We didn’t talk about it much growing up. It wasn’t until recently that I started to meet people who spend time with inmates in prison.
The opportunity recently arose to attend a chapel session with Catholic prison ministry coordinator Bob Buckham at a Lower Mainland correctional facility. For security reasons, all potentially identifying information is being withheld.
After passing security checkpoints, the profound loneliness haunting the rooms we passed became apparent. The library, workshop and mess halls all felt empty. This wasn’t anyone’s home.
It was heartening to see that the chapel was located relatively close to the entrance. A small, detached building, it looked and smelled like a summer camp recreation room.
All faiths are allowed to use the chapel and its attached offices. Catholics, Jews, Sikhs, Muslims and even Wiccans tend to the spiritual well-being of prisoners. Prayer services, sacraments, yoga and Bible studies are among the events listed on the calendar beside the entrance door. Even Alpha is offered.
As inmates trickled into the chapel, they all smiled at me like students entering a classroom. Almost all of them shook my hand and said hi. Each reminded me of someone I knew — maybe from a construction site where I worked as a teenager, others had an eerie resemblance to family members, and one was a shoo-in for someone who used to join me for a weekly board game night.
For the Eucharistic prayer service, four columns of chairs were set up in front of a small altar, with a crucifix to the left behind a wooden lectionary. All these things needed to be put away after we finished using the room.
A member of the permanent diaconate led the service and administered the Eucharist. He usually spends time in the morning doing personal visits with some of the inmates, but he hadn’t been able to get to them that morning because a young man came to his office just wanting to talk. He was at the service.
About 10 men were there, but as many as 15 attend on some days, said Buckham. Some received the Eucharist, but many of the men were not Catholic.
The coffee and cookie social afterwards offered a chance to speak with many of the inmates. They were open about their shortcomings, but they also shared about their families — many have wives and children — and what they wanted to do when they got out of prison.
Strangely, the most challenging thing about experiencing prison ministry was the limits on what we were allowed to talk about. I couldn’t talk about my wife or kids. I couldn’t say where I lived or what I did for a living. It made it difficult to see the value in what I was doing.
One inmate shared that he wants to start a business after he gets out of prison. His handshake was firm, and he had a warm smile. He has been in and out of prison for over two decades, and he offered thanks for my being there. Then he asked if I planned to return next week.
The men are clearly in need of comfort and connection. It’s easy to look at them and feel that they deserve the consequences of incarceration. After all, the scales of justice need to be satisfied, and whatever they did to end up in prison needs to be balanced with the isolation and loneliness of being institutionalized.
But something isn’t entirely right.
Charity supersedes justice, and Christ didn’t just request forgiveness; He commanded it. During the drive home, I found myself meditating on the significance of His charge to “visit the imprisoned” in Matthew 25:40. Whether someone deserves what they get is, in some ways, irrelevant. Ultimately, they deserve love.
What prison ministry offers the inmates, and frankly those who minister, is a moment of authentic connection. It’s a fulfilment of one of the essential charitable obligations Christians have. And if watching Buckham’s infectious joy as he played piano is any indication, prison ministry is incredibly rewarding.
One volunteer told Buckham that prison ministry has given him a profound “sense of purpose” because he knows visiting these men is “our mission on Earth.”
“It’s wonderful to be able to live and share my faith,” he said.