By Sam Aitchison
The Church Alive!
As I walked into the room, lined with chairs and a panel of speakers, I shook hands with the men who were about to present. Over the next half hour, I listened as they spoke about virtue, where motivation comes from, and what it means to follow Christ with one’s life. I walked out, inspired and reflecting on what had resonated with me. But this wasn’t a classroom lecture or a retreat. I was deep inside a maximum-security prison.
A few weeks ago, I had the opportunity to attend a leadership conference in Jefferson City, Missouri, where students from colleges and universities across the state gathered. As part of the conference, we visited the largest and most secure state prison in Missouri, home to 1,800 male inmates — many of whom are serving life without parole.
Walking through the gates, past layers of fences, barbed wire and warning signs, I felt uneasy. Yet, as I sat down and began listening to the inmates speak, my discomfort vanished. In its place, I felt something unexpected: hope.
Some of the men shared how they volunteer 40 hours a week sewing blankets for children with autism and cancer. Some create anti-bullying commercials to be aired by local TV stations. Others spoke about leading Bible studies and mentoring new inmates — men who often feel the pressure to “prove themselves” in prison.
During a brief Q&A at the end of our visit, someone asked why they chose to dedicate themselves to service and faith when they will never leave the prison. A 40-year-old inmate, serving life without parole for crimes he committed at 17, responded simply: “Because God has changed my life, and I feel called to serve him and others.”
Hearing these men — men the world has written off — speak about purpose, transformation and faith was nothing short of amazing and inspiring. It reminded me of a truth that Jesuit priest and Homeboy Industries founder Father Greg Boyle once said: “You are so much more than the worst thing you’ve ever done.”
The “success stories” of men in the Missouri prison I visited are inspiring and uplifting, but to say the entire prison is like that avoids reality. Seeing individuals banging their heads against walls and screaming — struggling with mental illness — was disheartening and made me realize how much work we as a Church have ahead of us to help love and heal our neighbors.
It’s easy to judge. Easy to label. Easy to believe that some people are beyond redemption. I carried some of those thoughts with me as I walked into the prison. But I left with something different: a sense of lightness, of hope.
Seeing God at work in the lives of these men made me reflect on my own judgements — how often I look past the humanity that our society deems “lesser,” whether they are incarcerated, undocumented or living on the streets. But who am I to judge? Christ sought out the sinner, the sick and the forgotten. As we continue through Lent, I find myself praying for the grace to see every person as Christ does — fully, with a love that knows no limits.
(Sam Aitchison is a junior at Saint Louis University. He can be reached at samaitchison6@gmail.com.)
