Prison Ministry - When grace and justic meet

Staff writer, Eleni Arapoglou joins Prison Fellowship’s Field Director, Kevin Maddock on a journey into Victoria’s prison system.  Kevin also works part-time for Footscray Church of Christ.

Christians often struggle with the adage: Love the sinner, Hate the sin. Often the scales tip too far. Identifying too deeply blurs objectivity, glosses over accountability and offends our need for justice. Concentrating on behaviour alone breeds self- righteousness, confirms pious stereotypes and guarantees resentment. The stern school master or the empathetic sufferer approaches haven’t always served our communities well.

Yet, there are times when this model finds its harmonious expression. Kevin Maddock is Prison Fellowship’s field director, co-ordinating prison volunteers throughout Victoria. Entering two high security prisons with Kevin there’s a humble easiness in his stride. Officers warmly acknowledge him and inmates engage him in light conversation. Minus the red suit - with his ruddy cheeks, twinkling eyes, soft voice and healthy midriff you’d be forgiven for thinking St Nicholas just dropped in.

In his 45 years of visiting prisons, Kevin’s sat with many of their notorious guests. For the inexperienced like myself there’s awkwardness in meeting men whose infamy is splashed on newspapers’ front pages. Whilst I desperately try to flip through a mental catalogue of opening lines, ‘Nice to meet you’, ‘How’s your day?’, Kevin displays an authenticity in posture and conversation that’s natural and unassuming. 

But how does he offer civility to men whose crimes terrify? In Kevin’s experience there’s always a story behind the people. Newspapers and true-crime television tell the significant, hellish part of that story, but not their nightmarish backgrounds. He says many prisoners come from severely dysfunctional families and end up on the streets. “It’s something that shapes their childhood, a lot of physical and mental breakdown in relationships.”  It’s probably why Kevin’s lost his appetite for crime drama. “It’s boring after the real stuff,” he laughs. More likely, its years of listening to painful details unburdened that diminishes its entertainment value. 

“Visiting people with that much grief is an enormous privilege but also an enormous weight,” says Kevin. He says for all but those totally out of touch with reality or sadistic, most are aware (not necessarily remorseful) of their crime. Leading up to imprisonment, offenders are held in police custody, tried in court, remanded and sentenced. Prison visitors need to offer another dimension.

“That’s why I focus on grace because it’s the only thing that can help them,” says Kevin, “It’s not our place to stand in judgement…everything including our body language should show something of grace, not showing intimidation or imposing. You’re building a relationship with people…in the process of visiting someone they may not want to talk about their crime or how they’re feeling.”

For that reason, initial conversations are usually brief. “On average the first visit may only be eight to ten minutes,” says Kevin. Often, it’s a one way exchange. Following arrest many (especially first time offenders) retreat into despair. “Sometimes you find people are so horrified with what they’ve done, they go into deep denial. You could torture them to death and they’d deny it saying it wasn’t them.” He tells of a prisoner who didn’t speak a word, hung his head, keeping his eyes on the ground as Kevin asked the usual questions about food and sleep. “He only looked up when – as I usually do – I put my hand on his shoulder and said: ‘I’ll be praying for you’. That’s when he looked me in the eye,” says Kevin in that soothing voice barely above a whisper.

“You’ve got to find something to relate to,” Kevin explains. “Asking about food and sleep…whether they’re getting mail, family support…you’re expressing to them your concern about their wellbeing.” Usually, they’ll interpret it the same way. Someone cares. “Next time he was happy to see me and the third time he wanted to chat and share life,” says Kevin.

A common misconception is you have to come from an inmate’s world to relate to one. But Kevin says (and shows) otherwise. “Prisoners will tell you, to get a visit from someone that’s neither green or blue (prisoners or officers) is a touch of normality that’s really treasured because it’s a link with the outside world.” 

Prison visitations are a work in progress. “It takes time,” says Kevin, “I try to look for something good in their life that we can talk about.” As we traverse various areas of the prison it’s astounding just how many details he knows of each individual. A favourite niece, sick parent or passionate hobby. “It puts a different colour or spirit on the conversation,” he says. 

Prison is generally mundane. Like old women whose life is invigorated only through scraps of gossip, the prison grapevine assures word of anything new spreads quickly. “They’re aware we are from a Christian background because once you visit one unit and talk to one person, next time you visit everyone will know who you are,” says Kevin. This means eventually they may ask deeper questions. “It reinforces to me that we don’t take the Lord or the gospel into prison but that he’s already there working. It’s our job to identify what God’s already doing.”

“Some of the guys will ask, ‘Why do you do it?’ or ‘I wish I could be like you’,” explains Kevin with a shy smirk. And although sometimes it leads to inmates embracing faith he cautions against treating them like conversion scalps and moving onto the next target. “One prisoner asked me, ‘If I never became a Christian would you still be my friend?’ - it’s a good question.”

Lately, Kevin says he’s noticing himself shift further toward pacifism and reflection, enjoying nature and travel shows and pre-dawn walks while listening to readings of the book of Genesis on his MP3 player. “I’m fascinated with the story of Adam and Eve and how the ‘lostness’ can be repaired,” he says. How can so much evil be undone? The story is as much about consequences of behaviour as it is about divine redemption. For Kevin, it shows Christians can and should have a genuine moral problem with criminal behaviour, but still move forward with compassion. “Grace doesn’t cover up, or diminish the consequences of their crimes, it just makes a way back once they’ve reached a realisation,” says Kevin.

Hours after we’ve left the prisons and headed home, there’s a deeper sense of having been in the presence of someone truly gracious. A saint of sorts did drop in that day. But he didn’t ask if they were ‘naughty or nice’. He just extended the gift of mercy.

Eleni Arapoglou