and the ceaseless promoters of sexual anarchy was an abdication of moral responsibility in which biblical truth was casually and carelessly sacrificed on the altar of political ideology.

Jesus was most assuredly not a politician. Had He been so, He would have lectured the Romans about how to run their empire. He was God made man to die on the cross for our sins, so that we may live eternally with Him.

I may be Catholic, but no one summarizes this better than the late, great Voddie Baucham: The Bible does not tell you to invite Jesus into your heart. It tells you to repent and believe, so that you may joyously and willingly obey His laws and commandments and live with Him eternally.

In other words: Follow in the footsteps of the ultimate man.