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Mary Prevost lives in Royal Oak, Michigan. She is a
Eucharistic minister, assists with RCIA, and just started
training to facilitate ChristLife in her parish of St. Lucy
in St. Clair Shores. Her primary ministry is working
with the incarcerated. Mary holds a Master of Arts in
Pastoral Studies from Sacred Heart, 2013. She enjoys
walking with her dog, Casey, as Casey with tail wagging
evangelizes as they bring Communion to homebound
neighbors.
My Inmates, My Friends
Mary Prevost
W
hen I graduated from “The Heart” last year with
a Masters in Pastoral Studies, I thought “Now
what, Lord?” Then, a path appeared.
I’ve been in prison ministry for about eight
years. What’s changed now, though, is that I
have clearance with the Michigan Department
of Corrections as an Outreach Volunteer. I am
able to call out any inmate in any Michigan
state prison for a pastoral visit. The hours are
long, the commute is awful, the pay is terrible,
and there’s no possibility for advancement. In
addition, sometimes I’m made to sit and wait for
hours to see an inmate. As if that’s not enough,
I’m subjected to a demoralizing search. And yet,
it’s the most rewarding thing I’ve ever done.
Going into a prison isn’t for everyone. It’s
not my inmates I fear but the system that ties
their hands as well as mine. I look forward to
our visits and for most it’s the only one they
get. Prisoners are God’s anawim, his little ones,
forgotten by everyone but him. Their loneliness
is overwhelming. I feed them as well as I can
from the offerings in the vending machines. The
food in prison is unappetizing and the portions
small. On visiting day, though, it’s as if I’ve
taken them to a four star restaurant.
I’m allowed to take in a Bible but I don’t. My
inmates know Scripture better than I do. Jesus has
called me to be his hands and his feet on this path
and I choose to do that by the example of his life,
as Jesus always fed his flock before instructing them.
I’ve been invited to speak to a few church
groups about my ministry. Public speaking is not
one of my gifts; I take the path when it appears,
though, because the laity needs to know about
these men and women. The speaking stipend
allows me to send a food box to my most indigent
prisoners, things you and I take for granted: coffee,
packaged food, and toiletries. It allows me to send
books on birthdays and at Christmas.
The questions I’m most often asked are “What
do you talk about?” and “Aren’t you afraid of
them?” These are my friends. I talk about my life
and they talk about theirs, and at the end of the
visit, we say a prayer. When I visit Fran, she asks
that we pray for her victim’s families. Inmates
have made mistakes, bad choices, usually while
dealing with the nightmare of addiction or a
dysfunctional family background. Oftentimes,
their childhoods have been filled with neglect,
abuse, and even mental illness.
Sometimes our suffering is a gift from God in
that he empties us of ourselves and fills us with
him. The jour