A Lifer's Journey: Prison Chaplaincy from the Inside Out

By Hank Dixon

“For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.” (Ephesians 2:10)

When his walk with God began, Hank Dixon was facing a life sentence for murder. Little did he realize, God’s grace would not only set him on a path to encounter the ghosts of his past, but also call him to prison ministry.

A Lifer’s Journey is a heartfelt journey through the most meaningful of encounters that have spanned an ex-con’s twenty-year prison ministry career, where expectations are sometimes turned inside-out. From encounters with an ex-cop serving time in a maximum security seg unit to the powerful moment, in the fire of a riot, where God reached out to touch the life of one the most rejected of criminals, Hank’s story weaves together life changing personal experiences with a deep compassion for both inmates and staff, revealing a prison world where invoked or not, God is present.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Prairie Heart Press
• Release date: Jun 18, 2021
• ISBN: 9781777666811

Hank Dixon

Hank Dixon, D.Min, is a retired minister and chaplain who has served Churches in Nova Scotia and worked in Canadian federal maximum, medium and minimum security prisons. He has also been the Program Director of Open Circle, a Winnipeg based prison visitation program. Over his years of involvement with corrections Hank has used his experiences as an inmate to help design chaplaincy course material along with training and supervising chaplains.He lives in Winnipeg, Manitoba with Linda, his wife of 34 years. They have two grown children along with a beautiful granddaughter.

Book preview

A Lifer’s Journey

Prison Chaplaincy

from the Inside Out

Hank Dixon

Copyright © 2021 by Hank Dixon

Cover art: Walking through the Valley (oil on wood), copyright © 2012 by Theresa Dixon

Cover layout copyright © 2021 by Story Perfect Dreamscape

When you walk through the waters I’ll be with you by Gerald Markham © 1976 Kevin Mayhew Ltd. Reproduced by permission of Kevin Mayhew Ltd. (www.kevinmayhew.com). Licence No: KMCL110221/01

Scripture quotations taken from the HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION.

Copyright 1973, 1978, 1984 by International Bible Society

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission from the publisher. However, brief quotations may be reproduced in the context of reviews.

Published June 2021 by Prairie Heart Press, an imprint of Story Perfect Inc.

Prairie Heart Press

PO Box 51053 Tyndall Park

Winnipeg, Manitoba R2X 3B0

Canada

Visit http://www.prairieheartpress.com for more Canadian prairie books.

Dedicated

to

Linda

I was drawn to the Light

which sought me out.

I handed my life

into His great care,

with prophets and apostles,

echoing through time,

All will be well, if you rest in His call.

I could not foresee

the gift He would give.

Her eyes sparkled and danced,

the first day we met.

Her gentle grace,

quietly touching,

my hardened shell.

A whisper of Wind spoke softly to tell,

This is the one you dreamed of in a cell.

Faithfully you walk

close by my side,

through valleys and hills,

with your love and light.

As we grow old,

together as one,

a whisper of Wind, speaks softly to tell,

This is the one you dreamed of in a cell.

Introduction

Those who bear the mark of pain

are never really free.

They owe a debt to the ones who still suffer.

This is your beginning...

(Author Unknown)

The Place of Reckoning

I did not want to go back to prison. That wasn’t my plan. I hated the place. Yet here I was, wrestling with exactly that pull. A light wind caressed the surface of the lake, creating a gentle rhythm of water lapping up against the grey, pocketed chunk of granite on which I sat.

My perch rose about four feet up from the shore, half in water, half on the beach. Its rounded shape revealed it to be a souvenir of the last Ice Age, discarded at the edge of this body of water known as Little Tupper Lake. The boulder sat at the end of a short path, a ten-minute walk from the parsonage in North Brookfield, Nova Scotia, where I had pastored for the last six years. My trips to this ancient rock were becoming more frequent as I wrestled, argued, and battled with my God. The world outside was quiet and serene. The world within was in turmoil. I was losing the battle.

The struggle began months earlier through a series of events that culminated in a visit with a special friend, Sr. Teresa Currie. Our daughter Teresa is named after her, a measure of her impact on my life. Sister T, as she was known, could be—well, to be nice about it—a stubborn, persistent firebrand, all wrapped up in a deeply caring prison chaplain who loved to spoil her namesake. Years before, she had abandoned the confines of a habit and cloistered living to minister to men in prison.

As we were about to leave her house, Sister T looked at me. Hank, have you ever considered prison chaplaincy?

I was taken aback. She had stepped into a sensitive place in my life. Others had ventured there and were met with an angry rebuttal. After serving nine years in prison, the last place I wanted to be was back inside.

My resistance to returning grew out of two reasons. First, bad things happened there. I simply did not want to go back. Second, I knew that my past, in certain circumstances, could be my greatest deficit inside the wall. I always felt those who were so certain I would be successful back inside had never read Jesus’ comments on the subject. After a visit to his hometown, He remarked, A prophet is not without honour except in his own town. (Mark 6:4)

This time, though, as I stood in the doorway of Sister T’s house, surprise shifted to confusion. No anger rose up. Her eyes told me she was asking because she truly believed this might be God’s calling on my life.

I fumbled to find an answer. I’ll think about it, I finally said.

That became my problem. I did think about it, and the more I thought about it, the more her words worked their way into the deep spaces of my heart, merging with God’s voice calling me back in.

So, there I sat, on my perch before the lake, my place of reckoning. The future I had so carefully planned out was brought to a sudden halt as this persistent, troubling call refused to leave. The prophet Jonah and I could have kept each other good company. I knew which direction his situation had gone. Fortunately for me, Little Tupper Lake was not the domain of big fish. I tried to muster excuses, only to be reminded that Moses used the same lines. I also knew where that situation had gone. Perhaps most troubling, were Jesus’ words to Peter after he was given his calling: I tell you the truth, when you were younger you dressed yourself and went where you wanted; but when you are old you will stretch out your hands, and someone else will dress you and lead you where you do not want to go. (John 21:18)

Those words struck at the core of my rebellious spirit, even though I’d known from the beginning that my walk with the Lord would entail sacrifices and challenges. After being released from prison I met my beautiful wife, Linda. We were married in 1987. I pursued further education: a Bachelor of Arts, Master of Divinity, Internship as a Baptist minister, Ordination with the Canadian Baptists of Atlantic Canada. I was determined to follow through on the call God had placed on my life. There had been many difficulties to get to this point. Like many other pastoral couples, Linda and I sacrificed a great deal to pursue the call into ministry.

But this call to go back inside was more than I had bargained for. It was too much to ask. So, I fought and argued, until this one fateful evening, as I sat on that ancient rock mulling over my options for escape, when a confrontation with my conscience pierced home:

Hank, how can you say no to the One who restored your life from the dark pit you drove it into?

There was silence within. I stared out at the creation around me, warm clouds drifting through the sky, casting shadows over a soft wind-swept lake. I wept. I had lost the battle. I was going back to prison.

The Journey Inside

It had been fourteen years since I left prison. I remember the day well. It was July 4th, 1985. Sister T agreed to drive me to the halfway house in Halifax. On my way up to the main entrance, I stopped by Admission and Discharge to pick up what few belongings were still in my personal effects from 1976. With a single box in hand, wearing an ill-fitted pair of dress pants and an out-of-date sports jacket that draped over my shoulders like a worn rug, I moved through the main entrance, barriers and gates slamming shut behind me. I must have been quite the sight. I didn’t care. I was getting out of prison.

The day was a flurry of activity, but one moment is stamped in my memory. As I stood at the main entrance waiting for Sister T to arrive, the officer behind the desk looked me up and down. With a distinctly condescending tone he growled, You’ll be back.

No doubt he had seen his fair share of men return to prison, or maybe he was just in a bad mood. I remained silent, keeping my anger in check.

The officer was right. I did come back. He would not be the last prophet in blue I would meet.

I was a reluctant prison chaplain. Even as I submitted my application for a position, then went through the vetting process and interview, I hoped it would all end.

It didn’t. In the fall of 1999, I entered prison chaplaincy with the greatest of trepidation. Of all places to start, I found myself in a federal maximum-security institution ready to blow. I arrived in September of 1999. In January of 2000, Atlantic Institution in New Brunswick was rocked by two major riots back-to-back—more about that later.

Despite the fears, apprehension, and resistance to going back in, I spent fifteen years working inside: four years at Atlantic Institution and eleven years at Stony Mountain Institution in Manitoba. What held me—what compelled me—to work in this environment turned out to be something that overpowered all the fears and concerns I had walking in. What developed was a deep well of compassion and care for inmates and staff that has never left me.

Another Calling

In 2013, federal prison chaplaincy in Canada was thrust into a significant change regarding the way chaplains were engaged to serve in prisons. For over twenty years individual clergy could apply for positions. After a vetting and decision-making process, the faith tradition to which you belonged would be offered a contract to provide services at the institution. You would then be employed and paid by your religious authority (denomination) via the contract.

The system had a few problems that were becoming increasingly difficult to surmount. The government of the day eventually decided to shift from multiple contracts with individual faith-based groups to a single contractor model for providing chaplaincy services across the country.

For those of us who had years of working in the federal prison system, the single contractor model presented a potential problem. Powered by the wrong motives, a single contractor model could result in poor quality chaplaincy services. For instance, should an organization with no understanding of federal chaplaincy take on the contract, or whose bottom line was to make a profit, services would suffer, and so would chaplains. As a result of numerous conversations around this issue, Kairos Pneuma Chaplaincy (KPCI) was formed by a group of chaplains and a former Associate Director of Chaplaincy. It was incorporated in May of 2013 and won its first contract in November of 2013.

The central purposes of the organization were to try and maintain the professionalism, interfaith nature, and supportive structure that existed for individual chaplains in Canadian federal prison chaplaincy and try to improve these elements.

For two years KPCI provided good quality federal prison chaplaincy services across Canada. During that time, I left my position as a chaplain at Stony Mountain Institution and took on the role of Regional Manager Chaplaincy Services on the Prairies for KPCI. I also completed my Doctor of Ministry degree in 2014 and turned my attention to designing workshops for chaplains, along with developing an undergraduate prison chaplaincy course for Booth University College.

In 2015, KPCI bid on the next contract but lost to another organization. The criterion for awarding the contract was simple: the lowest bidder. In April of 2016, the new contractor took over providing federal prison chaplaincy services.

As the new contractor began soliciting chaplains to work for them, I chose not to apply. After nine years of serving time, fifteen years of working through riots, disturbances, murders, and suicides as a chaplain, and two years of supervising chaplains, it was time for a break. Along with leaving chaplaincy, I also decided not to continue teaching chaplaincy courses at Booth University College. My new position as Program Director at Open Circle, a prison visitation program based in Winnipeg, Manitoba, required a large time investment.

I planned to walk away from prison chaplaincy and offer no further commentary. That proved to be more difficult than I anticipated.

With the reality of a second contractor taking over the federal chaplaincy contract, some chaplains began to feel uncertain about their future and chose to exit federal prison chaplaincy, seeking more stable employment opportunities elsewhere. As the exodus continued, a wealth of wisdom and experience began leaving the federal prison system.

In observing these changes, I grew concerned. A vacuum was forming, one in which new chaplains entering prison chaplaincy were given little training regarding the theology, philosophy, and practice of prison chaplaincy. Added to this, the structures that had been in place to provide mentorship to new chaplains were disappearing.

Over the years, friends, colleagues, and acquaintances occasionally asked when I would share my story in print. I had always deflected such suggestions. There are others who have written prison conversion stories. There are any number to choose from.

Now, though, I was starting to see how years of serving time as an inmate had provided a unique view on chaplaincy that might prove helpful to others. I had more to tell than a prison conversion story.

I began to think, is it time to write?

As I reflected on putting my story and personal reflections into such a public arena, another place of reckoning began to emerge. I had shared small portions of my journeying in various settings. However, there were experiences I had not shared with anyone, or only with a few close friends. Some of those would need to be part of the story. Added to this dilemma, was the concern about drawing others into my story because, of course, they are part of my experience.

As I attempted to move the most difficult experiences to paper, I would encounter a wall of resistance. Prayer and struggle ensued as I was left staring at an empty computer screen. In one of those moments, I penned the following:

I wonder who built this wall? Is it there to protect me or a barrier to be dismantled? If it is for my protection, what is it protecting me from? Maybe it is just a mirror, reflecting back my own fears. On the other hand, maybe it is crafted from common sense, a barrier to save me from myself, from drowning in the emotions and darkness of a prison world that lives in my memory. One that plays out each day in the lives of those who are still inside.

So, I sit here, staring at the wall. Every once in a while my hand moves through it to jot down a few words, some thoughts, a story, a reflection. Then the pressure builds. It is almost painful. My chest throbs, my head aches, my arm grows weak and I pull back to the safe side of the wall.

I am left with a dilemma—who is pushing me to pierce the wall, God or man?

I am still not sure I have a good answer to that question. I suspect time will provide it. Perhaps my call is simply to step out in faith and share.

As I learned many years ago, sitting on a rock overlooking Little Tupper Lake, God does not always provide us with a clear vision of what lays ahead. Our calling, at least mine, has always been to trust and follow Him.

1 - Darkness and Light

The cords of death entangled me,

the anguish of the grave came upon me;

I was overcome by trouble and sorrow.

Then I called on the name of the Lord:

O Lord save me!

(Psalm 116: 3-4)

Jack London, one of the great writers of the last century declared, The most beautiful stories always start with wreckage.

That is where this story begins.

Confusion

Every morning was the same. I awoke to find steel bars flooding my view. Eight feet away stretched a catwalk covered in thick steel mesh fencing which ran the length of the range. On the other side of it were windows with more steel bars. Beyond, a blue sky, clouds drifting freely by, mocking me as I gazed out at them: Take a good look, loser. Any freedom you had is long gone.

It wasn’t a dream. I was in prison. It is hard to describe. You go to sleep hoping to escape the dismal world you find yourself in. You awake, jolted back to reality. Whatever dreams of freedom you may have wandered into during the night are swiftly shattered by the reality that surrounds you—a small rectangular box of steel and concrete, a dark depressing cage.

Slowly my mind began to orient to the world on the inside. It didn’t look any better than the day before.

One morning, as the cell doors were unlocked, I pulled on my pants and wandered out onto the range. It was quiet this time of the day. Breakfast was an hour away. Most of the guys slept in. They had no interest in returning to the reality that would be theirs when they awoke.

I walked over to one of the steel tables on the range and plunked myself down. I gazed around the range, Observation Post on one end, cells down the length, showers at the other end, all of it dressed in a miserable grey paint that reflected my mood. I hated this place and my existence in it, the latter hate being particularly difficult to live with. There is nothing worse than realizing your life is a big mess and the only person to point a finger at is you.

Absorbed in my thoughts, I nearly missed the box sitting on one of the tables. Wondering what treasures might lie within it, I sauntered over to have a look: books, lots of them. That was a welcome surprise. I started sorting through them, pulling out a couple of Westerns. Then a title grabbed my attention: The Late Great Planet Earth, by Hal Lindsey.

Great, I thought. Always enjoyed a good science fiction story. Returning to my cell, I threw the books I had collected into a corner and pulled on a shirt. The call for breakfast came blaring through the speakers.

Laying back on my bunk later that afternoon, I opened the science fiction book for a good read. What a disappointment! It was a religious book, all about prophecies in the Bible and how the world was going to end.

I thought about chucking it aside, but something stirred within. I wondered, What if there is some truth in this stuff?

As a kid I went to Sunday school and church for a short time. I didn’t learn much. I was an outcast in school, and it was no different in Sunday school. I once attended a church Bible Camp. That adventure cured me of any illusion about how loving church people are supposed to be. The teen counsellor assigned to our cabin was an angry, frustrated kid who took great pleasure in making my life miserable. I had little use for church, religion, or those who claimed to be saintly.

Still, something continued to stir, so I kept reading. As I finished the book, I came across a small section in the back that talked about a personal relationship with Jesus Christ. I wondered what that was all about.

The next day, while sitting on a steel table, still pondering Hal Lindsey’s work of fiction, I spotted a Salvation Army Officer coming up the catwalk. I stopped him halfway down the range.

Hey, man, I said. I need to talk.

What can I do for you, son?

Well, I just finished reading a book and I need to talk to someone about it.

He paused for a moment. You know, I can send someone who could relate to you better than I can. And with that he was gone.

I was left wondering, Who can relate to me?

Geek Encounter

It didn’t take long to find out. A few days later, a voice shouted from the control post, Dixon! You have a visitor.

The visiting area for the maximum-security unit was right beside the range. A locked steel door provided access to the inmate side. A row of steel stools was anchored to the floor behind a plexiglass shield separating you from your visitor. Speaker holes were drilled through the shield. There was only enough space between the wall and the stools for you to walk in and take a seat.

When I stepped into the inmate side, I was surprised. Not just because my visitor was on the same side of the glass, but because of what I saw. A twenty-something-year-old stood in front of me. A bit overweight, he had a big grin on his face and wore a set of geeky horn-rimmed glasses. Oh no, I thought, this is one of those religious holy rollers. It’s written all over him. Probably a Christian camp counsellor at one point in his life. This is the guy who can relate to me?

I stood there for a moment, pondering my options. He represented a number of things I disliked about so-called Christians. Clean-cut, with that pious happy air