Day 2. Simon, a prison Chaplain

The first time I read the word ‘metanoia’ was in a letter sent to my Bishop, recommending that I should begin training for ministry. The precise words were ‘it is clear from his story and as a result of his life experiences and subsequent reflection that there has been a moment of metanoia in Simon’s life.’

Metanoia literally means to change your mind. But it has a deeper meaning. In the original Greek it is the word John the Baptist uses that has come to be translated as ‘repent’ and of course it doesn’t make much sense for him to say, “Change your mind. The Kingdom of Heaven is at hand.” The word means more. In fact the opposite of metanoia is paranoia – to not be in your right mind. The word metanoia doesn’t mean to just change your mind; it means a fundamental conversion in the way you think.

Understood this way the use of the word started not just to show that someone clearly knew more about me than perhaps I did myself, but, with further reflection, to make sense. But that only came once I had got over feeling so affronted.

You see I am what they call ‘a cradle Anglican’. I was born into the Church of England. Among my earliest memories are Sunday mornings spent on hard pews, staring at stained glass windows to relieve the boredom of sermons I didn’t understand and, unwittingly at the time, committing to both brain and muscle memory the liturgies, traditions, movements, smells and the breath of all that was going on around me. That was enough, it seemed, to sustain me for life.

Until one day, at around the age of 40, it was no longer enough. I won’t go into detail but, for many reasons, mostly self-inflicted, my world collapsed. I was homeless, jobless, addicted and could no longer perceive any value in myself. And all that religion that I had acquired over so many hundreds of Sundays had nothing to offer.

But like those two disciples on the dusty road to Emmaus I was, from nowhere, joined by a fellow traveller who, with the greatest of patience, began to reveal to me certain truths that had failed until then fully to register – I am loved; I am made in God’s image; I am known (and have been known forever) by God and He wants me to know Him.

I did not know it at the time – it would take another 10 years before I read the word – but at that moment, on my own dusty Emmaus road, metanoia happened. In truth, it’s still happening. My road to Emmaus is a long one, as long as the rest of my life. Some meet God on a Damascus road. The moment is brief, powerful and all-consuming. Others, like me, are assigned a different path. The type of path is not important. The only thing that is important is the willingness to change and be changed.  Our traditions, the things we inherit, are significant. They are often full of beauty and promise. But without metanoia their full beauty and promise can remain concealed.

Heavenly Father, I thank you for the gift of change. I thank you that no matter how far we have drifted away or how low we have fallen change, through you, is always possible. May all those who need change in their lives and in their thinking be ready to recognise the possibilities you offer. May all who have become held down by old behaviours or lack of opportunity become open to the hope of metanoia. And may you empower those who long to do your work so that they may be ready to answer your call to bring the good news of change to those who need it. Amen.

Day 3 Louis – from Darkness to Light

My name is Louis, and I grew up in a city in the West Midlands. I was just three months old when my mum left and never returned. My dad, a strong and loving man, stepped up to raise me and my two older brothers on his own. He did the best he could, and we were surrounded by his side of the family—my grandparents, uncles, and cousins. We were close. But behind the scenes, my world was broken.

At around two years old, my dad married a woman who had four children of her own. One of her children began sexually abusing me—a horror that continued until I was eight. I never told anyone. That silence turned into deep anger, confusion, and pain that followed me for years.

At 10 years old, my grandad—who meant the world to me—passed away from cancer. Watching him fade away broke something in me even more. I didn’t understand life, death, or why everything felt so dark. I found comfort in the wrong places—hanging out with older kids on the estate, getting into drugs, alcohol, and crime. By 13, I had tried to end my life. I tied a bedsheet around my neck and tried to hang myself. But God intervened. Somehow, I was filled with a burst of energy and managed to break free. Now I know—it was Him who saved me that night.

By 14, I was fully lost in drugs, drink, armed robberies, and chaos. One night, I found myself high, walking through the city centre, and I stopped in front of the cathedral. I stared at the cross, frozen, and for the first time, felt a strange peace. God was trying to reach me—but I wasn’t ready.

At 15, I was sentenced to 6 years and 9 months in prison. While there, I started attending chapel services. I wasn’t fully engaging yet, but seeds were being planted.

After my first year in prison, I was moved to a new jail because of my behaviour. I didn’t know it then, but this move was part of God’s plan. The prison was about four hours away from my dad, which made visits hard—but it placed me exactly where I needed to be. Just two weeks after arriving, on New Year’s Day 2017, I was called from the exercise yard and brought into a room where the chaplain was waiting. That’s when I was told my dad had a massive heart attack the night before. I was crushed. Ten days later, he died. I was broken, completely undone.

But it was there, in that prison, just three days after my dad’s death, that Jesus Christ revealed Himself to me in my cell. From that moment, my life began to change. The chaplain at that prison became like a father to me. He didn’t just preach the gospel—he lived it. He prayed with me, taught me, believed in me. I truly believe God moved me to that prison so I could meet that chaplain. His support, guidance, and love played a massive part in leading me into a real relationship with Jesus.

But three days after my dad passed, something happened that changed my life forever. In my cell, crying and broken, I had a vision. I saw my dad standing before me, and behind him was a man with His hand on my dad’s shoulder. The man looked at me and said, “I have him. He’s okay now. Follow me.” That man was Jesus Christ.

From that moment on, everything changed. I felt an overwhelming love fill me. I started attending chapel properly, got involved in Alpha and Bible studies, and eventually gave my life to Jesus. Six months later, I was baptised in prison.

After serving half my sentence, I was released at 19.  the chaplain and key worker helped find me a church, but I struggled. I wasn’t ready to let go of old friends or deal with the trauma I’d buried deep. I fell back into drugs and drinking. This time though, I had conviction—I knew God was real, and I couldn’t live in sin and call myself His.

I had a daughter with a girl I met, and I tried again—attending church, staying off the drugs and drink—but I still hadn’t surrendered everything. The trauma kept me chained. The relationship broke down, and I went back to my old ways.

Then one night, high and broken in my flat, I dropped to my knees and cried out to God like never before. I begged Him to take it all—the pain, the trauma, the shame—and be Lord of my life. His presence came over me again like a flood. That night, He took away all cravings for drugs and alcohol. I started reading my Bible every day. I finally opened up about my childhood to my daughter’s mother, and God began to truly heal me.

I contacted the chaplain who had become like a father figure to me and told him everything. He helped me apply to Mattersey Hall Bible College. I was accepted—and during my time there, I sought God with all my heart. I was baptised in the Holy Spirit, and my life has never been the same.

Now, I’m a mentor in a secondary school, helping kids who are walking paths similar to the one I was on. I share the love and truth of Jesus with them. I stand before you today, overwhelmed by the love of God and the freedom He offers. Through His guidance, I have come to recognise the vital role of the next generation in our world. Therefore, in His name, I am committed to establishing a children’s home for those caught in the system. My aim is to nurture these children within a loving Christian environment, where they can grow as disciples. All glory be to the true and living God, who saves, redeems, and fills us with a love and acceptance that is unparalleled.

All glory to the one true living God—who saves, redeems, heals, and fills us with a love you won’t find anywhere else. Amen.

Day 4. Susie, a prison governor

I had grown up as ‘an Anglican’, always loving my church, church community and the traditions that came with it, but little did I know how much more there was to experience in coming to really know Jesus as the father and son and in welcoming the Holy Spirit into the dark places of our souls.

My journey in faith began to deepen as I undertook an Alpha course at the same time as joining the prison service, on a fast track scheme from prison officer to prison governor, in 2004. From what had been quite a sheltered and privileged childhood, I began to experience the extent of the darkness and emptiness that is in the lives of some of the broken people I had come to work with, and felt that the mission of restoration for these people and for the world was well beyond humans; it required something much bigger and wiser. My faith became increasingly important as I navigated this.

Sometimes in my work, prisoners would be so desperate (especially during the pandemic) and would ask, ‘Gov, how would you deal with this if you were me, being locked in your cell for hours on end’. Since they’d asked about what ‘I would do’, I gave an honest answer, ‘if I was locked in a cell on my own all day long, I would get down on my knees and talk to the Lord, because he is always ready to spend time with us, even when no one else can’.

I know of a few prisoners who were so desperate, that they would kneel down and beseech the Lord, and would sometimes come to know and experience him in a sudden and profound way. I was always amazed to see these hopeless individual’s lives transformed into a new thing, but also a bit envious of this, my relationship with the Lord has taken 40 years of nurturing and it’s still a relationship that needs constant commitment and furthering, but it was prisoners that showed me how.

Working in prisons can be far from glamourous and as I got involved in some of the really grotty and difficult parts of prison life, I would hear a whisper in my ear that would say ‘whatever you do for the least of them, you do for me’, this is also a quote that can be found in the bible (Matthew 25:40). I knew that no matter how bad a crime someone had committed, how destructive their behaviour was in prison or how low they had fallen, God knew them, saw them, loved them, and longs for all of us, whoever we are, to repent of our sins and to be in relationship with him.

In serving in prisons, I have found that my heart breaks for the same things as the Lord’s, but too often I have tried to respond to this in my own strength, instead of handing it over to the Lord. After 20 years of service in prisons, my worry and concern for the brokenness in the world developed into very serious anxiety and a number of other health complications, and the Lord had led me into a place where I could no longer do life in my own strength. I went for prayer with some very wise people, and one of them had a prophetic picture for me, ‘it’s a big wall, that has stood firm in your life and served you very well, but it’s beginning to crack and you need to let it come down in order to see the beautiful things that God has prepared for you the other side’. I knew that this wall represented prisons, I just couldn’t believe that God would want me to stop serving in prisons. I wasn’t immediately obedient, thinking that I knew better then the lord, but in so many ways, he made it abundantly clear that that was his will. The Lord prepared me well for the change, when out running one day, I heard a voice repeatedly say ‘read-the-bi-ble’ in the same rhythm as my step, I had a dream that there was going to be a lot of media attention about my resignation, but that it would all be well and that it would be used to his glory as Paul did when he was in prison

Adjusting to life outside prison hasn’t been easy, it was initially a journey of grief and confusion, but for this season he guided my through the words and deeds of Psalm 23: ‘The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He restores my soul. He guides me in paths or righteousness for his names sake. Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me’.

Everything about Psalm 23 played out in my life, and then I began to have promises of great joy, and begun to see the blessings upon blessings that the Lord had prepared for me to see, once the wall had finally come down. As well as a rewarding change in career direction, and an understanding of how the Lord had prepared me to work in the care system (with children in care or those who have experienced a childhood in care) as I got more into my bible and drew more deeply on the Holy Spirit, I have been reminded of ‘the fruits of the spirit’ (Galatians 5:22-23) which are love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self- control- and who doesn’t need more of all of these?

I wandered passed my local church just this week, I saw a poster of a broken wall and it said ‘let Jesus help you rebuild your life’, and I am.

Lord, we thank you that you are always there. Whether we chose to hang in our own strength, or risk letting go so you can catch us and hold us, you are always there.

I am sorry for the times that I have tried to do life in my own strength and I pray for humility to continue to seek your way for my life.

Thank you, Lord, that your word cannot be bound by chains, or restricted by walls, that you know and love each one of us and always leave the door open for us should we chose to walk more closely with you. Amen

Day 5. Lynda

I had been attending Sunday school for a number of years and now aged 14yrs I was thinking of leaving. My wonderful Sunday school teacher sensing I may leave, then asked the class if they would like to hear a missionary share their story. We all agreed and went the following week to hear a man called Ken Terhoven.

I listened with much interest and when he made an appeal at the end of his preaching, I decided to go forward to accept the Lord Jesus into my life. My life was changed completely.

I married Mick, who was also a Christian,  and we have two children, a daughter and a son. In 2002 I came home to find Mick and two Police Officers in our house, and heard the dreadful news that our son Paul had been killed in a knife attack.

We were shocked and heartbroken, but as we identified Paul’s body we had a strong sense that this tragedy had a higher purpose. I had been a Christian for 36yrs by this time and had experienced God’s comfort many times, but our needs seemed to be so great and I wondered how God would  bring us through this terrible loss. His main  words to me were “will you trust Me.” and “Follow Me.” Showing me that God clearly had a plan to bring us through our grief. He did in an amazing way, and through an unexpected source of comfort.

Mick was pastoring the church at this time and my job was coming to an end when I heard of a ministry working with the Police and Churches. I went to a meeting to hear about this prayer initiative and knew this was God’s guidance for me. I was asked to be a prayer coordinator and was given a link person in the police who would give me prayer requests and my role was to get those requests out to churches.

In 2006 I met a volunteer for Prison Fellowship. He knew our story and asked would I share our experience in HMP Liverpool. I agreed at once and waited for the day to arrive.

I had mixed feelings as I walked up to the prison gate. After being introduced to the team we made our way up to the prison chapel where I was to share my story on a Restorative Justice course called the Sycamore Tree. (The name was taken from the story of Zaccheus in Luke 10 who climbed a Sycamore Tree to see Jesus)

It came time for me to share my story and I sobbed my way through it, but after sharing details of the attack on Paul, I began to tell them how,  as a Christian God had comforted me and brought healing to my life. As I spoke the tears stopped and as I looked out at his group of 14 men, my heart was touched by the Lord. I saw their brokenness, and was filled with His compassion.

I went on to share how Mick and I had forgiven the two men who had taken our son’s life, and how powerful forgiveness is. We had been set free from anger, hatred and bitterness, and it had brought us much healing. The men looked astonished by this, and afterwards came to speak to me, and asked could they too be forgiven to which I replied “yes if you repent, God will forgive you.”

What a roller coaster of emotion, but what an amazing experience. I asked the Lord as I left the prison to “please bring me back” and he did for the final session of the course when the men shared what they had received from the course. One after another said how they had been affected, and what it had meant to them. Some tears were shed, and we all marvelled how the Lord had touched these men.

Now I knew for certain this was meant to be. I felt God call me to work with Prison Fellowship and now I have shared my story for 19yrs on 230 Sycamore tree courses in 30 prisons.

It has been an amazing journey, full of purpose, and I have seen how the Word of God has been powerful to change lives.

Dear Lord, we praise you for who You are, the great Almighty God, maker of heaven and earth. We thank you for the freedom Your word brings. We thank you that you have given so many opportunities to bring Your word to those in prison who don’t know You. We pray that Your Holy Spirit will touch every heart, and bring change to lives of people who are in darkness. Reveal Yourself to them Father, and bring them to salvation. In the Name of Jesus. Amen

Day 6. a serving magistrate

“Let justice roll on like a river…” Amos 5/24

“We are not here to help – we are here to do justice” – the words of a very wise and learned Justices’ Clerk who trained me for the Magistracy have stuck with me for all of the 33 years serving on the Adult (Criminal) Bench and the 30 years adjudicating in the Family Court. But what is that “justice” that we all seek and serve?

Justice is about the application of the law. Having had a grandfather and father who both served 30 years in the Police, and having a son who has served as a Senior Probation Officer and headed up a national Christian Prison ministry for over 15 years, I have been steeped in the law and its application. Having served in pastoral ministry for 34 years, my work as a Magistrate has been a natural yet profoundly challenging part of my life. Being a committed Christian is pivotal to both ministry and magistrating, but how?

I seek to serve as a Magistrate with humanity. The people who appear before you, whether defendants or parents, are human beings made in the image of God. Something has gone awry, but it is my task, and that of my colleagues, to deal with the matter with humanity. Jesus always saw beyond the problem to the person. Jesus walked with the wounded, talked with the troubled, reached out to the wrecked – but was also never afraid to “say it as it is”. That’s justice and mercy walking hand-in-hand!

I seek to serve with humility. Always remember “there but for the grace of God go I”. Magistrates are not judges – judging is something they do, not something they are. Magistrates are not there to judge people – but to apply justice to what they have done. It’s absolutely vital to remember that distinction. It’s the “Jesus principle” in action.

I seek to serve with hope. Justice is not just about the here and now. W/hat about tomorrow? How can the defendant be encouraged to desist from reoffending? How can the estranged parents be encouraged to work together for the good of their children? What of those trapped in the cycle of debt, alcohol and drug abuse, unemployment and homelessness? What of partners eaten up with the bitterness of broken relationships and hatred? Where is hope to be found? I am not afraid to ask defendants that very question: “Do you think there is hope for you?” My Christian faith is the source of my hope – and I will often (privately) pray for the people I meet. After all, if Jesus lived and died for anyone, then He did it for you. There is hope!  “Let justice roll on like a river…” and let it flow through me.

Lord, in the hopelessness and helplessness felt by so many whose brokenness brings them into the courtroom, give Your wisdom, sensitivity, clarity and grace to those who are called to serve in the judicial system. We pray today for Judges and Magistrates, that they may serve with integrity and truth, humanity and humility, seeking the good of others for the good of society as a whole, upholding Your standards and offering hope with honour. We also pray for those who serve in the judicial system as Probation officers, Prison officers, Legal Advisors, solicitors and barristers, and all administrative staff. May they offer their service with humanity and humility, and together may we seek to honour You in all our ways. Amen.

Day 7. Ann

My dad was arrested two weeks after taking an almost fatal overdose. I was only a few months into my twenties with a four-month-old son and a sister still in school. Growing up, I had never enjoyed a particularly positive relationship with my dad, but what happened to him wasn’t fair. He had been let down by the systems designed to protect him. I carried – and still carry – a lot of guilt for not staying with him and protecting him from himself.

Living on the ‘wrong’ side of the justice system is a lonely place to be. People I thought were friends stopped responding to messages. Even those I thought I could trust told me to accept that my dad was guilty and move on. It wasn’t a bereavement that evoked sympathy. If only ‘justice’ were so black and white, and not a muddled grey mess that leaves you holding several conflicting truths in mind. Someone can be guilty in the eyes of the law but remain a victim. They can be both an ‘offender’ and a parent you love.

Having my son was a turning point, and when we became the family of someone in prison, I knew I didn’t want him ever to feel the loneliness I had felt, especially as a young adult navigating the justice system. Baptised as a baby, I had grown up Anglican with a strong Catholic influence from my grandmother, but I had never ‘felt’ God in my life. Something changed when my dad was arrested. I felt a strength I hadn’t felt before, and a call to go back to church. It dawned on me that I didn’t need to be alone, that it wasn’t all on my shoulders, because God was with me.

People often ask me how I can have faith when there is so much suffering. I always share my experience working in a children’s hospice, where I saw God at work every day through the care staff, volunteers, and families there. It wasn’t a place of suffering; it was a place of love. Our prisons should be the same. When I came across the role at Pact, I knew it was a step I had to take. If my experience as a prisoners’ daughter could help one other person, I thought, the suffering would have been worth it. No one should feel alone.

This October, I will have been working at Pact for four years. As Paul patiently accepts his troubles to help “those God has chosen,” I often feel that we at Pact live with frustration, anger, and even despair as we try to bring hope to people in prison and their families. The wheels of criminal justice reform turn slowly, and we are not always liked for the truths we share. But people at the receiving end of ‘justice’ remain God’s people. They are worthy of His love and ours. My job is to make sure this message is not chained.

Lord Jesus, we are so quick to judge others, when you would pour out grace, mercy and love. Open our eyes to the hidden victims of justice—the children and families of the convicted. Give strength to those supporting loved ones while battling society’s stigma and shame. Thank you for the work of churches, charities like Pact, and all those striving to fix a broken system. How loved are we that you came, not to condemn us, but that we might be saved through you? May all those affected by imprisonment know the Good News is for them. Amen.