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Building a Community Inside
For years I practiced alone, though I longed for a fellowship of men on the same path. I began writing to Prison Contemplative Fellowship and to Chaplain Ray, asking how we could start a practice group on my unit. Nothing happens quickly in prison. And when something good does begin, the Department of Corrections usually finds a way to bury it in bureaucracy—background checks, endless forms, delay after delay.
At last, a local pastor named Richard Wing reached out. He had spoken with Chaplain Ray and was recruiting volunteers. A group was finally going to begin. But then, in typical fashion, the senior chaplain told me the program would run on another unit instead of ours. “Thank you for the idea,” he said. “You get the credit.”
I didn’t want credit. I wanted brothers.
Thankfully, a few weeks later, he returned to say they’d reconsidered—the group would be held on my unit after all. And then, COVID hit. Everything stopped. To make matters worse, I was moved to another unit.
But by God’s grace, when things reopened, the decision was made to start the program at the unit where I was. We began with four or five men. At its peak, seventeen. By the time I left, it was back to a handful—but still alive. That same group still exists today, but I can’t be physically with them. When you walk out the gate, you walk out alone.
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