Sean Ryan is the Prison Chaplain at Whanganui Prison.
In this reflection, he explores his journey into prison chaplaincy, the challenges and rewards of the role, and the profound impact of simply being present with those in prison.
There were several times over the years that I heard the call to become involved with Prison Chaplaincy, whether through an unexpected conversation, a notice in the parish weekly bulletin, or an announcement at Mass. I always found a ‘reason’ to excuse myself—I was responding to God’s call in other areas. This is not a drive for new prison volunteers; rather, it’s a reflection on my own slow response to being present and walking alongside those in prison as a chaplain. Being at a prison is God’s gift to me as well as to the paihere (meaning bound in goodness, referring to either a prisoner or ex-prisoner).
In my early days as a chaplain, a paihere thanked me for listening to him. He had never shared many of the things he spoke of with anyone before; he had never been truly heard. It’s hard to be vulnerable and to speak of physical and sexual abuse, which are typical experiences for many in prison. Holding these experiences can be very isolating and lonely. Sharing them is a courageous act.
My day begins with a drive from Palmerston North to Whanganui, preparing for the day. Sometimes, it begins and ends in the car park, listening to staff stories or responding to a critical incident after picking up my keys and radio. Mostly, my days involve working with volunteers, having one-on-one conversations, and leading services. These services don’t resemble our own liturgies but are still full of meaning and questions.
There are as many reasons for prisoners/paihere to attend a Sunday service as there are in any parish or church—loneliness, guilt, a free biscuit, a deep expression of faith, or a sense of community. Recognising that choosing to come can be an act of worship, a sign of faith, a search for deeper meaning, or a desire for change is important. Presence, faithfulness, and maybe joy—the outward sign of inner hope—are what I strive to bring, rather than dogma, theology, or liturgical style.
I hold strongly to Ephesians 1:10, which says that “the plan of God (for God, there is no plan B) is to unite all things in heaven and earth when the time is right with Christ as head.” Everything is about unity, communion, kotahitanga. Part of my role is to draw attention to God’s plan in all relationships and activities: within the Chaplaincy team, within every area of the prison—paihere, staff, and their families—and the Body of Christ, His Church (with the Catholic Church having particular attention for me). I am here to express and reveal unity through purposeful attention to each moment and each person. My definition of success now revolves around faithfulness rather than perfection; it’s not goal-oriented. When one is struggling, hurting, or lost, we all struggle and are incomplete. The Body is in tension until we achieve union: communion is both a slow journey and a joyful destination.
Chaplaincy can be a struggle but brings great rewards. It is not for everyone, but for those God calls, it is profoundly rewarding. It can be as simple as finding underwear for a prisoner or sitting with someone who cannot attend a tangi/funeral, often holding a memorial service to honour their loved one. I have sat with paihere who lost his wife one day (to death) and his children the next (to Oranga Tamariki); and with a paihere who celebrated coming to prison because he found a relationship with Jesus and felt his life beginning to make sense. I have been with someone who decided to go to university and sat with others grieving the death of a fellow paihere from a different gang. In all this, I have found great joy, knowing that God is here, and has been here since the prison first opened. Sometimes, I sense that God prefers to be in this liminal space, as close to the tangible world as to the mystical world, where profound change happens every day.