Prison evangelism in Hertfordshire

Note: The name ‘John’ has been used throughout to protect the identity of the individual concerned.

Counties evangelist Kim Hobbs reflects on accompanying a man through his final years – a man society had all but forgotten.

There was rain in the air when I arrived at the crematorium, but it quickly cleared and the sun appeared. The sparkling new brick building, with its Scandinavian-style timber pillars, stood proudly in broad, flat parkland. I found the two relatives who had attended, and then met briefly with the crematorium manager to make the final arrangements.

One by one, the others arrived. My colleague Eamonn. Three members of the probation team who had supported John. And then his next-door neighbour – which was also very special. It was a small gathering, but what struck me immediately was the warmth in the room. As we shared stories, what fascinated me was the genuine affection that everyone there had for this man – against whom society had posted such a terrible crime. His niece told stories of her childhood. The probation team, Eamonn and I shared memories of John’s passions for sport and politics, his generosity, his extravagance and his phenomenal memory. It was comforting, and yet at the same time it tugged at our emotions.

The service was informal and chatty, and offered numerous opportunities for both laughter and tears. Eamonn and I shared our faith with the small congregation through brief testimony, and we read Psalm 23, followed by a time of quiet and reflection. It was, in so many ways, a beautiful and fitting time – quiet and dignified, as befitting the man himself.

I cannot lay out for the reader the nature of John’s crime. It is enough to know that he shared time in prison with some of the most notorious criminals in this country’s recent history, in its most secure prisons. He acknowledged that he had, at times, been a very bad person. He was what Paul referred to as the “worst sinner” (1 Timothy 1:15). When probation first asked us to support him, and before I had even met him, I was challenged to ask myself honestly whether I could face him, knowing what I knew. I decided that this was precisely what we are called to. Matthew, Mark and Luke all record Jesus telling us that it is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick. For that reason, we continue to reach out to the least, the last and the lost. This is the core of the Gospel – no more, no less.

What I did not expect was the man I actually met.

John was always cheerful, displaying gratitude, humility and kindness towards Eamonn and me, and to others. He always asked after the welfare of people we had previously spoken about – he remembered. It was as though he was starved of family and friends, and he loved to hear about mine. He told me he had learned from his mistakes and wanted to support, especially young people who were at risk of falling into similar trouble. He specifically wanted to help others avoid the decisions he had made. And whenever we sorted out something that had been worrying him, his gratitude was genuine and humble. He was an authentic, likeable elderly man with no grumpy or bitter edge. Given that he had spent more than half his life in prison, it would not surprise anyone if he had become difficult, bitter and suspicious. He was not.

In the three years we supported him, Eamonn took the lead for the vast majority of that time, and as the months went by, John’s needs grew in both frequency and complexity. One day it might be an issue with his bank account; the next, e needed help getting to a doctor’s appointment. Some weeks Eamonn would visit him multiple times – all without complaint. As his eyesight and hearing failed, there were visits to opticians, hearing aid specialists and welfare advisors. And then there were the times when the system failed John, and he was unable to navigate it alone. Each time, Eamonn was a wonderful friend – and John was fully aware of it. As I think about Eamonn’s kindness, it truly does make me reflect on my own attitude to those in need around me.

I spoke with John several times about my faith in Jesus. I remember one particular conversation in my car, looking over to him as I spoke about everyone’s need to be loved – and about God being love, and loving him. I remember the gleam of tears in his eyes. But we had just come to a stop and John stepped out of the car, and the moment passed. There were other times too, and I trust that in those final days, when he knew life was short, he prayed to God and found the peace that we had shared with him.

Every church should passionately and with perseverance reach out to those at the edge of their community. This is where the lost are – in the forgotten places, the places we often don’t really want to go. If we truly live the Gospel, reaching out in practical ways to reduce a person’s struggles is the first step to creating the kind of friendship through which we can share the Good News that Jesus brings. It could be as simple as inviting someone to the church café, or it could mean sitting with them in a difficult meeting because they are scared to go alone. It could be listening as they tell you that their son or daughter is in prison, and hearing the shame in their voice. These are just examples. But I have learned that if we serve, we also have the opportunity to share – and in doing so, we are truly living the Gospel.

If there is one thing I would want a reader to take away from our story, it is this: we can all reach out, even in our apparent weakness. Just a smile, a chat in the queue at the bus stop, helping an elderly person pack their shopping bag, or regularly returning your neighbour’s bins after the council has collected them – these things open doors to friendship and ongoing conversation. The lost and the lonely are often only one or two doors away. Kindness and care open up opportunities for the Gospel to be seen in action. Once the conversation starts, we can continue to pray for opportunities to speak openly about Jesus – and that is when it gets exciting. That is when our faith grows.

Kim Hobbs is a Counties Evangelist based in the East of England, working particularly with prisoners and ex-offenders