The Church That Never Let Go:

 A Love Letter to Antioch Missionary Baptist Church

By Chaddrick Thomas

There’s a scripture in Proverbs that says, “A friend loves at all times, and a brother is born for adversity” (Proverbs 17:17). After more than two decades in prison, I can tell you with every fiber of my being that these words are not just poetry—they’re a living truth. For me, that truth has a name. It’s not just an idea or a concept. It’s a place. A people. A home. That truth is Antioch Missionary Baptist Church in Plant City, Florida.

I grew up in the pews of that little church on Horton Road. I sang in the choir, my voice cracking as a young boy trying to keep up with the seasoned saints. I didn’t know then what that church would come to mean to me. Back then, church was just Sunday tradition. It was fried chicken after service, choir rehearsal during the week, and Vacation Bible School in the summer. But now, as I sit in a cell surrounded by concrete and steel, I realize something I didn’t see before: Antioch wasn’t just a church—it was the soil where my soul was planted.

I’ve been away for more than 20 years. Twenty years of missed holidays, lost loved ones, and too many silent nights. But in all those years, through every setback and every appeal, that little church in Plant City has never once let go of my hand. They’ve never forgotten me. Every 5th Sunday, they take up a collection just for me. Not because I asked. Not because they had to. But because love like that doesn’t die in the dark. It shines brighter.

That kind of love is rare. It’s not transactional. It’s not performance-based. It’s rooted in Christ. And when I think about Antioch, I’m reminded of Paul’s words in Philippians 1:3-5: “I thank my God every time I remember you. In all my prayers for all of you, I always pray with joy because of your partnership in the gospel from the first day until now.”

That scripture fits y’all perfectly. Antioch, you’ve been partners in my journey—not just the journey of my past, but the one I’m walking now. In a system that is more invested in punishment than redemption, you have been a steady voice saying, “He still matters. He is still our brother. He is still a child of God.” You’ve reminded me that I’m more than my worst mistake.

There are moments in here when the silence is deafening. When shame creeps in like fog. When hope feels too far away. But then I get a letter, a card, a prayer, or word that the collection was taken again. And in that moment, I feel the Holy Spirit wrap around me like a blanket. That’s what y’all do. That’s who you are.

To Pastor and First Lady, to the deacons, the mothers of the church, the choir, the ushers, and every single person who has ever bowed your head and said my name—thank you. You’ve stood with me when the world turned away. You’ve affirmed me when society said I was disposable. You’ve sown into my life with love, money, prayer, and presence. That’s not small. That’s divine.

I may be behind these walls, but I want you to know—I still carry Antioch with me every single day. In every book I write, every young man I mentor in here, every time I speak truth to this system—I am speaking as a son of that church. Your faith in me has watered the seeds of purpose God planted long ago. I am still here. And I am still His.

Hebrews 13:3 says, “Remember them that are in bonds, as bound with them; and them which suffer adversity, as being yourselves also in the body.” Antioch, you’ve done that. You’ve lived that scripture. And in doing so, you’ve shown me the kind of church Christ intended His followers to be.

You are not a megachurch with big budgets or lights and stages. You are not filled with celebrities or politicians. But what you have—what you are—is real. You are the heartbeat of God’s church: steady, loving, generous, and unshakably faithful.

And so, from the depths of my soul, I say:

Thank you for seeing me.

Thank you for believing in me.

Thank you for never letting go.

I pray that this blog post reaches your hearts the same way you’ve touched mine. And I pray it reminds everyone who reads it that the true church—the real church—is not measured in size, but in love. And Antioch Missionary Baptist Church, y’all are giants.

With all my love,

Chaddrick Thomas

Still your son. Still your brother. Still standing because of you.