As I walked back from the guard station to my car the tears were welling up in my eyes. I was determined not to let them spill over until I was inside my own vehicle. This was so backwards! What kid of person cries because she can’t get INTO prison?? But there I was, sitting in my car feeling disappointed and sad, more for the women inside who were waiting on me than for myself. At least I knew what had happened; they would simply not be called to gather this day and would only be able to speculate as to why. I felt so badly for them; without a Kairos volunteer those who truly want to share their struggles on their faith journey and pray as a community would not be able to.
Prison ministry is not for everyone, but it appealed to me. I went inside as part of my first Kairos Weekend team almost 6 years ago, and I’ve been serving as a volunteer ever since. I have been on ministry teams and spoken at retreats before, but this was different. The unit in which I serve is a maximum security facility. Some people are unable to overcome the fear of being in a place with such high level security. It prevents unauthorized visitors and contraband from entering the unit, and inmates from escaping the grounds of course. But the high fences topped with rolled barbed wire that outline the grounds, armed guards in corner towers, constant perimeter patrol can be quite intimidating, not to mention the thick metal entrance doors opened only by a guard in another room for one person at a time.
Time, that’s another thing about volunteering in a prison. Leave your watch behind before driving onto the premises. Prisons have a daily schedule, but there are so many things that routinely interfere with it: malfunctioning computers, inadequate staffing for the day, the frequent turnover of staff which usually means very slow processing. Plus the things that can happen on the inside to disrupt the day – a fight breaks out or keys are missing which means instant lock-down (and nobody, visitor or staff, is going anywhere during lockdown), or a prisoner obtains a weapon and a guard or other inmate is held hostage. These are things I know about from my visits.
But time to the person on the inside is viewed altogether differently. She anticipates, or dreads, her day based on what the time. Is it time for count, or a prayer gathering, or a meal, or visitation? When something she looks forward to each week doesn’t happen and she won’t find out why until at least the following week, it can add to the despair and lack of hope that permeates the very walls of the place.
Don’t get me wrong. I understand fully that the people in prison, certainly the great majority of them, are in there for a reason. Doing time is part of the consequences of their actions; I don’t advocate for fancy digs or luxury items for them. Incarceration also keeps the community safe from those offenders. But for those in prison who truly, honestly desire to change their life when they get out, they need every bit of encouragement, help and hope while they are there. I want to be a part of the solution to reducing crime, for their sakes and for the safety and prosperity of us all. Low recidivism rates benefit all of society.
I realize we can’t rehabilitate the entire prison community, and even if we could many of them aren’t open to change. Ah, but what how wonderful to be a springboard for the hope of a better life on the outside. Especially if we can show them eternal hope for life on the other side. Now that is a thing worth doing. Which is why I don’t feel bad for my time spent driving to the unit and over an hour trying to get in only to be told that somehow my name got ‘dropped off the list’ and the warden would not let me in. My job is just to be a willing servant; it is the work of God and His angels to make heart-changes on the people inside, whether I make it in on a given Saturday or not.
One of the things I love about Kairos is the way that my volunteer name tag gets me onto the grounds so easily. It’s not my name that carries any weight; it’s the cross with the name of Christ and the Ichthys - the ancient Christian symbol - that acts almost like a free pass at the first guard station. Just like any visitors to a maximum security prison, we and our vehicle are subject to full searches at any time. When I am on foot anywhere on the grounds, and certainly before entering, I must be ready to be wanded and patted down. But to drive up, show my ID and my name tag and be waved on through instead of have my car searched bumper to bumper always amazes me. I live in a world where if I flash that name tag I’m more likely to get ridiculed or attacked than a smile and wave, and the irony of it strikes me afresh every time. Here the name of Christ is appreciated – the correctional officers have come to appreciate the difference a consistent Christian ministry on the inside can make, for them and the prisoners they guard. They know we are here to help, not to try and bring in contraband. Even as I write it, it sounds crazy – I get excited about my cool ‘access pass’ to get onto the prison grounds, and I’m moved to tears when I can’t get inside.
I pack away my name tag in its cloth pouch and say another prayer for the women who wait. And once again I take up my shield of faith - one of the enemy’s flaming arrows made it through today and interrupted my work, but it’s just one day. He doesn’t have that special name tag, and the servants who do will return week after week, knowing that we have nothing to fear, a kingdom to inherit and ultimately a victory to celebrate.
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