A young man reached out to me early this morning, his message a curious mix of admiration and distress. He had seen my work on Kogi Report and wanted to appreciate my efforts. But in the same breath, he confessed something heavier—he had been arrested and was sitting in jail. His crime? Stubbornness.
That word struck me. Stubbornness. It was not theft, not violence, not fraud—just the raw, unchecked willfulness of youth, a trait that can make or break a person depending on where it meets them in life. I pondered the irony: Here was a man recognizing my work, yet held captive by his own actions. But then, was he really the only one in chains? Don’t we all find ourselves imprisoned at different points—by our mistakes, our past, our guilt, or even by circumstances beyond our control?
Jesus is never blind to these prison walls, whether they are built of iron bars or invisible burdens. He walks into the darkest cells and sits beside the most forgotten souls. “The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit” (Psalm 34:18). Even behind bars, grace finds its way in.
As I prayed for this young man, asking for God’s mercy and direction in his situation, I heard something deep in my spirit. The Lord was revealing that his physical imprisonment was only a manifestation of a deeper bondage. He had been locked up spiritually before he ever set foot in a cell. The chains of manipulation had gripped him long before the handcuffs did. His stubbornness over a lady had become his downfall, but the battle had been fought in the unseen realm first.
The spiritual often manifests in the physical. How many destinies have been hijacked this way? How many men have found themselves caged, not knowing that the real prison was built long before they entered it? The Bible warns us that “the weapons of our warfare are not carnal, but mighty through God to the pulling down of strongholds” (2 Corinthians 10:4). There are forces that manipulate, entangle, and direct people into destruction, just as a fisherman slowly leads a fish into his net. And when the net tightens, it is often too late to swim back.
History and scripture overflow with evidence that Jesus does not avoid prisons; He enters them. Paul and Silas sat in a Philippian jail, their feet fastened in stocks, yet they sang hymns into the midnight air. The other prisoners listened, perhaps for the first time encountering a sound more liberating than the keys at a jailer’s waist. And then, a divine tremor—the earth shook, the doors flew open, and their chains fell loose. But the real miracle was not the breaking of the physical shackles. It was the conversion of the jailer, who, trembling, asked, “Sirs, what must I do to be saved?” (Acts 16:30).
It is in these moments of confinement, whether self-inflicted or circumstantial, that Jesus performs His most profound works. John Bunyan, imprisoned for his faith, wrote The Pilgrim’s Progress, a book that has guided countless believers for centuries. Nelson Mandela, though not jailed for religious reasons, left prison with a heart purified by suffering, ready to lead with wisdom. Even Dietrich Bonhoeffer, writing from a Nazi prison, reflected on how God’s presence is most deeply felt in suffering. “God allows himself to be edged out of the world and onto the cross,” he wrote. “He is weak and powerless in the world, and yet precisely in this way, and only so, is he with us and helps us.”
It is easy to assume that divine favour should mean a life free from struggle, but scripture does not support that illusion. Joseph found his destiny not in his father’s house but in Pharaoh’s prison. Daniel met his miracle in a den full of lions. Jesus Himself spent His last hours in the custody of Roman guards, proving once and for all that no condition—no dungeon, no disgrace, no despair—is beyond the reach of God’s love.
A Nigerian proverb says, A river that forgets its source will soon dry up. Many times, people find themselves in prison not because of a single wrongdoing but because they drifted too far from the source of wisdom, accountability, and discipline. Stubbornness, like a reckless river, can carve its own destructive path until it is forced to stop. But even at the river’s end, Jesus is there, offering to guide it back to its course. “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28).
A prison is not always a place of punishment; sometimes, it is a place of pause. It is where the prodigal son of our time sits with the consequences of his rebellion and hears, perhaps for the first time, the whisper of a God who never stopped waiting. It is where the rich man, stripped of status, finally looks up to the heavens and asks the questions he never had time for. And sometimes, it is where an innocent man, like Joseph, is refined for a destiny greater than his dreams.
The great C.S. Lewis once wrote, “God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our conscience, but shouts in our pains: it is His megaphone to rouse a deaf world.” There is something about suffering that silences the noise of pride and opens the ears of the soul. A man in prison, whether physical or spiritual, is in the best position to hear the voice of Christ saying, “You are not forgotten. You are not too far gone. I am here.”
Some might argue that prison is a place of hopelessness, but the kingdom of God is built on stories that defy logic. A shepherd boy became a king. A murderer became an apostle. A crucified carpenter became the Savior of the world. The walls of Jericho fell with a shout. If these things can happen, then surely, a prisoner can become a preacher, a failure can become a force for good, and a stubborn young man, sitting in a Nigerian jail, can find himself in the arms of grace.
The road to redemption is never closed. Even when a man has burned his bridges, God builds new ones. The same Peter who denied Jesus three times was later entrusted with feeding His sheep. The same thief who mocked Jesus on the cross found himself in paradise by the end of the day. It is never too late. It is never too far. No condition is beyond Christ.
So, to the young man in jail, and to every soul trapped in their own invisible prison, hear this: The bars around you are not the end. There is a greater freedom than an open door. There is a grace that rewrites stories, a love that redeems mistakes, and a God who sees beyond what you have done to what you can become. “For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future” (Jeremiah 29:11).
The same Jesus who walked into prison cells in scripture, who stood beside Paul and Silas, who met Joseph in the dungeon, and who carried the weight of the cross, is still finding His way into the darkest places today. No condition is beyond Him. Not stubbornness. Not failure. Not even the iron grip of a jailhouse. The story is not over. The gates of mercy are still open. And Jesus is already inside, waiting.
– Inah Boniface Ocholi writes from Ayah, Igalamela/Odolu
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