There are many different types of religious services, and people attend them for a variety of reasons. One church congregation in central Iowa is changing lives and entire communities in a surprising setting.
"I was broken," says member Melissa Truong, "So broken." And like many people who return to church after a long absence, Truong says she's seeking solace in scripture, comfort in the cross, and healing in the hymns.
"You know, this has become home for so many of us," she says, "A place we can go and not be judged."
It's what many people are looking for, but it has even more meaning for members of this congregation. "I don't worry," Melissa explains, "I don't worry about life here because I know it's in God's hands." This is the Iowa Correctional Institution for Women and Melissa has been here for eighteen months on a twenty five year charge. These women are women confined. Their church home is inside prison walls.
"By the time women come to this place they feel like nobody wants them," says Pastor Arnette Pint, "They've been cast aside." Pastor Pint has been leading this church for more than three years, living out a key verse from the bible. "Matthew 25 is, I was sick and you cared for me," recites Pastor Pint, "I was in prison and you visited me."
The chapel space was built by private donations from churches all over Iowa, and it's very rare. Most prisons hold services in old auditoriums, cafeterias or visiting rooms. They are gloomy spaces that match the chain link fences, brick buildings and barbed wire. The stark contrast of this space helps the women focus on changing their lives.
"There can be a huge transformation," explains Pastor Pint. "For many of them, it's a sense of coming home because they've lost their church - lost their community. For some of the women, they've never been in a church before! They can't believe that God, or good people want them to step foot in here."
Ladonna and Bruce Elrod are some of those good people, and the very first volunteers to join the church. "I got to thinking," muses Bruce, "I spent thirty-four years putting people into places like this, maybe I should do something to help keep them out." Now the former Des Moines police sergeant is on a mission with his wife.
"I know I'm not the same person I was five years ago and these girls aren't either. They're in the process of changing. I'd like to see a lot more people let them prove how much they've changed."
The change is apparent on some of the once-hardened faces sitting in the service, and the Elrods say they've witnessed it first hand. "We saw this young woman every Thursday and she changed into a happy-go-lucky person," LaDonna says excitedly, "She went to treatment and changed into the most marvelous friend you would ever want to meet. After a while they soften, they turn into different people."
Melissa Truong says the Elrods, and other volunteers are like family. "They have no idea how much this means to us. We walk out of prison and feel like we have a tattoo on our forehead that says felon," Melissa explains with tears in her eyes. "They truly care. In their eyes we're not felons, we're children of God and we're human."
And the program has a huge impact. Nationwide, about sixty percent of inmates end up back behind bars after being released. But studies show that when they're involved in a congregation while they're locked up, the rate drops to twelve percent. And if convicts find a church home once they're on the outside, only two percent will end up back in prison. "Wow!" exclaims Pastor Pint, "it's amazing! It's that ripple effect, that what starts as something good here grows and grows and grows."
For Melissa, it means no longer feeling beaten and broken. "It's really liberating," she says. "It's freedom. There's peace, to know that I've been forgiven."
"I was broken," says member Melissa Truong, "So broken." And like many people who return to church after a long absence, Truong says she's seeking solace in scripture, comfort in the cross, and healing in the hymns.
"You know, this has become home for so many of us," she says, "A place we can go and not be judged."
It's what many people are looking for, but it has even more meaning for members of this congregation. "I don't worry," Melissa explains, "I don't worry about life here because I know it's in God's hands." This is the Iowa Correctional Institution for Women and Melissa has been here for eighteen months on a twenty five year charge. These women are women confined. Their church home is inside prison walls.
"By the time women come to this place they feel like nobody wants them," says Pastor Arnette Pint, "They've been cast aside." Pastor Pint has been leading this church for more than three years, living out a key verse from the bible. "Matthew 25 is, I was sick and you cared for me," recites Pastor Pint, "I was in prison and you visited me."
The chapel space was built by private donations from churches all over Iowa, and it's very rare. Most prisons hold services in old auditoriums, cafeterias or visiting rooms. They are gloomy spaces that match the chain link fences, brick buildings and barbed wire. The stark contrast of this space helps the women focus on changing their lives.
"There can be a huge transformation," explains Pastor Pint. "For many of them, it's a sense of coming home because they've lost their church - lost their community. For some of the women, they've never been in a church before! They can't believe that God, or good people want them to step foot in here."
Ladonna and Bruce Elrod are some of those good people, and the very first volunteers to join the church. "I got to thinking," muses Bruce, "I spent thirty-four years putting people into places like this, maybe I should do something to help keep them out." Now the former Des Moines police sergeant is on a mission with his wife.
"I know I'm not the same person I was five years ago and these girls aren't either. They're in the process of changing. I'd like to see a lot more people let them prove how much they've changed."
The change is apparent on some of the once-hardened faces sitting in the service, and the Elrods say they've witnessed it first hand. "We saw this young woman every Thursday and she changed into a happy-go-lucky person," LaDonna says excitedly, "She went to treatment and changed into the most marvelous friend you would ever want to meet. After a while they soften, they turn into different people."
Melissa Truong says the Elrods, and other volunteers are like family. "They have no idea how much this means to us. We walk out of prison and feel like we have a tattoo on our forehead that says felon," Melissa explains with tears in her eyes. "They truly care. In their eyes we're not felons, we're children of God and we're human."
And the program has a huge impact. Nationwide, about sixty percent of inmates end up back behind bars after being released. But studies show that when they're involved in a congregation while they're locked up, the rate drops to twelve percent. And if convicts find a church home once they're on the outside, only two percent will end up back in prison. "Wow!" exclaims Pastor Pint, "it's amazing! It's that ripple effect, that what starts as something good here grows and grows and grows."
For Melissa, it means no longer feeling beaten and broken. "It's really liberating," she says. "It's freedom. There's peace, to know that I've been forgiven."
