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December 29, 2017
Every week of the year, the Diocese of Nashville’s small cadre of dedicated prison ministry volunteers can be found behind the walls ministering to the “least brothers of ours,” as well as helping recently released prisoners forge a new path in the free world.
Janis Lovecchio, director of RCIA and adult faith formation at Holy Family Church in Brentwood, speaks with a prisoner at Riverbend Maximum Security Institution during an Advent retreat held at Riverbend on Dec. 9. Photos by Theresa Laurence
During the Advent season, volunteers from Holy Family Church in Brentwood joined a group of prisoners at Riverbend Maximum Security Institution for a day-long retreat that included Mass, reflections, group discussion, and an exceedingly rare chance to eat deep-fried fast food.
The desire to meet both the spiritual and human needs of the prisoners – the hunger for a good and satisfying meal, a tight hug, a message of hope – is what draws Deacon James Booth and other volunteers “inside the walls” on a regular basis. “We want to bring a little bit of humanity into their world,” said Deacon Booth, director of prison ministry for the Diocese of Nashville. “The volunteers are there to be the face of Christ.”
During the Advent retreat Mass, inmates and visitors spent a few extra moments to exchange the sign of peace with handshakes and hugs. For a brief time, it’s almost hard to tell who lives on which side of the concrete, barbed wire and locked doors, as they simply greeted each other with a smile and a warm embrace.
That embrace, Deacon Booth said, “is the best practical expression of forgiveness we can offer. It shows that you don’t consider them a leper, someone who’s branded forever. It’s an important signal that we’re all humans on this pilgrimage together.”
When ministering at Riverbend, the state’s highest security prison that houses violent offenders and the state’s death row inmates, Deacon Booth often encounters men who have committed some of the most heinous crimes imaginable, including rape and murder. “They messed up extremely badly in life, and have struggled to move beyond it,” he said.
Deacon James Booth, director of prison ministry for the Diocese of Nashville, speaks during an Advent retreat held at Riverbend Maximum Security Institution on Dec. 9. A mix of Holy Family parishioners and inmates spent the day together, which included Mass, group discussions and lunch.
When developing a relationship with an inmate, it’s essential to start from a place of non-judgement, Deacon Booth said, since he ministers to all-comers, no matter their criminal conviction. “I never ask them about their charges. It might poison your view of them. I prefer to meet them where they are now, not where they were 10-20 years ago,” he said.
‘Humanity retained’
Catholic teaching on criminal justice and the treatment of prisoners draws from Jesus’ explicit instruction in the Gospel of Matthew to visit the prisoner: “Whatever you did for these least brothers of mine, you did for me,” he teaches, whether these “least brothers” were hungry, thirsty, a stranger, naked, ill or in prison.
While not diminishing the harm that offenders have caused to individuals and society, Pope Benedict XVI and Pope Francis in recent years have both expressed their solidarity with prisoners, noting that no person is beyond the reach of God’s forgiveness and mercy.
In their 2000 document, “Responsibility, Rehabilitation, and Restoration: A Catholic Perspective on Crime and Criminal Justice,” the U.S. Catholic bishops wrote: “A Catholic approach begins with the recognition that the dignity of the human person applies to both victim and offender. … A Catholic approach does not give up on those who violate these laws. We believe that both victims and offenders are children of God.”
They go on to say that “both the most wounded victim and the most callous criminal retain their humanity. All are created in the image of God and possess a dignity, value, and worth that must be recognized, promoted, safeguarded, and defended. … Solidarity calls us to insist on responsibility and seek alternatives that do not simply punish, but rehabilitate, heal and restore.”
‘Spirit is vibrant’
And yet, prisoners remain out of sight, without a voice, easily forgotten, and judged as unworthy by those on the outside. “It’s hard to get people to go behind the walls. It’s not a pleasant ministry,” said Deacon Ted Welsh of St. Joseph Church, who has worked in prison ministry for 20 years. “You’re dealing with people who are experiencing shame, guilt, grief.”
However, to him, the ministry is “a joy,” and Deacon Welsh has a passion for it that few others can match. “It’s about being present to the men, buoying their hope.”
Prison ministry may not be “pleasant,” but it can be richly rewarding. For Janis Lovecchio, director of RCIA and Adult Faith Formation at Holy Family, “prison ministry is the last ministry I ever thought I’d be involved in.” But that changed about two years ago when Deacon Booth asked her to write a Christmas card to an inmate, and an on-going pen pal relationship quickly formed.
Nervous, but curious to see “a whole other side of life,” Lovecchio decided to visit her pen pal. “That first visit was a turning point for me,” she said. “In one of the places I’d least expect to find Christ, I did.”
Since then, Lovecchio has taught a writing workshop at the Tennessee Prison for Women, attended retreats at Riverbend, and developed personal relationships with several inmates she visits regularly. “They become part of your life,” she said.
While the men and women she visits are physically in prison, “we’re all imprisoned in one way or another,” Lovecchio said. Inside the walls, “where everything is stripped away … the Spirit is vibrant.”
To help incarcerated men transform themselves on a daily basis, Deacon Welsh encourages them to adopt monastic practices. He has instituted a new program, “The Order of St. Moses the Black,” based on the lives of cloistered religious orders and centered around prayer and discipline.
“The men can imitate the conduct of monks and build up the body of Christ through a life of prayer and service,” Deacon Welsh said. This includes praying the Liturgy of the Hours on a daily basis and living a disciplined Christian life while incarcerated.
To find hope in prison, the inmates “must surrender, must trust in God, who loves them no matter what they’ve done,” Deacon Welsh said.
Susan Becker, a cradle Catholic, said she has “never felt so much support from a Catholic community” as she has since being incarcerated at the Metro Davidson County Jail. Those who minister to her, including Lovecchio and Deacon Booth, “know everything about me but accept me anyway. … They can’t magically fix everything, but are there for moral support.”
Currently serving time for violating probation, Becker is set to be released January 2018.
Deacon Booth and other visitors from Holy Family have kept Becker supplied with Catholic reading materials, but it’s not always easy to get much more than that into prison. “It took an act of Congress to get a rosary in here,” she said, and the opportunity to celebrate the sacraments is rare.
“It can be very, very challenging to keep the faith,” she said. “It’s very loud and obnoxious in here … it’s hard to keep the faith and look at people around you as brothers and sisters when they’re screaming and pushing you out of line.”
Becker has been connected with Holy Family’s prison ministry program for about a year, and officially became a parishioner last spring; the parish has been actively welcoming inmates, including men on death row, as parishioners for several years.
Becker wrote in a letter to her fellow parishioners, “I do feel like your parish is my family. I am starting my life over from scratch, and Holy Family has been my support system.”
“If it wasn’t for prison ministry, I would be very lonely and lost,” Becker said. After her release, “I want to stay strongly connected to church. I feel that’s the only way I’m going to make it. I want to give back.”
Post-release challenges
Ministering inside the state’s prison system, as well as in Core Civic’s network of for-profit prisons in Tennessee, is no easy feat, with a seemingly endless series of complex bureaucratic hoops and restrictive rules to follow, just to visit prisoners. If deacons wish to bring in communion or priests wish to celebrate the sacraments for incarcerated Catholics, they must receive additional permissions. But that may actually be the easy part of prison ministry. It’s when former inmates are released, with no safety nets to catch them, that the true hard work begins.
“There are many more challenges in ministering during the post-release phase than inside the prison,” said Deacon Booth. Prisoners inside the walls are of course fed and housed in a controlled environment, but once they are released, “many of them are lost souls,” trying to rebuild their lives from scratch, Deacon Booth said.
While the Diocese of Nashville’s prison ministry volunteers are inspired to serve, guided by church teaching that affirms the inherent dignity of every human life, they also offer practical, real world assistance that contributes to public safety and the common good.
In their reflections on criminal justice, the U.S. bishops write that, “Our tasks are to restore a sense of civility and responsibility to everyday life, and promote crime prevention and genuine rehabilitation. The common good is undermined by criminal behavior that threatens the lives and dignity of others and by policies that seem to give up on those who have broken the law.”
According to the Tennessee Department of Correction, 97 percent of offenders currently incarcerated in the state will be released one day, and they will need significant assistance from a dedicated support network to make the transition into society.
‘Anxious, excited, scared’
Becker, who previously served time and was released before returning to prison earlier this year, knows the challenges of the post-release period first hand. “Unless you’re one of the very fortunate people who has family to live with, or gets into a halfway house, where you have to have money for deposit and rent, it’s really hard,” she said, speaking over the phone, on an account paid for by Deacon Booth.
Looking toward her release date in early January, Becker is feeling “anxious, excited and also scared,” the mix of emotions swirling as she readies to re-join society and rebuild her relationships with her mother and teenage daughter.
She will soon be navigating the free world in a new way, without her husband, who recently passed away, and without her house, which was lost to foreclosure while she was in prison.
Prisoners receive only minimal assistance prior to their release and are largely on their own to secure post-release housing, which is difficult enough in Nashville for law-abiding working adults, next to impossible for a convicted felon with no job.
“When they are first released, most of them have nothing,” said Deacon Welsh. Tracking down basic necessities from toiletries to clothing to an affordable rental can be a hustle.
As her spiritual director and mentor, Deacon Booth has been working with Becker for months on her quest for housing, which he calls “hugely frustrating” and “a nightmare of a search.” Landlords, like employers, are often wary to take a chance on ex-felons. Through a network of prison ministry volunteers, Deacon Booth recently secured an apartment that Becker can rent, which will cost no more than 30 percent of her limited income.
‘Marshal our resources’
While things “won’t be easy, not by a long shot” for Becker to make it after she is released, she has a better chance with the Holy Family support network behind her. Having such a network can mean the difference between success and falling into old, bad habits and landing back in jail, Deacon Booth said.
In addition to receiving adequate treatment for substance abuse and/or mental health issues, the biggest factor for post-release success, Deacon Welsh said, is mentors. As a member of the board of directors for Aphesis House, a halfway house with several locations around Nashville, Deacon Welsh has seen the difference that mentors and a strong support network make.
“If they can find a church to be part of, that also helps with the transition,” he said. “St. Joseph has opened its arms to men in transition,” he added, with parishioners welcoming halfway house residents and supporting them financially as they get back on their feet. Over the years, the parish has supported 41 men and women transitioning from prison to halfway housing to long-term stability.
Sharing his ministry with parishioners and encouraging them to have a personal encounter with the incarcerated or newly released populations, “works to educate people about the human being behind the prison garb,” Deacon Welsh said.
Deacons Booth and Welsh would like to develop a more formal post-release program as part of the Diocese of Nashville’s prison ministry. “We want to marshal our fairly limited resources to better organize the post-release side, to collect and codify the resources that will allow us to serve better,” Deacon Booth said.
Prison ministers need up-to-date information on housing leads, reinstating a driver’s license, enrolling in food stamps, and other vital services for newly released men and women, he said. “We don’t want to reinvent the wheel every time.”
For now, both deacons are involved with the Tennessee Department of Corrections’ Take One program, which encourages individuals and organizations to mentor an offender prior to their release and assist them on the outside as they transition back into society. Take One is an effort to reduce the state’s recidivism rate, which currently stands at 46 percent.
If a parish works together to adopt a Take One mentee, “they have to be ready to walk the walk,” Deacon Booth said. Former inmates, especially those who have served lengthy prison sentences, are “radically incapacitated,” often exiting prison with little practical knowledge of how to function in the modern world, he said.
Take One volunteers “are not just here to be a friendly face, but must be ready to offer a substantial amount of post-release help,” Deacon Booth said. This might include driving the newly released to job interviews, helping them pay outstanding court costs, shopping for groceries with them, or making doctor’s appointments.
When Becker is released, she will need assistance with all of these tasks. But perhaps her most important task is to do right by her teenage daughter. “I have to be a good example, careful with the decisions I make,” Becker said. “I know she’s waiting to see what I do with this chance I have. I feel like I have a second chance at life.”