Building Healthy Churches Behind Bars
April 8, 2026
April 8, 2026
Abstract: David Graham shares his testimony of God saving him while serving a life sentence in prison. Following his conversion, Graham came to understand the importance of a healthy church and sought to plant one behind bars. He shares about the unique challenges of ministry in this context as well as how churches on the outside of the prison system can encourage and support churches within it.
“You just threw your life away.”
I heard these words many times during the two years I awaited trial in a Fort Worth jail. The words missed the point. The life I threw away was not my own.
Thirty years ago, as a high school senior with two military academy appointments, I bludgeoned and shot a harmless sixteen-year-old friend. I am confused to this day as to what motivated me to do it. I still shake my head in disbelief. Somehow, I thought her death would placate another girl, my fiancée and partner in crime.
Nine months later I was arrested and charged with murder. Inexplicably, I pled not guilty. Despite my refusal to take responsibility, the victim’s parents graciously refused to request the death penalty. I was convicted and sentenced to a minimum of forty years in prison. Four years later I ended my appeals and admitted my guilt. I was a twenty-four-year-old atheist with a life sentence and a striking resemblance to the unbelievers described in Romans 1:30–31: “slanderers, haters of God, insolent, haughty, boastful, inventors of evil, disobedient to parents, foolish, faithless, heartless, ruthless.”
God’s grace and my family’s prayers protected me from further self-destruction through the following decade. While I earned a B.S. in sociology and worked in a prison factory as a draftsman, I selfishly pursued relationships with the curious women who wrote to me.
In 2009 I met Charlotte, a witty, pretty, and vulnerable professing Christian who was undeterred by my atheism. I encouraged her advances, and within months we were in love and talking about marriage. My sister was the lone voice of opposition to a union that served my interests with little benefit to Charlotte. Although I ignored wise counsel and married her, the time before and after our 2010 wedding was a season of spiritual awakening for me.
Three clues emerged that the Holy Spirit was drawing me to place my faith in Jesus Christ. First, my praying mother persuaded me to start reading the Bible, if only out of love for Charlotte. I did. Unlike my childhood exposure to God’s Word, which was mandatory and led me to try to manipulate God to my advantage, this time I was sincerely and hopefully seeking.
My second clue came when I read a pamphlet that defended the historicity of the Gospels. Previously the claim that Jesus lived, died, and rose again fell on a hard heart. Now I was awakened to the reality and reliability of God’s Word.
My third clue came when I began to be more sensitive to Charlotte’s needs than my own. During the weeks following our marriage, I realized how little I had to offer her. With my worldview of humanism and materialism, I was cynical and selfish. I had left behind a series of broken lives and relationships, and I had little hope that the future would be different. Something had to change. It had to be me.
Charlotte and I married in August, and in September I went to the prison chapel where I heard the gospel proclaimed. I went freely, silently praying for help to overcome unbelief, aware of the futility of my atheism, and hopeful that in this surrender the God who made both me and my new wife would mercifully remake me into a loving husband and son. In that moment, I was not aware of the scope of my depravity, nor did I have every doubt answered, nor did my heart grow warm inside. I simply knew I needed the mercy of Christ’s cross.
I prayed, “God, I have denied you for ten years. If it takes ten years to get my answers, I’ll still follow Jesus.” I called Charlotte and said, “I’m ready to build our marriage on the Word of God.”
The next month I was baptized by the prison chaplain and began a year of discipleship under inmate elders. That same month state prison officials announced a partnership with the non-profit Heart of Texas Foundation and Southwestern Baptist Theological Seminary. Under this arrangement, forty prisoners per year were selected for a bachelor’s program that would prepare them to serve as “field ministers.” Two years after I turned to Jesus in faith and repentance, I was selected to attend this seminary. In May 2017, I graduated and was sent to preach the gospel at a prison near Wichita Falls.
I threw my life away in sin, but Jesus gave it back to me when he saved me.
My first ministry assignment lasted eight years. Along the way I experienced many challenges that come with building a healthy church in prison. Since I was convinced that 9Marks resources were biblical, I began to examine our weekly gathering against each mark of church health. Though it’s an unusual context, my experience has proven to me that healthy churches can be built even within the walls of a prison.
Allow me, then, to identify three traits of prison churches, and then I’ll share some ways that I’ve tried to promote the biblical marks of a healthy church in this unique context.
Texas prison chaplains must facilitate one weekly service for Protestant inmates, which means that Baptists worship alongside our brothers from Methodist, Pentecostal, and non-denominational backgrounds. Resident inmates serve as music ministers and ushers, while guest volunteers, inmates, and the chaplain himself handle the preaching. Already you see how a prison church looks different than most other churches on the outside.
However, what may seem like a recipe for confusion can provide these churches an opportunity to display unity in their core beliefs. To build a church in this setting, I appeal to the congregation’s shared convictions concerning their love for God’s Word and their reverence for the gospel.
Expositional preaching in particular allows ministers to present God’s Word in a clear and straightforward manner. Prisoners in our church know the difference between text-driven and testimony-driven sermons, and they want the Bible. Sadly, the men (and women) who volunteer to preach in prison must pass security checks, not theological ones. Although the chaplain is responsible to screen the guest volunteers, the sermon’s method and content typically receive little oversight. And the prisoners rarely know the text beforehand and often don’t know the preacher.
While this situation is far from ideal, I have worked for chaplains who are open to showing greater discernment regarding who comes in and what they say. I’ve even found chaplains enthusiastic about expositional teaching through books of the Bible, a practice that transcends denominational differences. When an elder Christian brother named Randy was dying of liver disease several years ago, he said, “My only regret is that I won’t get to hear the end of our series on John’s epistles.” To promote sound preaching, I have taught my fellow inmates, spoken gently to volunteers, pleaded with chaplains, encouraged fellow inmate ministers, and volunteered for every preaching opportunity that arises.
When I have the opportunity to address the congregation, I explain that we aren’t held together by race, where we’re from, gang affiliation, or any other trait that prisoners usually value. We are people united by a shared commitment to the gospel. And because of the gospel, our prison church should entail relationships that contrast relationships typical in our segregated prison population.
To promote gospel literacy, I have passed out dozens of copies of Greg Gilbert’s What Is the Gospel? along with a study guide I made. In my discipleship and pre-baptism classes, in meetings with the inmate ministry team, and in my preaching, I advocate a gospel-centered culture that “knows nothing but Jesus Christ and him crucified” (1 Cor. 2:2). Since I’m responsible for serving all professing Christians, and not only the Reformed ones, the central truths of the gospel give me a “home base” to which I can safely return after venturing into secondary doctrines. Gradually the congregation learns to live in the prison like a people defined by the gospel.
While I’ve found a willingness to unify around the gospel, I’ve noticed some confusion about how to share the gospel with others. Prisoners are accustomed to guests who lead the entire congregation in the “sinner’s prayer,” and we know at least one despondent man who tearfully gives his life to Jesus every Sunday. Any verbal profession is celebrated as a genuine conversion, with most ministers being hesitant to ask whether the inmate is credibly converted.
Like all Christians, those ministering in prison need to be reminded that conversion is a sovereign work of God’s Spirit and it comes about through the proclaimed Word. Ministers and Christian inmates should be encouraged to share Christ in their daily interactions, not merely to invite others to attend chapel (though this can be a good start). As with any church, building this culture of evangelism requires teaching from the pulpit, in smaller settings, and in one-on-one discipleship. Many Christian prisoners will adopt a biblical approach to evangelism if shown the way.
Prison rules prevent inmate-led organizations in which one inmate has authority over another. To many chaplains, this means the weekly gathering is not a church and the inmates who teach and preach are not elders. Other chaplains, realizing that spiritual leadership is voluntary and non-coercive, allow some formal structure under their direct supervision.
Despite disagreements over what to call them, church leaders typically emerge organically in the prison church. When I arrived at my first ministry assignment, I had the title “field minister,” but I had no informal influence. The true pastors were the men who lived there before me and who lovingly discipled the congregation. After a few years, men began calling me their pastor, not because my formal title changed, but because I fed and cared for them. Anywhere there is a church, there will be “young men” and there will be “fathers” (1 John 2:12–14). These “fathers” should carry out their responsibilities even if they have no formal recognition.
Another challenge for a healthy prison church structure is identifying church members. At my last prison, the chaplain allowed anyone, whether Christian or not, to attend an “open call” Sunday service. At my current prison, on the other hand, churchgoers must request a pass to be added to the list of approved attendees. In either case, the de facto church elders must learn the regulars’ names, visit them, and provide pastoral care. With the chaplain’s support, the congregation can gradually be organized around a covenant and a statement of faith, a process that was started and abandoned at my current prison before I arrived. God willing, we will resume this practice, allowing those who affirm a covenant the benefits of accountability and church identity. Those unwilling to affirm our covenant would be free to continue in attendance, though ministry positions would only be offered to covenant members and the Lord’s Supper would be fenced.
Without the structure of church membership and formal leadership, church discipline often looks very different in prison churches, as it is dependent on the strength of the relationships among these brothers in Christ. I urge our more mature men to cultivate relationships that can withstand gentle correction. And while I cannot expect another inmate to listen to me simply because I work for the chaplain, I can persuade him through my daily care that I love him and want what’s best for him. While excommunication is (legally) difficult to enact, a form of discipline can take place through interpersonal relationships. For instance, when a member is caught getting high, the initial “between you and him alone” is often the point of restoration. If necessary, the chaplain can take formal action to suspend or remove someone whose behavior is bringing harm to God’s reputation or the church.
Ultimately, the guardian of the prison church is the Good Shepherd, who will expose sin, raise up undershepherds, and gather his flock wherever they are found. Whether through a conscientious chaplain, the tender care of accountability partners, or the convicting ministry of the Spirit, I’ve seen the prison church survive these structural challenges.
Oddly enough, the material deprivation and close quarters of prison can be a spiritually edifying environment. How healthy it is to share a cellblock with a spiritual elder, to be under their accountability when you are struggling with sin, or to have an abundance of time to spend with a new believer you are discipling! For its transparency and the time together it allows, the prison environment is fertile ground for deep discipleship.
I try to build discipleship relationships primarily within my housing unit. As a new convert in 2010, I received constant watchful care from a half-dozen brothers who lived around me. They offered counsel, correction, prayer, and daily Bible study, and their lives modeled for me mature Christianity. Teacher-student relationships can thrive as young believers may live only five feet away from a mature saint. And there is ample time to pray, study, and enjoy life together. Prison churches are strongest when more mature believers initiate these discipling relationships within their cellblocks.
The common areas of our cellblocks are our most accessible place to meet, and in every prison I’ve been in, there’s an openness to spirituality and a fear of the divine in a communal event known as the “prayer call.” An outspoken inmate will announce the appointed time, and men will stop what they’re doing to circle up and share their petitions. When this is done well, it can be evangelism-by-prayer, an opportunity for a believer to share the necessity of prayer through Jesus Christ and his call for all men everywhere to repent. The prayer call is but one venue for the prison church to share a biblical view of prayer.
Given the time we have for one-on-one discipleship, it’s possible for me to model prayer several times each day. In venues where corporate prayer is possible, I preface my prayers with short exhortations on the biblical priorities for prayer, such as the first three petitions of the Lord’s Prayer (Matt. 6:9–10). The proximity to my brothers means I am usually available to join them in prayer, and when my soul is weary, they are available to join me.
A final challenge for prison churches comes in the area of missions. Our local family of believers must look first to areas of the prison where people have not heard the gospel and are unable, often for security reasons, to gather with us. At my current prison, we view the main assembly for general population inmates as the home church, with its mission field being the more secure housing areas, including death row. The “home church” sends out ministers to preach and gather with believers in other parts of the prison.
Our mission also encompasses planting house churches with as few as three members, which is especially helpful at prisons where the main assembly is dysfunctional. This was the case in 2019 when the Lord led a group of ten of us to come into a covenant with one another in an eighty-man dormitory. By God’s grace, we established this church just in time for the year-long prison lockdown caused by COVID-19. Through 2020 and 2021, we gathered weekly for worship, prayer, and study; we served our neighbors through evangelism and charity; and we represented the hope of Christ in a difficult time.
You may not be reading this from a jail cell, but I wonder if you, pastor, have considered local jails and prisons like mine as one of your church’s mission fields? Across the security fencing and behind the high walls are men and women who may never experience the privilege of a healthy church if you do not plant one there. This will require a strong relationship with the chaplain, a time during which you teach the inmates basic ecclesiology, and the help of the Spirit to lead you and your congregation to gather these castaways as a church.
The biblical marks of a church highlighted by 9Marks have given me a barometer and a compass by which I measure the health of prison churches and plot a course forward. I do not believe prison’s restrictions make this important work impossible. In fact, I have explained that this context brings with it certain advantages to a faithful, Word-centered church. The Good Shepherd, who gathers and leads his sheep, will make a way. And as one minister among many who has been included in this display of my Savior’s grace, I am grateful.