In recent decades, seminaries have begun offering courses and degrees to incarcerated Christians, including hybrid classes where students on the “outside” can join classrooms on the “inside.” Many of these seminarians serve their fellow prisoners in formal or informal capacities following graduation. Christianity Today asked four men and women to address the American church or to talk to their peers from the perspective of Paul’s letter to the Philippians.
Wendy Denzler, master of arts in Christian ministry candidate at North Park Theological Seminary and works with incarcerated women at Logan Correctional Center
And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. (Phil. 4:7)
Prison is chaotic. It’s a place full of damaged people thrown together for the purpose of rehabilitation so they can become functional members of society upon release. But there is little rehabilitation going on, and it’s very hard to become a functional member of society when you’ve never seen one except on TV. So what do incarcerated people do? How can we “do our time” and come out on the other end of this prison journey as better human beings? I have found the answer in just two words: peace and purpose.
There is no peace in prison. The best we can hope for is a good “bunkie” who will allow us peace in our own little area (mine consists of my bunk and about four square feet of floor space). Chaos reigns everywhere else. We never know when a fight will break out or who will be involved or who will end up as collateral damage. We learn to be battle-ready 24/7/365, just in case.
Since outer peace isn’t an option, I turn to God for inner peace. Embracing the peace that cannot be explained (Phil. 4:7) is how I successfully “do my time.” Even though my mind has to stay partially focused on my surroundings, my soul is at ease. I know God’s got this, no matter what.
It doesn’t matter how my day goes or what happens; it’s okay because I belong to Papa God (my name for him) and he’s already decided my fate. This place isn’t my end; it’s just the beginning of the next stage with God. Like Romans 8:28 says, God will use my time here to help his kingdom, and I’m part of that kingdom.
From that inner peace comes purpose: I want everyone around me to feel this peace and know God. He gives me peace in my soul to get through this life and, once this life ends, true life with him forever. I want to pay him back and make my Papa God proud of me. Yes, I know nothing I can ever do will be enough to pay for this gift, but I choose to do things that my Father would enjoy seeing me do. These are my offerings to him.
My purpose is to love the rest of these messed-up human beings as much as God loves my messed-up self. My purpose is to show every person I meet that there is a way to thrive in the mess humans have made of this world.
I offer a listening ear and an empathetic heart with a cup of instant jailhouse coffee. I make a meal out of commissary food to share with someone starved for attention. I buy a pack of T-shirts for an intake (someone new to prison) and offer words of welcome and acceptance without ulterior motives. I check on the OG (original gangsta) down the hallway who’s been incarcerated as long as I’ve been alive. I remember birthdays and celebrate holidays with those who have nobody on the outside.
Why? Because these people are my family. They’re God’s kids, just like me. These things are a better witness than any Bible verses I could sport. I do lead Bible studies and answer questions about God when asked, but the human interaction and genuine caring teach way more. I don’t preach to people about God’s kingdom; I show it to them.
Every single inmate I know has a horror story about Christians who come to the prison to evangelize by saying things like “You’re here because you’re bad!” “Repent or go to hell.” “Give up the things you’re doing because they’re against the will of God!”
What about love? That’s the purpose God’s given every one of us. Inmates should be hearing, “I love you!” “I know you’re a mess, but so am I. I love you regardless, and God does too!” “I love you where you are and how you are, and so does God!”
I don’t want to fix people. That’s my Papa God’s job. Maybe they don’t need fixing. Maybe me seeing that they’re broken is just a reflection of my own brokenness.
God gave me purpose when he told me to love my neighbors like I love myself (Matt. 22:39). My job is to love them and introduce them to my awesome Papa God who wants to adopt them into our family. My purpose is to smile and say, “Welcome! We’re a huge ‘kind of messed up but getting better all the time’ family. Relax and enjoy yourself with us. Come hang out and meet my Papa God. He’s pretty cool and really can’t wait to meet you!”
Michael Simmons, master of arts in Christian ministry and restorative arts recipient from North Park Theological Seminary, teaching fellow with Lewis University’s Prison Education Program, and cofounder of Parole Illinois
Being incarcerated for 22 years, I’ve often been entrusted to provide care for others who are similarly situated. These opportunities presented themselves early on during some of my most trying moments of faith. In those days, it took some time for me to refocus my eyes on Jesus and begin to understand the work that was being accomplished through me in such a dark season of my life.
About 17 years into my incarceration, I embarked on a journey toward earning a master of arts in Christian ministry. I went on to graduate with high honors and earn several certificates, including one for pastoral care ministry.
However, prior to any academic achievements, God was teaching me that the most powerful witness and spiritual encouragement I could offer came first by affirming the very humanity, dignity, and value of those with whom I came in contact. Such inalienable rights had become foreign to far too many of God’s children living behind 40-foot concrete walls and barbed wire fences.
I’d never expected to be a spiritual leader, although in many ways it was in my DNA. My mother is an ordained minister, as was my late grandmother. I’d always been a quiet, introverted person, yet I found early on in my imprisonment that I had a knack for attracting folks who wanted to share their hurt and pain with me.
Vulnerability is often seen as weakness in a carceral context where toxic masculinity is the dominant trait.
Often feeling awkward and unsure how to respond, I mentioned this to my mother during one of our early-morning Sunday visits, and she offered me a piece of advice that helped me feel useful in these moments of unburdening.
“Sometimes,” she said, “we don’t need to say anything. Just listen.” She went on to explain how life-giving—and even life-saving—it could be for people to find a safe place to share what’s on their hearts and minds. So I continued to listen, and as I learned more of others’ stories, I learned to listen less passively and with more empathy and compassion.
In his first letter to the church at Corinth, the apostle Paul likened a lack of compassion to simply making loud noises. Encouragement in and of itself is unlikely to produce growth, which is why I strive to follow the example of Christ—Immanuel—in a “with you” approach.
My aim, then, is to exhibit a healthy concern not only for a person’s spiritual state of being but also for their physical, mental, and emotional states as well. When people understand that God cares in such a holistic way, it builds trust and prepares hearts for the good news of Jesus Christ. Like the very Word of God, encouragement is not limited to that which is spoken, but it becomes flesh, dwells among the “least of these,” and provides opportunities to be made whole.
Karen M., master of arts candidate at North Park Theological Seminary and inside board member of Parole Illinois
Whatever you have learned or received or heard from me, or seen in me—put it into practice. And the God of peace will be with you. (Phil. 4:9)
On my mirror I have a small saying: “Not all storms come to disrupt your life, some come to clear your path.” This saying helps remind me that there may be good that comes out of difficulties. One of the most meaningful texts that reminds me of this is Philippians 4:8–9.
In this passage, Paul is telling the church what to focus on in the midst of anxieties and adversity. As a woman who struggles with mental illness and has had years of therapy, I recognize that what Paul was illustrating for the Philippian church is what therapists call “reframing.”
How does one cope with a negative reality such as prison, poverty, or social injustice? Paul builds on what the Psalms teach—that even in the midst of awful situations, we still can think on things that are true, honorable, just, pure, pleasing, commendable, excellent, and worthy of praise (Phil. 4:8). This mental break from negative events in life allows us time to collect our thoughts, remind ourselves that we are children of God, and just breathe while thinking on a specific positive situation or person.
Jesus, of course, is the ultimate person to focus on, and he fits all of Paul’s descriptors. A short mental vacation helps our brain circuitry not get caught in an endless loop of despair. This moment to reframe also takes our focus off of self and negative emotions and places it on God and what God honors.
In some translations, the word dwell is used instead of think, and this implies deep thought, meditation, pondering. The passage comes at the end of a section in which Paul is addressing two women leaders within the church (Euodia and Syntyche) who are in conflict. Paul suggests that they resolve their disagreement by agreeing “in the Lord” or being “of the same mind in the Lord” (4:2), because it is the Lord’s interests and opinions that are ultimately important—not those of people in conflict.
Often when we are in conflict, our focus must be reframed on God. All Christians agree God is good, even when we don’t fully understand what God is doing within a certain situation. Once our focus is on God and what God values, the situation can often be resolved and often favorably for both parties.
Sometimes Christians must agree to disagree; yet both parties can still agree that God is good and Jesus is our Savior, preserving our unity in the faith. This also preserves our graciousness.
Last, Paul states that those in the church are to do—to act, model, and live out intentionally what they have been taught and what Paul has demonstrated to them. This doing follows reframing and implies that acts of graciousness, Christlike behavior, and hopefully reconciliation follow. Then the peace that only God can bring will come to the Christian and may even enter a difficult situation. In this way, Christian lives can be a blessing through the storms of life and possibly transform those storms into a path toward a better future for all.
RóDerick Zavala Sr., master of arts recipient in Christian ministry and restorative arts from North Park Theological Seminary, licensed peer educator, and teaching fellow with North Park University
I want to know Christ—yes, to know the power of his resurrection and participation in his sufferings, becoming like him in his death. (Phil. 3:10)
In Philippians 3, Paul turns from offering an affectionate letter of thanks to passionately sharing the true reason he has risked everything in the name of the gospel. Pointing to his own testimony, he condemns anyone who regards their worldly accomplishments or social status as something worthy of heavenly comparison. He denounces the haughty who associate worldly achievements with Christlike behavior.
The way Paul maintained his spiritual focus, even under the pressures of incarceration, proves that as Christians, we always have an obligation to represent the gospel. Christ has handpicked each one of us to display to the world God’s workmanship. Knowing this, the true believer realizes that the ultimate crowning reward will only come through imitating the love and humility of Jesus Christ.
As a contemporary church, we’ve lost our footing in terms of gospel fulfillment. We’ve allowed the trauma of our past experiences, the traditions of our cultural upbringing, and the training received from our social circles to divide us in our thinking and separate us in the ways we show our love. We’ve somehow convinced ourselves that personal effort and sticking to our own kind will one day lead us to know a complete Christian life in heaven.
The reality is, if we don’t begin to venture with our love beyond what we view as comfortable, then we’ll end up living a life of small progression toward Christ’s perfection. Our lack of fully imitating the love and humility of Christ will only leave us short of that heavenly goal. Even unto death, Jesus loved outside his designated cultural circle. He did so as an example of how we are to pour out our love to others.
As the church, we are to lead by example and influence the carnal world around us to operate in love and unity. Instead, we have adopted the faithless ways of nonbelievers. We perpetuate division and bias; we bicker over who is right and who should be seen as knowledgeable. Worst of all, we are causing irreparable emotional harm to our members as we continuously jockey to attain status positions that are of no significance in terms of heavenly citizenship.
Like Paul, I regard my past success as rubbish in order that I may someday gain Christ and be found in him (Phil. 3:8–9). Let the carnal world bicker themselves into destruction with their own belly as their god (v. 19). I choose to lean on my faith in Christ and trust that the path Jesus placed us on over two millennia ago is the Way to the kingdom of heaven.
In the words of Paul at the end of his epistle, “The grace of the Lord Jesus Christ be with your spirit.”
