Bill and Pat Urell

No Clowning Around-
Kairos Prison Ministry
Opens Inmates' Hearts to Healing of Holy Spirit

By Debra Krittenbrink
For the Sooner Catholic

"People come in here all dressed up, sing about Jesus, tell us we're going to hell, and leave. Next week, same thing," said one inmate to Bill and Pat Urell during their visit to prison. "But you come, you bring Jesus with you, leave Him here when you go, and come back every month to find out how we're treating Him."

Unknowingly, he summed up the faithful and constant service the Urells have devoted to prison ministry for more than 15 years. Theirs is not a come-and-go activity; through participation in Kairos for incarcerated men and women, Kairos Torch for young offenders, and Kairos Outside for families of prisoners, they dedicate weekdays and weekends to their mission of evangelizing the marginalized. In addition, they travel to Mabel Bassett and Davis Correctional Facility through Catholic Prison Ministries, and are being cleared to do Jail Ministry at the Oklahoma County Jail. Working as a team, they find themselves serving as counselors, mentors, and even clowns, using their training as professional jokers to lighten the atmosphere when things get tense. Most of all, they consider themselves instruments of the Holy Spirit, trusting Him to use them as He sees fit.

The couple was introduced to prison ministry when they lived in Connecticut years ago. There, they played music for weekly Masses in the local jail. Compared to their former work at a mental hospital, this was easy. "[In jail] they behave themselves, they want to be there, and they don't act up.

In a mental hospital, who knows?" said Pat, who brushes off any notion that their work is extraordinary.

It was after their move to Oklahoma 12 years ago the two got involved in the fledgling Kairos prison ministry program. As part of the first team to do a weekend in McAlester, a maximum-security prison, Bill said the experience is an indelible memory. "I remember crossing the yard, maybe 75 or 80 tiers with bars and everything, followed by catcalls. I heard a voice that sounded like the devil, 'You shall not succeed in what you're doing in this yard.' It scared the hell out of me."

Bill said that in spite of a few mistakes the first time around, the program was incredible. "Jesus is the head of the team, and He takes care of everything," said Pat. It's a good thing, because their setup was daunting.

The program calls for inviting prison leaders to participate: half are positive leaders, half negative. The weekend retreat was populated with Black Muslims, White Supremacists, Satanists, and Aryans, and prison officials were concerned about a race riot. After three days of Christian-based talks, activities, and personal letters to each inmate, there was a visible change in the heavily guarded prisoners. Bill and Pat agree that they witnessed a miracle that day. "At the closing, there was open mike," said Bill, misty-eyed. "I saw a Black Muslim and a White Supremacist hug. I heard one White Supremacist say, 'I couldn't hug a black man, but I'm not gonna stick him anymore.'"

They also credit the Kairos movement with saving a prison guard's life.

After a retreat at Granite, one of the inmates got high and assaulted a correctional officer. It was two Kairos participants who risked their lives, and their credibility in prison, to pull the man off of the officer and talk him down.  

To Pat and Bill, the key to success is the monthly follow-up. They go back once a month to a retreat site, teaching a "share and prayer" model and building community within the prison. "It can be very dangerous to be too open," said Pat. "In prison you don't let people know about you, so to ask them to become vulnerable is difficult." In spite of these supposedly insurmountable hurdles,  Kairos changes lives.

The program has documented success: there is a 30 percent reduction in recidivism for people who experience a Kairos weekend with no monthly follow-up, and a 60 percent reduction if prisoners complete the whole program. "We're not into numbers," Bill is quick to add. "As far as I'm concerned, I'm an evangelist. I'm interested in saving souls."

Typically modest and unassuming, the pair insists that their ministry is nothing special. Pat said that when Fr. Pruett comments about the difficulty of prison ministry, she says, "No, Father, if God wants you to do it, He makes it easy and it's a joy."

"It's a lot easier to do prison ministry than to teach 13-year-old kids about [the sacrament of] confirmation," Bill said. "I don't think we're doing anything more than a whole lot of people in our parish. We just happen to have a different calling."