A Day in the Life of a Prison Chaplain

The second week of October is usually kept in the church as Prison Week. It is an opportunity to pray for our prisons and for prisoners.  

This year the Roman Catholic magazine, The Tablet printed an article I had written about a day in the life of a Prison Chaplain. It is fictional of course but drawn from experience.

---

07.45am Heading into the gatehouse, putting my car keys, coins, belt and coat into a plastic tray as it passes through the scanner. I walk through the airport type scanner shouting ‘good morning’ to a member of staff just leaving after their night shift – sounds like it was a busy night. Picking up prison keys and a radio, clip both onto my belt. Its routine and is sometimes accompanied by an ‘arrow prayer’.

08.05am Arrive at the Chaplaincy office unlocking and locking behind me nine gates on the way. Put the kettle on and decide to print off the Statutory Duties list. These are the lists of the men in health care, the segregation unit and the reception wing we are required to visit each day.

09.00am In our prison the Governor meets with department representatives to review that last 24 hours and plan for the day ahead. I go to the meeting on behalf of the Lead Chaplain. I learn the prison is full to capacity, that the hot water is not working on B Wing and a young man had been tying ligatures over night. He will have a Care Plan Review later in the day.

09.45am I’m on the rota to visit the Segregation Unit so head down there, sign in and try and feel ‘the temperature’ of the place. A couple of men are obviously unhappy and are banging their cell doors. I can’t hear myself think it is so noisy.

Prisoners are confined to a cell in this area often because they have been violent on the wings. The task of the chaplain is to check on the men’s welfare. I’m looking at the state of their cell, how well or otherwise the men are dressed, have they eaten today, did they sleep etc and I’m available for a chat.

The man who was banging his door wants to complain to me so I give him time to vent. The cell door is closed and locked so we talk through the hinge in the door. It means we can only see an outline of each other but if I put my ear to the hinge I can hear him, (it also means I can get spat at really easy). It feels a bit like a confessional. He goes on and on about the injustices around his arrest and how he really shouldn’t be in prison. Once his anger begins to subside he asks if I will pray for him and his kids who he has not seen for weeks. It turns out he is Roman Catholic so, through the gap in the door hinge I cobble together a prayer asking the Lord to bring peace and rest to the man, to his cell and for his children. We say the Hail Mary together. I ask him if he would pray now for me and he does, beautifully and powerfully. I feel sure the prayer of the prisoner is swifter than mine to the loving heart of God.

10.30am I’m walking back to the office through A wing when a prisoner stops me. He asks if I would pray for his mother. In the midst of noise and people shouting he wants this prayer now, its urgent. He tells me his mother is dying of cancer and says how he wishes he could see her one more time. I can’t begin to know the man’s anguish, imagine being in prison and your mother dying? So in a little oasis of prayer I whisper into his ear a prayer for him and his mother. God’s sufficient grace is going to have to hold him because he has precious little else.

The chaplains need to make an application for this man to visit his mother. I explain the process to the man and head back to the office. There is a lot of work to do, phone calls and security checks to be made and we need to do this quickly, we don’t know how long his mother has. Thankfully another chaplain has taken on this job.

11.00am I need to sort some admin for the Sunday service. We have a choir coming in to sing with the men. The choir member’s names, their addresses and the equipment they are bringing will need to go to the gatehouse. I print off the form hoping that each choir member will bring their ID on Sunday. On the way to the gatehouse to deliver the form a Senior Officer asks if I could attend the self-harm care plan review for the lad who was ligaturing over night. She gives me 15 minutes to drop off the gatehouse form and visit the loo.

11.25am I’m in the Senior Officer’s office. A thousand warning and information notices and posters are pinned on the walls competing for attention which no one will give. Folders, forms and paper documents are scattered everywhere on the officers desk and floor – its chaos. The Senior Officer sits behind her desk looking overwhelmed – she is. The young man sits in blood stained clothes waiting for the review. His arms are bandaged, so he has been cutting himself quite badly as well as making ligatures. There are nasty red marks around his neck, this really does look quite serious. The review is supposed to be multi disciplinary but the Mental Health nurse is not able to attend so we crack-on.

The young man spills his tragic story. He says he has PTSD and is fearful of his cell-mate, the dark nights, the showers, the officers, his father and actually much of life. How can there be so much sadness and damage in one so young? Somewhere on the landing a whistle is blown and the heavy footfall of officers are heard running past the door to some incident. At any moment an officer will burst into the sadness and intimacy of this room to report on the unfolding violent episode. The young man begins to tremble at the noise and he weeps. What hope of healing for this man in prison? He’s got no money so he is given a phone call to his mum and some colouring books and puzzles to distract him. The officer ensures he has a shower on his own and a clean set of clothes. The lad said he would like to go to church on Sunday so I need to make sure I put him on the list. I promise to come and see him on the wing later this afternoon.

12.15pm It is almost time for a sandwich and a chance to catch up with the other chaplains. The Imam has been running around preparing for Eid next week, but he has been able to visit those men who arrived into prison last night (about 15 men all together).

The Roman Catholic Chaplain has also visited the small heath-care unit, so we are working through the Statutory Duties. This afternoon the Sikh Chaplain is coming in to lead worship for the Sikh men. Officers already have the list of those men and will start unlocking after they return from lunch.

The Hindu Chaplain reports has he has almost completed the application to visit a dying mother for the man on A Wing. He will probably go tomorrow but the first he will know about it is when officers are banging on his door tomorrow morning. The visit date and time will be kept very confidential for security reasons.

13.00pm The prison is quiet we are on lockdown for the officer’s lunch period. It is a good time to prepare the service for Sunday. It will be a service of the word with prayers for healing and wholeness with anointing. All worship is transformational but there is something very real about the worship in prison. Men arrive to worship in their often torn and dirty grey tracksuits. They are hungry to hear God’s word and to receive the Sacraments. I have prepared a short homily from the Gospel. I know I will have total quiet and attention from the men. It is as if their life depends on the nourishing word.

14.00pm The Sikh Chaplain rushes in breathless to say only one officer has been assigned to his service, can we help gathering the men for his service? Myself and the Roman Catholic chaplain take the unlock lists and head to the wings to unlock the Sikhs. How grateful the Sikh men are, not only to attend their service, but they say thank you to us Christians for helping the unlock. There is something wonderful in the way the faith groups in prison share the work-load. Next week we will be helping the Imams with the food at Eid, they in turn will help packing the chocolate at Easter.

14.35pm I have more visits to do. Chaplains are required to see, every week, those on a self-harm care plans. These are people who have been cutting themselves or threatening/attempting suicide. In our prison that is about thirty people which we divided between the full time chaplains. Sometimes we are able to share their visits with their volunteers. I visit three wings visiting four men. Two are asleep, a third said he didn’t want to see me, a fourth wanted out of his cell for a chat. It took ten minutes to find an officer to unlock the man and then to find a place for us to talk. We sit on broken chairs in a room with clearing materials and a bucket with dirty water in it. It has probably festered there for days.

The man doesn’t really want to talk about his self-harm. Instead he asks why God doesn’t seem to hear his prayers, how he so wants to turn round his life and how impossible it is to read the book of Deuteronomy.

15.15pm I’ve remembered I promised to see the young man ligaturing over night so go back to his wing. Along with the rest of the wing he is locked away having had exercise earlier in the afternoon. When I arrive he is looking out his cell observation panel. He is looking cleaner and in fresh clothes. We are talking through the door again, he tells me he doesn’t want to cut himself but its so hard. He has found a sharp bit of metal in his cell and he is tempted to use it. He is looking worn out and tired.

I suggest it is impossible to be outside of God’s presence – he agrees it is an idea to say a few prayers from Night Prayer. This gives an opportunity for Psalm 139 “O Lord you have searched me and know me…..Where can I go from your presence…….” healing words pass through three inch metal doors and into both our soft bodies. We pray together the Lord’s Prayer and the Hail Mary and I close with “Visit this cell, Lord O Lord, we pray, and drive far from it all the snares of the enemy; may your holy angels dwell here and guard us in peace, and may your blessing be always upon us…………” The lad says he might have a sleep now and I move away, but he calls me back. He slides the sharp bit of metal under his cell door for me to take.

16.15pm I’m walking back to the gatehouse and out into the freshness and the very different ‘every day’ outside of prison. For a very short moment I’m confused by the ‘normality’ of the outside world and the world of noise, violence, blessing and faithfulness I had just left.