“You think we like doing what we do! We hate our lives. Addiction has made us prisoners. Will you please help us? Please open a place just for us, a place where they won’t look at us like we’re scum because of our past.” This plea came from a small group of women who confronted me outside my newly opened home for men in Bridgeport, Connecticut. Because of their addiction, these women had been forced into prostitution to support their habit. It took a lot of courage to ask me for help. They had seen the work I was doing with the male gang members from the neighborhood and wanted the same kind of help I was giving the men.

I first encountered these women while preaching on the tough streets of Bridgeport. Initially, they barely spoke, offering only a simple thank you for the warm meals provided by our volunteers. Occasionally, they would converse with my wife, revealing small hurts and pains, and sometimes requesting prayer. Generally, they paid little attention to me.

Things began to quickly change after I ejected a gang from an old rooming house they were using for drug dealing and prostitution. When I evicted them, I had little sympathy for the men, but I could not bring myself to expel the prostitutes who used the building as a home and a place to conduct their business.

“You are welcome to stay for a month while I work on cleaning the building, repairing the bullet holes, and getting ready to launch a program for men struggling with addiction. However, you cannot bring any customer into this house or use drugs here, and you must commit to attending any religious services we conduct within these walls.” In a moment of desperation, they accepted the terms.

One of the women living in the building was named Vanessa. She was a pitiful, middle-aged woman sick with AIDS and forced to prostitute her body because of her addiction to crack/cocaine. Her life had reached a dead end, with no place to turn and no hope of escape.

The first service I held in the building had about ten people. Vanessa’s facial expressions suggested she resented being forced to attend the service. “What could this white preacher say that would have any meaning for her situation?”

About midway through my sermon, I began discussing God’s grace and His unexpected willingness to offer it freely. I explained to the small audience that God deeply desires to connect personally with everyone present. Their past actions, the people they may have harmed, or their missteps were irrelevant. It wasn’t only addicts, gang members, and prostitutes who required God’s forgiveness for a relationship with Him; even Billy Graham needed His grace.

At that very moment, Vanessa jumped up from her seat. “Is that true?” she asked. “Did Billy Graham need forgiveness just like me?”

   I told her that Billy Graham, like everyone else in that room, including myself, needed forgiveness. At the cross, we are all equal. We all need mercy, and God is more than willing to give it to us.

Because we each chose to go our own way, we are all deserving of death and permanent exile from God’s presence; yet, Jesus paid the price on the cross for each of us, sacrificing his life and bridging the gulf that separated us from God. If we accept that gift by surrendering our lives to him, he will gladly receive us and guide our lives in a new direction, a life he calls “abundant.”

Her facial expression changed from hardness and confusion to hope and joy. “I want that. I want to surrender right now.” And that’s what she did—she surrendered her life to Christ.

The next day, she began bringing other prostitutes to my office. “Tell them what you told me,” she excitedly ordered. And that is what I did. I told them all about Christ.

   Soon enough, I became familiar with most of the prostitutes in the area. I felt a deep, inexplicable love for them, which compelled me to reach out. Nonetheless, out of respectability, I always ensured I was not alone with any of them. While none of them ever behaved inappropriately towards me, I took care to keep our ministry above reproach.

At the end of my conversation with the women seeking my assistance, I assured them I would do everything possible to help. I encouraged them to pray for guidance from God in finding the right location and individuals to facilitate the program. They fully supported this idea.

My wife was never concerned about my friendships with these women. Tammy knew that I had put the necessary safeguards in place. Before long, she recognized this as a God-thing, something that God was doing in my heart. God loved them, and He sent me to reach them.

At Tammy’s next speaking engagement, she began her talk with these words: “My husband has a thing for prostitutes.” Because she said it, the audience knew it must have been from God.

It took several years, but we eventually opened a place just for them—a place for prostitutes to connect with God and find healing from their addiction and pain.

Jesus was a friend of prostitutes.