NC HEALTH NEWS – Inside North Carolina prisons, incarcerated people have long turned to fellow prisoners for guidance about faith, conflict, grief, addiction, and simply how to navigate life behind bars.

An increasing number of those people are “field ministers” — incarcerated men who have earned a four-year bachelor’s degree in pastoral ministry and received training in counseling and other skills.

After graduation, the field ministers — many serving life sentences — are deployed to prisons across the state in teams of three to six, where they work alongside prison chaplains and other staff.

The role comes with an unusual degree of trust and access. Field ministers can walk into a housing block and make rounds to check on people. They can sit with men struggling with grief, addiction, mental illness or the challenges of being separated from loved ones. They can visit men in solitary confinement, counsel peers, provide hospice care and teach classes.

Their work has made a difference, said Alpha Herring, an employee at Nash Correctional Institution who oversees programs there.

Ten years ago, when someone came to him with an issue, he might spend 30 minutes talking with them. Now, he doesn’t always have to be the one responding.

“We trust them enough that when a field minister just shows up at a block, no one questions them as to why they were there,” Herring said. “We trust them enough to know that they’re going to go forth, fulfill the vision and do the work that’s been assigned to their hands.

“They help us go home daily because they intervene in situations that we would never know about,” Herring continued.

The program launched at Nash Correctional in August 2017 in partnership with Judson College, a Wake Forest-based seminary, and the nonprofit Game Plan for Life, which describes itself as training men “to be influential leaders within their own faith tradition.” It’s modeled after a similar prison ministry program at Louisiana State Penitentiary, known as Angola.

Since then, more than 80 men have graduated — more than 60 of whom now are serving as field ministers at 16 prisons. Another 87 men are completing their education at Nash Correctional. The first cohort of 19 female field ministers is also earning degrees; the program launched at North Carolina Correctional Institution for Women in January 2024.

Nash Correctional Warden Talena Lee told NC Health News that she has seen the field ministers change prison culture, and they have challenged her and other prison officials to reconsider “what they can be and what they can do.”

“You cannot pour all the time and energy into every single person,” Lee explained, noting that the 654-bed prison has fewer than 12 case managers, including supervisors. “They come alongside and help us in our jobs. We consider [the field ministers] a tool in our toolbox — one that we use quite frequently, and it’s made the population here better.”

Creating a pipeline

Rocky Wright, director of prison programs at Judson College, said the North Carolina Field Minister Program is in high demand. Each year, he said more than 100 people apply for up to 30 slots.

Participants must have already earned a high school diploma or GED, completed at least one year without any infractions and have at least 10 years left to serve on their sentence. Wright said the program looks for people who demonstrate humility, compassion, and a willingness to serve.

“We’re looking for guys who have servant hearts, who want to serve others,” Wright said.

Students take a full college course load year-round, including coursework in liberal arts, biblical studies, and counseling.

After earning their degrees, field ministers are asked to serve for at least four years, though Wright said participation is voluntary.

How field ministers work can vary from prison to prison. Despite being unordained, some work alongside prison chaplains. Others work more closely with program staff. At intake facilities, field ministers help newly incarcerated people acclimate to the prison environment, and they serve as mentors during their first weeks. Many also teach classes, such as Thinking for a Change, a therapeutic approach to changing negative behaviors, and Father Accountability, which teaches positive parenting. They also lead Bible studies.

Wright said one field minister team at Harnett Correctional Institution even came up with a nonviolence initiative that lessened violence and fights at the facility.

Finding new purpose

Barry Mintz, 21 years into serving a life sentence without parole, was part of the field minister program’s first cohort. He said he originally joined for selfish reasons, thinking it would look good and help his chances of release.

But as he studied, Mintz said, his understanding of his faith changed, along with his understanding of himself and his purpose.

“My journey to this moment right now is a testament to the transformative power of faith and education,” he said during an Aug. 19 event at Nash Correctional that celebrated 10 years of the program.

Mintz said he’s helped countless people. Some days, that means lending an ear to someone who is in a mental health crisis or going through a wrenching life event.

He recalled one encounter that has stuck with him: an incarcerated man whose father died the day before he was released from prison. Based on his training, Mintz said he felt equipped to offer theological answers, grief counseling and simply a warm embrace.

“In that moment, I realized that we weren’t just equipped to think well, to read well, to write well and speak well — but we had been equipped to love well,” Mintz said.

‘Part of the community’

Field ministers lean into their own transformations and shared experiences to reach other incarcerated men.

“Our real effectiveness comes from being a part of the community,” said Timothy Johnson, another member of the first cohort of field ministers. “They know they can trust us with their problems because we’re living with the same problems. We don’t talk to them about how hard it is to be locked up and go home at the end of the day.”

Field ministers told NC Health News they often encounter men who want to change but don’t know how — and they can step in with guidance and support.

Jimmy Smith, a field minister at Caswell Correctional Center who graduated in the program’s second cohort, said he uses his own testimony to show how much change is possible.

“I’ve been incarcerated 31 years, so a lot of guys knew me when I was in my craziness, and they knew the transitions that I had made over the years and became the preacher,” Smith said. “I had to explain to them that I thought like a child, but then I became a man, and there are qualifications of being a man, and it’s responsibility, accountability, and reliability. Walking in that, it gives you parameters and things you won’t do anymore.”

William Singletary described getting support and mentorship from field ministers at Granville Correctional Institution.

“Their presence was not only uplifting but instrumental in my growth and development as an individual and a man of faith,” Singletary said. “Exposure to these ministers opened my eyes to the profound impact we can have on one another’s lives, even in the most unlikely of places. I watched as they poured their energy into helping others find peace, joy and purpose amidst their struggles.”

Singletary wanted to do the same. He’s studying to become a field minister himself.

Matthew Grant, a field minister student in his junior year, was sent to prison in 2004. He said he’s ready to draw on his own experiences to counsel others.

“I’ve lost family too,” he said. “I’ve been in the hole too. I’ve been depressed. I’ve been suicidal. I’ve been angry before. I’ve been in fights before. I’ve been to some of the most violent prisons in the state. I’ve done that. I’ve seen what that gets you, and I’ve been able to come out on the other side.”

Filling critical needs

The field ministers aren’t intended to replace prison chaplains or other staff, but to extend their reach.

Sarah Jobe, director of Chaplaincy Services at the N.C. Department of Adult Correction, said the department has about 47 chaplains serving across the state — about one-third of whom are community-funded through churches and other grants. That leaves some prisons without a chaplain.

“People’s critical needs for conversations around hard topics do not always happen when a chaplain is on site,” Jobe said. “The field ministers are right there to be called at any time, and can really step in and be a witness and a presence inside of the dorms in a way that the chaplain cannot.”

The N.C. Department of Adult Correction funded eight new chaplain positions last year, Jobe said. Prison leaders have been working toward having at least one chaplain in each state prison, she said, in recognition that spiritual care and religious accommodations can shape prison environments and culture.

Jobe helps determine which facilities get field ministers. The biggest factor, she said, is staff buy-in and their willingness to provide field ministers with the support and autonomy they need to best serve. She said she’s got more facilities that want field ministers than there are available graduates.

“They can be radical change agents for good and serve in caregiving professions well and under incredibly difficult circumstances,” Jobe said.

N.C. Department of Adult Correction Secretary Leslie Cooley Dismukes said she “hands down, without a doubt” views the field minister program as the program with the greatest impact on the department’s population of nearly 33,000.

“This program allows us to bring in partners from the outside to reach you, and then it allows you, when you earn your yellow shirt, to reach everyone,” she said. “You are credible messengers. You are the people who can change lives.”

Jobe agrees and said their impact will only grow as more field ministers are deployed to prisons across the state in the coming years.

The impact has been tremendous on Timothy Johnson, one of the prison system’s first graduates.

He went to prison in 2005, sentenced to life without the possibility of parole. For many years, he said, that sentence defined his life story. But his work as a field minister changed his perspective.

“I feel like my story changed from life without parole, and that’s what defined me, to a life of purpose,” Johnson said. “Every day I wake up knowing I’m going to have some conversation with somebody that needs a little bit of hope, some inspiration that can feed off my story.”

Based on reporting by The Carolinian.

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