In the early 2000’s I spent three years at an Anglican Bible College in Saint John New Brunswick. How I came to be there as a mature student is a long story for another time. The focus of Taylor College was to train, equip and commission people for ministry to people in churches, prisons, and on the streets through an organization called Church Army. We attended classes full time and worked in  ministry several days a week. I was there because after my conversion to Christianity I had a burning desire – a calling – to help people who were most in need of help and hope and love. 

In my class’s third and final year, one of our instructors, whose modus operandi was to throw us into the deep end to sink or swim, announced he was going to take us on an excursion to Renous NB to bring Christmas cheer – she said tongue in cheek – to the residents of the Atlantic Institution for Men, a notorious maximum security correctional facility which has housed some of the most violent and depraved criminals in Canadian history. 

Our esteemed instructor’s announcement was met with mixed reactions from his adoring students. I for one was excited as for two years of my training I’d had the privilege of working alongside an amazing couple – both chaplains – who operated the Saint John Chaplaincy and drop-in centre. I’d accompanied them on several visits to the NOVA Institution for Women, a multi level correctional facility located in Truro NS. The other students’ reactions varied, and included shock and amazement that he would even dare to suggest taking us to Renous; fear and trepidation – because of the infamy of the inmates who were housed there; and, on the part of the “less mature” students, joy at the prospect of going on a road trip and getting away from the classroom for a day.

A week before Christmas we set off in a rented van. Renous was a three hour drive in good weather but in December in New Brunswick you plan for the worst, so we set off very early in the morning. Along the way, we sang and joked and talked loudly amongst ourselves. Our main entertainment however was harassing and insulting our beloved instructor and driver, who had a wicked sarcastic bent and gleefully gave it right back. 

I sat in the back beside a sweet sensitive young woman who spent most of the drive crying. She was absolutely terrified. I tried to assure her we were going to be all right. It was, after all, a maximum security institution and there would be guards everywhere; but she was unconsolable, while at the same time trying hard to be brave. 

When we arrived in Renous and drove onto the prison compound it seemed stark and remote. A quarter mile of barren land stripped of trees and vegetation surrounded a squat square building made of brown brick which was completely encircled by a high chain link fence with rolled barbed wire along its top. 

Getting inside was a long and somewhat degrading process. Each of us had to take turns going through the door to be IDed, scanned, and searched for contraband. We had to remove our jackets and any extraneous clothing and put them, along with any personal items including watches and jewellery, into the lockers provided. Once through the scanner we had to wait in a holding area while the others were processed one by one. Then several guards escorted us down a long narrow corridor to the centre of the institution where the chapel was located. 

The chapel was large and circular with several levels of carpeted steps on one side, for a choir I assumed. It had a high ceiling which sloped upward toward the centre where there was a structure that resembled the inside of a turret with tall narrow slits which I”d seen before on a 200 year old guard house along the Rideau Canal. Called loopholes, or gun holes, their purpose was to protect riflemen while they kept watch and aimed and discharged their weapons. The sight of them gave me a chill and a grave recognition of the dangers we could potentially face during our time there.

The prison chaplain came and briefed us on prison protocol, and what we could expect. He escorted us to the staff cafeteria for lunch. The food, prepared and served by inmates, was surprisingly good. As we ate, the chaplain warned us about some of the more notorious inmates who had recently been transferred to Renous from prisons in other provinces because they were either violent and/or unmanageable, or because they were in danger of being killed by their fellow prisoners. BC’s Clifford Olson was among them.

We returned to the chapel to find a cart of Christmas goodies and beverages had been delivered; we were not permitted to bring anything in with us. We set up for the party and anxiously waited for the inmates to arrive. One by one they appeared, stepping inside the door to glance around the room to see who else was there. Most left. But a few of them, seeing the goodies set out for them, ventured in. And gradually, one by one, others followed suit. 

I didn’t fear them. Most tried to be polite even if they came just for the food; a few radiated bad or creepy vibes. Some were obviously mentally ill; and others were friendly and overly talkative. My sensitive young friend was in her element. She felt her calling was to love people who are hard to love, and she was really good at it. Her warmth and bubbly laughter disarmed even the most hardened of the inmates. We’d  prepared a program for the inmates, with some of us – including me – sharing our personal stories, our testimonies. Later we all stood on the steps and sang a few Christmas carols for our guests. We encouraged them to sing along, but few did.

As the afternoon wound down and the inmates began to trickle out, suddenly a loud siren began to sound throughout the halls of the prison. The guards standing in the hallway outside immediately closed and locked the door of the chapel leaving us alone inside with the prisoners who remained. We had no idea what was happening. I tried to stay calm for the sake of the younger students and they tried to do the same. We wanted to keep the inmates calm, but as time went by they grew more and more agitated. 

Several times the door to the hallway opened and the guards would place stragglers, who were loitering in the corridor, inside the chapel with us – which greatly increased the agitation of the prisoners who were locked in with us. I took comfort in remembering that we had at least one guard watching over us through the gun holes in the turret above – at least I hoped so. 

After what felt like an eternity, the siren finally stopped. Some time later the chapel door was opened and the inmates were escorted back to their cells. We learned on our way out that the lockdown was the consequence of a report of a concealed weapon in one of the inmates’ cells.

Free at last, we finally shuffled back to our van in the dark of night, exhausted but exhilarated – probably due to the adrenalin coursing through our systems.  My young friend cried – and laughed – most of the way home. She was exhausted and emotionally drained, but also happy and grateful for the opportunity to bless and show kindness to a few of the inmates she had met and spoken to. But she vowed that she would never set foot in another prison ever again.