RAWLINS - It is Saturday, and one room in the Wyoming State Penitentiary shakes with the fervor of call-and-response refrains.

"Praise the Lord," yells Robyn Ridgway of Harvest Time Ministries.

"Praise the Lord!" roar the inmates seated in front of her.

The hallway outside is divided into two lanes of traffic by a yellow and black line on the floor. Cpl. Eric Jones stands by the door with his arms folded.

Still, it doesn't feel like a prison. Not, at least, for inmate Frank Johnston, who began attending Christian services about eight years ago.

"The peace of mind that I've got now is just unreal," says Johnston, who has a shaved head and a long, white beard. He has served more than 20 years in the prison, and unless he's paroled, he'll be there the rest of his life.

"I was a biker," Johnston says, and declines to elaborate in detail on his past life, though he lists some of his former habits: drugs, drinking and shooting guns. "I never had anyone in the state who cared about me. I didn't really care about myself."

Unlike Johnson, other inmates in the room will be released.

Elmer Ridgway Jr., the husband of Robyn Ridgway, is keenly aware of this certainty. About two years ago, he joined his wife and parents, Elmer Ridgway Sr. and Shirley Ridgway, who have been coming to the pen for about eight years.

Susan Herstead, Elmer Ridgway Jr.'s sister, also joined the group, which volunteers at the prison two Saturdays out of the month. The Platte Valley Christian Center gives services the other Saturdays.

When Elmer Ridgway Jr. takes the pulpit, he reaches out with his voice into the 30 or so seated inmates.

"Over 98 percent of you are going home," he says, and then he repeats his words. "God's doing a work in your life. You're going to be the little embers in the campfire."

He blows, hard.

"And you're going to spread over the state of Wyoming."

Elmer Ridgway Jr. is thinking about more than religion.

"The question that always rings in my head is, 'Who do you want as a neighbor?"' he asks. "Do you want a guy who's been in prison and there's been no investment back into him?"

In the small chapel, coffee sits on a table near the east-facing windows. Few rise to fill a cup. Prayer requests are read, and the crowd grows more vocal. Amens rifle through the red and blue shirts.

"Today is a new beginning," Robyn Ridgway says. "I can choose to be mad or I can choose to be happy."

Inmate Santos Carrera asks the group to pray that his wife be delivered from evil. Many requests concern family members.

There is resounding faith in the power of these prayers.

"It's amazing how many prayers we've had answered," inmate Kevin Callen says.

Callen was baptized in the penitentiary on the one-year anniversary of his father's death.

"I couldn't think of a better way to honor both my fathers," he says. "My Father in Heaven, and my father in heaven."

Communion is offered, and the inmates line up. They call one another "brother," and clear a path for inmate Patrick Eldridge, who is in a wheelchair.

When Cpl. Jones hangs back, inmate Marcos Martinez notices. He sends another inmate to ask him to partake. When this doesn't work, Martinez gives his own encouragement.

"Come on, Corporal," he says.

Others join in.

"Come on, Jones."

Smiling, Jones crosses the room and joins the line.