The Meaning of Service
Folks who know me well are familiar with the fact that I always tend to have my hands in a few different pots at any given time, engaging a variety of interests and hobbies in order to remain active in my life and present in my community. I deeply believe in the power presence and showing up, so I show up to some fairly diverse opportunities.
Earlier this year, a completely new opportunity presented itself to me - the opportunity to help lead a sung church service on Good Friday within the Denver Women’s Correctional Facility (DWCF). It was a powerful experience - I passed through doors, metal detectors, walls, fences, and a series of blockades and heavy gates with my pastor, my friend and church cantor Jamie, and husband Jeff by my side. We then entered a gymnasium where a small group of incarcerated women had already set the space for worship - the altar in the center, a simple cross laid on top, the chairs in an expanding circle around the altar - inviting all to come, to sit, to stay for a while.
The moment I stepped into that gymnasium, the inside became the outside. I was no longer inside the prison; I was beyond that confined space and in the greater church.
New Beginnings Worshipping Community (NBWC), the congregation whose worship I was invited to be a part of that evening, is the only church community that is wholly within the prison. All other religious engagements the DWCF inmates can participate in are the outside coming in - external congregations entering the prison to provide services. NBWC has its own pastor, its congregants are those who opt into participation while they are serving their time, and the community (thankfully) experiences a decent amount of turnover. And, to be completely honest, that sounds just like every church I’ve ever entered here on the outside.
That night, Jamie, Jeff, and I were tasked with singing the Gospel according to John: The Passion of the Christ. In this piece, the text has been arranged in the style of a Gregorian chant, using a common tone and a handful of melodic runs to diversify and amplify each character’s voice while entrancing the listener, pulling them into the story. Jamie served as the narrator; Jeff as the crowd, Peter, and Pontius Pilate; and I as Jesus himself. We intentionally casted ourselves this way, as we were two men and one woman, and we felt it important that the voice of Jesus cut through differently. And cut through it did. The chatter and the whispers and the giggles hushed, and a reverent presence hovered in the room. Bodies stilled and softened, breath deepened, some eyes closed while other heads bowed. When it was finished (oh yes - that pun was intended . . . you’re welcome, my fellow religious nerds), I was filled with a greater sense of energy and peace, and I dare say so were many in that room. “That was so cool”, “I’ve never heard it like that”, and simple expressions of “Thank you” came our way as the congregation walked out and returned to their cells.
I then walked out of the prison knowing I would be back. Once at home, I signed up to return on Mother’s Day. I wanted to experience NBWC not as a leader, but as a participant - as a fellow member of the congregational body. And, looking at the calendar, I felt called to do so specifically on Mother’s Day - for while this Hallmark holiday is complicated for many (it is surely for me), I felt confident that showing up and remaining present on this day would allow me to hold and be held in community the way my soul was crying for. And of course, as predicted, this indeed came true. The gymnasium was much more packed this day than on Good Friday (we had cupcakes in tow so surely a chunk of the crowd was primarily there for a rare treat), and I bore witness to the band leading hymns, friends encouraging each other in their reading of the scriptures, women praying for their moms passed, present, removed, and to come. The Hallmark card of it all faded away - there were no obligations, no requirements of how to show up and participate, and it didn’t matter what kind of mother you had, were, may or may not be - you were welcome to be present, and to hold and be held by one another in this moment of the sacred feminine.
Needless to say, at this point I was hooked. I exited the prison again, this time frustrated that I had not yet opted into obtaining further clearance from the Department of Corrections (DOC) to attend more regularly - to move from an “escort needed” volunteer who had a limited number of visits per year, to a “basic volunteer” level who could be my own escort, or indeed escort another, and could come regularly. I submitted an application, and once approved, attended the DOC’s Basic Volunteer Training (BVT).
BVT was an intense, but enlivening, very full day. As a healthcare provider, many of the trainings were on topics I was quite familiar with - privacy, communicable diseases, the American Disabilities Act - but presented with a new lens I had never considered before: how these concepts and rights apply to an incarcerated setting, to a population who has had many of their rights paused, if not removed. Navigating society on the outside is challenging in its own right, but on the inside, volunteers must be ever-attuned to the additional nuances of the room, and how being removed from society has affected the minds, hearts, and bodies of the people we’re interacting with. It’s a new level of person-centered care (a term that is thrown around constantly in healthcare), where the goal is not simply a safe and quality interaction between two people as it is on the outside, but a safe and quality interaction that promotes the incarcerated person’s success. BVT made it clear: while these women are serving their time, my role as a volunteer is to serve their humanity, that they might find success within, or perhaps one day beyond, these walls. The incarcerated person’s success, is the touchstone for every volunteer’s choice of action or inaction, movement or stability, engagement or silence. It is surely no light task.
But I find myself energized by that challenge. I feel I am up for the task, God willing and walking beside me. I look forward to the next step in my BVT process - the facility tour - later this month, and to leaning into presence with the NBWC community during the waiting season of Advent. I don’t know what I am to learn, how I am to grow, the mistakes I will assuredly make in this upcoming communal work. But I trust that God lit this fire within me for a reason, and that if I continue to take the next step, the meaning of service will expand before me, refining my understanding of the human experience and my role in promoting restorative justice, healing, and the success of all whom I encounter.
May it be so. Peace, beloveds.
