Prison Chaplaincy

Pope Francis reflected briefly on the visit to a prison this Maundy Thursday: “Every time I enter a place like this, I ask myself: why them and not me?”  (Vatican News)

For about 11 years I’ve been volunteering a day a week in a men’s prison, as a  lay Chaplain, and I love it – for lots of reasons!

The cycle ride takes me partly through lush, green parkland, and as I get through security checks and into in the Multi-faith Chaplaincy office on Monday morning, I find a wonderful team, with a Sikh Guru, a Roman Catholic priest, a couple of Imams, the Anglican Chaplain, and sometimes a Rabbi.  A great start to the day, but this is a place is full of paradox and contradiction.

I take a list of men who are particularly vulnerable on two of the five wings, and go and see these men of any, or no faith.  I don’t see it as my role to evangelise. If anything, I encourage the Muslims to be deeper Muslims, the Christians to be deeper Christians, etc. Sometimes  religion and faith are key issues for men, and for others, not. I meet and listen  to people and cultures that I’d never otherwise encounter, and my mind is opened to previously unimagined worlds, perspectives, sub-cultures, pain, rage and woundedness. I’m also sometimes astonished by occasional memorable kindness amongst inmates and the burgeoning  of amazing creativity and artistic talent. 

While life inside the prison for everyone is extremely tough, lonely, gruelling and stressful, for some it’s an opportunity to reflect on who they are, where they are, and why they’re there. Many have had little opportunity, desire or time to reflect on their inner world or feelings.  I’m not there to force anyone to open up. But maybe because I’m older than the prison officers (and maybe seen as ‘motherly’ or ‘grand-motherly’) and since prison is not an environment where men share their emotions or their ‘softer’ side with each other, they often choose to accept my invitation to “have a chat” in a space outside their cell.  Sometimes I see them weekly for months, or for years, on and off. If someone is on remand, awaiting  trial, they may be held in the prison for years – often losing contact with partner and children, losing their job, and accommodation.  The resulting stress often erupts in extreme anger and pain. My vocabulary of prison slang has soared. 

I mostly just listen carefully, and with a bit of encouragement, all sorts of painful relationships, losses, and life stories emerge, some not expressed before. Sometimes I have a hunch that something ISN’T being said, which could be helpful to be voiced. For some men, talking about what’s ‘real’, or ‘feelings’ is impossible, or scary, or they don’t have the language for it. So, occasionally enabling someone to put thoughts and feelings into words, and to feel heard, is crucial. Or just being silent, together.

Sometimes I’m a witness to almost unbearable stories. A friend once said to me that I must be ‘unshockable’. But I’m not. I’m often shocked – I just don’t show it, and sit with it. Wherever I am, inside or outside the prison, I’m interested in what ‘makes people tick’. So I’m interested in the many kinds of “truth” in my, or our, inner world and the outer world.  An encounter with even a fraction of ‘your’ truth can change your ‘direction’, I think. Maybe truth does set you free, but it  can be very subtle and elusive, and it can be an excruciating  journey.

As with all prisons which you read about, the inside scene is grim. Prisons are overcrowded, rife with drugs, gangs, vendettas, feuds and sometimes violence. Many are held in their cell for 22 hours a day. Food quality and very basic comforts are major issues.  You’ll have read about the Court backlogs, often resulting in trials being adjourned for years, and how poor remuneration of legally aided lawyers results in a dire lack of, and inadequate representation in court. It’s extremely stressful – and terrifying, awaiting your trial.  

Many of the officers are wonderful. Their role is hugely demanding, often exhausting. The one thing everyone in the prison needs, but nobody gets, is some individual care and attention. For many, they’ve endured this lack all their lives, and whereas we think of the ‘victims’ of crimes as those against whom a crime has been committed, in fact very often the perpetrators themselves are victims of abuse, deprivation, neglect, exploitation, lack of mental health care, poverty etc. Sometimes a period ‘inside’ enables a man to observe his patterns, and with courage, challenge them. Alas however, often men’s experience of the tough regime and challenges of their interactions with others in prison, perpetuates those patterns of deprivation or abuse which brought them into prison in the first place.  I sometimes reflect that if I’d been a few notches up some spectrum or other, and if certain conditions had been different in MY life, maybe I, too, would have made bad choices.

Sometimes my day is tough. I see men in huge distress, confusion, anger, helplessness or despair. Sometimes listening, or a conversation – or even shared silence with that man, releases a little bit of the distress.  Where certain conditions of acceptance and ‘love’ prevail, change is more likely to happen. 

I’m constantly aware, particularly on prison days, of God’s love flowing through everyone and ALL creation ALL the time.  I hear Lucy’s Easter sermon about the tormented man living among the tombs and how we all are in a sense ‘entombed’  or perhaps we could say ‘incarcerated’ with unhelpful mindsets. The Easter resurrection narrative invites me to trust in an ever flowing love beyond the tombs, that is healing, restoring and timelessly radiant.