June 2024

In years past, each of us has been involved in some sort of prison or jail ministry. In this issue, we reflect on some of our rewarding and surprising experiences behind bars.

I met John when I was in seminary. As a young man, John got a job as a driver, a chauffeur for a man with nice suits and a fancy car. John hardly knew his new boss, but he liked driving the big car, dressing in a suit and tie himself, and going to exciting places. One January evening, he waited in the car while his boss went inside a building to meet someone. His boss came out and got in the car; John drove away.

That was John’s job, but the jury didn’t seem to understand. You see, John’s boss had killed a man inside that building, and John, as “the get-away driver,” was charged as an accomplice after the fact and thus equally guilty for the crime.

John was convicted and sentenced to life in prison. John’s fancy uniform became prison dungarees. The driver who drove people wherever they wanted to go now needed written permission to go to another part of the building.

Years passed before I met him. In prison, John earned a college degree – and still had ten years to serve before becoming eligible for his first parole hearing. John learned to make jewelry, sold pieces for as much as $500, and still had at least eight more years behind those prison walls.

John thought it would be good to have a half-way house for prisoners who wanted to go to college on the outside as their prison terms were coming to an end. He drew up the plans, got the needed approval, raised $70,000 from foundations, bought the house, and had the program ready to go. And still had five years to wait for that first parole hearing.

All this time, as John earned the respect of many, inside the prison and out, no one in power was listening to John’s story. Prison is like that: When you do get a chance to open a window, often all you see is another stone wall.

Finally, someone in power did listen to John’s story. More than a decade after his conviction, John was given a polygraph test, which confirmed he knew nothing of the murder in advance. This evidence got to the governor and John was granted clemency.

When I met him, John was serving a life sentence for murder. John was also an impressive human being. May we never allow the labels that are put on other people prevent us from getting to know them as they are.

--by Bill

Photo by Carles Rabada on Unsplash

After sending our previous Reflection issue, Bill and I began reflecting on inmates we have known. I, seven years as chaplain at the Bexar County jail, do have stories to tell. Mostly, there were countless nameless inmates I met. But I will always remember Richard and our conversations.

Richard was a Trustee who routinely met me at security check-in and accompanied me to the waiting area outside the jail chapel. We sat on the bench outside the chapel door until the previous religious service concluded and officers securely returned those inmates to their PODs.

Most of the time, Richard and I chatted like two people sitting next to each other on an airplane or bus. Nothing personal. One day we just sat there in silence. Then he looked at my ID card around my neck. Out of the silence, and out of the blue, he spoke my name, “Miss Janice.” More silence. Then he added, “At first when I met you, I thought, Oh, just another one of those military types.” Silence. “Then I looked into your eyes and saw that you have suffered a lot.” Silence. “And then I knew we could talk about Jesus.”

We talked about Jesus.

On other days, in liturgical services with the women, they sang in praise of Jesus. They sang of separation and loneliness. They sang of freedom and liberation. Most of all, they sang spirituals and gospel music. Through their songs, their witnessing and sharing, they taught me the real meaning under the Scripture words.

During my ministry with the inmates, I also was studying for advanced degrees in theology and spirituality. I read the theological tomes, the spiritual classics, and liturgical directives. But when I went to the jail, I saw Scripture come alive! I felt God near us, close at hand.

In the words of Salvadoran Archbishop Oscar Romero, who tried to stop violence:

“There is one rule by which to judge if God is near us or is far away—

the rule that God’s word is giving us today:

everyone concerned for the hungry, the naked, the poor,

for those who have vanished in police custody,

for the tortured,

for the prisoners,

for all flesh that suffers,

has God close at hand."

--by Jan