From a Prison Chapel to a Community Beacon: Our Journey of Faith and Reentry

In 2004, I received an invitation that would alter the course of my life and ministry. I was asked to deliver a sermon at a correctional facility. At the time, I had absolutely no experience working with those impacted by incarceration. My religious training had centered on ministering to established congregations, but my personal faith, deeply rooted in the concept of redemption, compelled me to say yes.

I remember that Sunday afternoon in Nashville with vivid clarity. I joined two veteran volunteers in the prison chapel, an austere space with a seating capacity for approximately one hundred men. We brought in elements for communion and quietly arranged the worn songbooks. When the announcement finally went out over the compound that a Christian worship service was beginning, the atmosphere shifted.

When the door opened, men began filing in. Within moments, every seat in the sanctuary was filled, and men were lining up in the back of the room. I was struck by how many of them clutched their Bibles. These were not casual attendees.

A Powerful Realization

When the singing started, the room erupted. The men participated fully, singing out with joyful hearts despite the stark, outward reality of their confinement. When it was my time to speak, I delivered a homily from the Book of Romans. Throughout the sermon, shouts of “Amen” and “Praise the Lord” rang out—words I rarely, if ever, heard from the comfortable congregation where I preached every Sunday morning.

When the service concluded and the last “Amen” was whispered, the men lined up. Most of them wanted to shake my hand and thank me for coming. This, too, was a new experience. At my regular church, the parking lot was often empty minutes after the final prayer, as members rushed off to local restaurants.

That small, profound experience—seeing the hunger for hope in the faces of those inside—inspired me. I couldn’t walk away. What started as a single visit grew into a robust church-based ministry. Before long, our congregation was deeply invested in working with the incarcerated. Eventually, we had 20 members participating in services across Nashville prisons and local jails, joining hands with a legacy ministry that began in 1963—two years before I was even born.

A New Chapter, A Broader Vision

Today, God has moved me and this ministry into a different role. I rarely preach in a prison setting anymore. It is not because I no longer have the desire—the chapel remains a special space to me—but because the work has demanded I focus on leadership.

As we spent years ministering behind bars, we realized that while faith was crucial, it wasn’t enough on its own to help these individuals succeed upon their return to society. They needed a bridge. In 2013, we took a leap of faith and spun the church-based ministry into a dedicated nonprofit organization focused on holistic support.

Since that transition, the progress has been a testament to what is possible when a community shows up:

• 2015: We renovated a historic church building and opened our comprehensive Reentry Center.
• 2017: We built a new men’s duplex to provide much-needed transitional housing.
• 2020: We opened our first dedicated facility for women.

Looking to the Future, Rooted in Hope

The work is far from finished. Today, I can look out my back window and see the rising frame of our new 18-bed home. This facility will provide long-term housing for women who have successfully graduated from our core reentry program, offering a final step toward true independence.

I no longer spend my Sundays in the chapel, but my work is no less spiritual. Today, the men and women in our program frequently stop by my office to share their incredible progress or their honest struggles. I see the same hope I saw in that prison chapel in 2004, but now it is amplified by the reality of their freedom.

I still see God at work in this ministry every single day. The setting has changed, but the mission has never been clearer: to provide a pathway of hope for those coming home.