Around the Diocese posted Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Intimate ear for inmates
[The following article by Phil Gianficaro appeared in the “Our Towns” section of The Intelligencer on Sunday, Feb. 21, 2010.]
“I was naked and you clothed me, I was sick and you visited me, I was in prison and you came to me.” —Matthew 25:36
We call them prisoners or inmates. Or worse.
The Rev. Glenn Matis calls them residents because he sees them differently. Because he has to. Because somebody has to. “These men committed crimes, and they deserve to be in prison, but they’re still human beings,” said Rev. Matis, 62, chaplain at the Bucks County Correctional Facility. “They still have problems. They still need help.”
What these inmates mostly need is a non-judgmental ear with a pipeline to the soul. That’s where Rev. Matis comes in. For the past 18 months, the Doylestown Township resident and former clergyman at Holy Nativity Episcopal Church in Wrightstown for 11 years has served as that ear, that outlet for those whose lives have veered off the road of righteousness.
When inmates wish to meet with Rev. Matis, they submit a request. Each Thursday, the man with the non-judgmental ear goes to the facility and meets individually with them in a private treatment area for about for about 30 minute. And it’s there he listens as they spill their buckets of problems and desires. It’s where he counsels them spiritually and displays a level of understanding.
It’s where Rev. Matis impresses upon them that the key to leaving that terrible place and returning to the road of righteousness does not hang from a prison guard’s belt.
“I suggest to the men that they look to the Lord,” he said. "Most of them already have by then; that happens when they’re in that situation. They feel trapped, particularly those in prison for the first time, so they need something to hang on to, something to sustain them. A lot of them want a Bible, which we provide. We read the 23rd Psalm a lot.
“Once the men get out, some will continue to follow Him, but others won’t. Will they find involvement in the community of faith when they leave? It’s hard to tell when I’m counseling them which will or won’t. But I have to trust that if they tell me they will they will. I have to believe that. It’s one of the missions of the church to help people like these turn their lives around.”
Many of the inmates’ problems, concerns that chew away at them, live on the other side of the walls: Family matters. Overdue bills. Threat of foreclosure. Children’s birthdays. Wedding anniversaries. Divorce filings. Dear John letters.
Even the death of a loved one they’re forbidden from seeing for the last time.
“Sometimes a mother or other family member has died, but the men aren’t allowed to leave even for that,” Rev. Matis said. "That’s hard on them. I try to talk them through their frustration by having them focus not on not being able to attend the funeral, but on the good times they shared with that person.
“You can see the hopelessness in some of the faces. Sometimes counseling them is a challenge.”
Some of the stories he hears there stay with him more than others. Last year he counseled an inmate—a former contractor in his 40s with a family—once a week for almost two months. The man, whose crime involved drugs, was repentant. He expressed to Rev. Matis a desire to turn his life around. Seven months ago, the man left prison.
“I wonder how he’s doing now,” Rev. Matis said, showing a look of genuine concern. “I hope he was able to follow up on turning his life around.” It would be easy for Rev. Matis to find out. He doesn’t dare. “I would never invade that privacy,” he said. “What I do is hope God helped him find his way.”
The man with the non-judgmental ear has come full circle. Upon finishing his seminary studies 30 years ago, he spent the proceeding year working at Delaware County Correctional Facility. As he has gotten older, he’s notice some trends going in the opposite direction.
“What I’m struck by are all the young faces in the facility,” Rev. Matis said. A lot of these people are 18 or 19 years old, and some of them have been in there before this. I don’t recall the faces being so young back then."
Every Thursday, Rev. Glenn Matis—hair of silver, heart of gold—sees those faces. Faces that have trampled many of the very tenets he holds so dear. Yet he tries to help them by showing them the way. He does so by seeing each of them not by their given number on the inside, but by their giver name on the outside.
Because he has to. Because somebody has to.
