Fayetteville parish joins other churches in prison ministries

Parishes minister to inmates in 17 state and federal prisons

Published: February 21, 2009

By Patricia May
Fayetteville Correspondent

Sandra Ware

Pamela Houle (left), Bernadette Slammons, Michael Huber, Joe Beffa and Rosemary Petruconis meet at St. Joseph Church in Fayetteville Feb. 13. The parishoners are part of a prison ministry that meets Thursdays at the Northwest Arkansas Community Corrections Center.

Sandra Ware

FAYETTEVILLE -- Michael Huber wanted to be a deacon, but Church officials didn't think he was ready.

Disappointed but unfazed, Huber talked to his parish priest and walked away with a challenge.

"Father Brad (Barber) challenged me" to set up a prison ministry, he recalled.

That was several months ago, and Huber and parishioners at St. Joseph Church have risen to the challenge.

Huber leads a small but dedicated group of volunteers one night each week to the Northwest Arkansas Community Corrections Center in Fayetteville where they pray the rosary, distribute Communion and generally, just let "the girls," as they call the inmates, know someone cares.

The St. Joseph group is one of several prison ministries throughout the Diocese of Little Rock. Tom Navin, diocesan director of social action, said all 17 state and federal prisons and community corrections centers in Arkansas are served by Catholic lay and ordained ministers. He counts at least 125 Catholic volunteers throughout the state, including nine priests and two nuns.

But it's not easy work. Prison ministries are a special type of ministry, Navin explained. Volunteers should be caring but nonjudgmental; empathetic but not necessarily sympathetic; and the feeling of claustrophobia some people feel when the prison doors clang shut behind them is too much for some.

"You spend 15 or 20 minutes just getting in," Navin said. "When they lock that door behind you, there's a feeling life is over."

Kathy Matthews is a volunteer who knows the feeling. She confessed to the inmates early on that she's claustrophobic. Their response? "They said, 'What about us?'" she said laughing in a recent interview.

Matthews, a parishioner at St. Joseph, said her ministry is different.

"I do Respect Life," she said.

But one day after Mass last year, she found herself wondering whether there was a prison and about the people inside. She drove around the prison in Fayetteville and asked a grounds maintenance worker, "Where's the prison?" "There," was the reply.

She inquired about getting inside to talk to inmates and soon was reaching out to the prisoners.

At about the same time, Huber was discussing his dream of becoming a permanent deacon with Father Barber. In challenging Huber to establish a ministry, the priest suggested he talk with Matthews.

Huber knew Matthews because his own family faced a serious crisis last year when his wife was critically injured in a motorcycle accident. The St. Joseph community had reached out to help the family while Crystal Huber recovered, and Matthews was one who helped.

She's adamant in saying the prison ministry is Huber's, but the facility chaplain, Tom Browder, clearly believes Matthews is an asset.

When eight volunteers showed up recently for the regular Thursday prayer service, Matthews volunteered to stay outside because she didn't want the group to overwhelm the small number of inmates who attend.

Browder wouldn't hear of her leaving without visiting. "You're special," he said.

The group signed in, clipped on visitor badges and Browder escorted them through a locked door and downstairs. "You're here!" one of the girls squealed upon spotting Matthews. The young woman is especially happy because she's going home this week. Throughout the evening, she bubbles with excitement about her impending release and cheerfully de clines the chaplain's joking request that she linger a few more weeks to participate in his Easter play.

Most of the conversation between inmates and volunteers could easily have taken place in any Arkansas living room. There's talk of the recent devastating ice storm that left thousands of customers -- including the prison -- without electricity for days. The yellow-clad women tell of being without heat or warm water in the facility for five days. Huber asks whether the women are part of the community clean-up detail. When one says she is, Huber warns her to be careful. "We'll pray for you," he said, and he shares news of a couple of storm-related incidents resulting in fatalities.

About six of the 100 inmates eventually join the group. There's Communion for those who wish to receive, blessings for those who can't. Huber has rosaries for everyone, and one inmate volunteers for the Gospel reading, another does the Scripture readings for the rosary.

Huber's interest in serving prison inmates is perhaps not surprising. A former Marine, he is a police officer for the city of Greenland, a small community south of Fayetteville, so he's familiar with the kinds of people inside the jailhouse walls, sometimes, literally.

The experience can occasionally be awkward.

"I've actually met people I've put in prison," Huber said. One woman who Huber had arrested actually "apologized for what she'd done."

Huber said he told her his mission that evening was not as Officer Huber.

"I'm here tonight as Michael to help your spiritual needs. In here, it doesn't matter what you've done."

The woman started crying, he recalled.

"God is always there, no matter what. People do find Jesus in jail," Huber said.

"When you're dealing with these folks ... you know they've done something bad and you don't want to judge them for that," he continues. "The state's punishing them. ... But God forgives."

Bernadette Slammons is another St. Joseph volunteer. Since December, she has visited the facility each Thursday, missing only once during the ice storm.

"These are young people and you think their lives are just starting. ... We all make mistakes," Slammons said. "All we're doing is giving them some kind of support."

Not all the inmates who attend are Catholic, and some are Protestants who wish to become Catholic. The Rite of Christian Initiation of Adults is offered in some of the prisons; it's more difficult in one like the Fayetteville facility because the parish priest, Father Barber, is already pressed for time serving his congregation at St. Joseph, Huber said. The Fayetteville group has had Mass at least once.

The Fayetteville facility is a community corrections center where the inmates have committed felonies, but they're going through rehabilitation. Their sentences are generally shorter than more hardened inmates who are sentenced to terms in the state pentitentiaries. They are all offered the chance to attend religious services offered through the Church as are prisoners at the low-security federal prisons in the state, diocesan prison ministry director Navin said.

Inmates in the prisons may be handcuffed and shackled, chains running from their waists to their ankles when the prison ministers attend, unlike the ladies of the NWA Corrections Center, all non-violent offenders who wear sandals or tennis shoes with their lemon-yellow uniforms, their hair cut short or pinned up above their collars.

"I find it personally inspirational," Navin said. "Some people have done some really bad things but (they have) the realization they can be forgiven by God ... and they have a spiritual path. That's kind of refreshing."

The December feast of Our Lady of Guadalupe is very big inside the prisons, Navin said, particularly among Hispanic inmates. Bishop Anthony B. Taylor said Mass for the occasion at the Forrest City Federal Correctional Complex. More than 200 people showed up. "(Prison officials) knew that many might show up, but we didn't," Navin said. "We were totally shocked."

It was, Navin added, "the highlight of my holidays."

Msgr. Jack Harris, pastor of St. Mary, St. Patrick and St. Augustine churches in North Little Rock, celebrates Mass weekly for inmates on death row, Navin said. Recently, five inmates have asked to attend. The prison system allows only three inmates at a time, so Msgr. Harris "has to say two Masses," Navin continued.

Additionally, Catholics in Arkansas have taken on the Kairos Prison Ministry program, intended as a non-denominational ministry but currently "they're all Catholic guys." The Kairos volunteers conduct 21/2 days of spiritual exercises for inmates, similar to Cursillo, Navin explained.

"It turns a lot of guys on to formal spirituality. ... Graduates of Kairos usually get very uplifted."

Volunteers at the prison system must go through a three-day training course administered by the facility in order to get inside the prison and minister, Navin said. "You can't change the prison system. The warden is the king."

The volunteers are currently preparing for Ash Wednesday, Feb. 25, another big day for many inmates of the prisons, Navin said.

"This year, we've asked permission (to) distribute ashes all week" instead of just on Wednesday, he said, explaining there aren't enough volunteers to reach all the facilities on one day.

For more information on prison ministry, contact Navin at (501) 664-0340 or , or visit the prison ministry page on the diocesan Web site, http://www.dolr.org/offices/catholiccharities/prisonministry.php.