It was a lovely time at Hatfield prison. Truly, I didn’t know what to expect. This was my first prison visit for a while and the only other one, several years ago, was a women’s prison in Surrey, so very different. I was told that the prisoners I would meet were Category D, which suggested the place would be a little more relaxed and tension-free than I had expected. And so it proved, though I was still nervous as I began to engage with the prisoners.

 A few of them had arrived early and were sitting on the front row seats. I was getting ready to perform but they seemed intent on having a chat. Where was I from? Southampton. Wow, that was a long way. I must confess to having found one or two of their accents to be a little thick for my Southern ears to quickly catch on, but before long I was able to relax. Whatever their record, these were just normal guys wanting to be friendly. 

 Eventually the performance started. You could see from the outset that the prisoners and staff had never seen anything like it. However it soon became apparent that for a few at least maintaining their attention on a single speaker for any protracted length of time was going to be a challenge. A few yawns here, an averting of the eyes there. I knew I had to do something to keep the performance fresh. Speed seemed to be the answer. I don’t think I’ve ever rattled through the words of the Gospel as quickly as I did that afternoon. However, I was pleased to find that they lost none of their punch or their force. In fact for this audience, it was clearly a helpful tool. 

 I came away at the end of the first act thinking, “Well, that wasn’t too bad”. The prisoners had attended throughout, though one or two of them had decided to vote with their feet and made an exit half way through. And the jokes and audience participation had gone down well. In truth the response wasn’t too different from that of a typical church audience, though I doubted (possibly inaccurately) whether my present audience were as familiar with the gospel story as my usual listeners. 

 So so far so good. However, I felt something was missing. At half time I deliberated with the chaplain, Christopher, as to whether it might have been better to offer a much shorter version, and even considered truncating the second half – the story of Jesus’ journey to His crucifixion. However, in the end I stuck to my guns and decided to play the remainder as planned, and leave the rest to God. In a Word, to trust Him. 

 And this is what I tried to do, at least as best I could. Eyes off the prisoners, I told myself. Forget about the quality of their response. Just perform as you know how and let God be in charge of the rest. It was a lesson on faith that I hadn’t expected to receive, and it seemed to be my only solution for the challenge ahead. 

 Thankfully a good number, though not all, of the men had returned for the second half, so we still had a decent audience (about nineteen men attended overall and about five members of staff). And very soon into the second act I could tell that the atmosphere was different. No more averting of the eyes, or looking bored from any of the folk assembled. These men were hooked. As hooked as any group of churchgoers in the many churches I’d performed I AM MARK in up and down the country. The faces followed me with genuine empathy, ‘saw’ the characters and the events I was portraying, and were genuinely moved by the sadness of Gethsemane and Jesus’ death. Don’t ask me how I know this. There was no tears (though sometimes that happens). No, it is something about their eyes. The way they glistened or widened and spoke of… well, recognition. These were beautiful but profound moments – with me, trying to focus on just letting go, and the prisoners and staff, apparently embroiled in the scenes being evoked. 

 Before I knew it, I’d reached the end. And the acid test – the question and answer session. Now we would find out what they really felt. Surprisingly, the interaction was lively and friendly. I remember thinking that this was going to be a challenging bit: I was doubtful whether the men would want to “open up” in front of their fellow inmates and staff. We got a lot of “safe” questions like, how did you manage to remember all those lines? But a few astute ones as well (admittedly from a member of staff), such as, “Have you performed this in front of different age groups or for people from other religions?” But they all gave me licence to speak freely about some of my experiences – many funny, some moving and a few miraculous. Like the time, in Watford High Street, where having previously asked God that I might “download” some of His Son’s personality (yes, I had really prayed those words!), the atmosphere suddenly became charged with the presence and love of God – and everyone there knew it. To my surprise I found I could freely talk about such things, without any comeback, and knew in fact that the story had hit home.

 At the end of the afternoon, when it was time for the prisoners to return to their next activity, I was pleasantly surprised by how enthusiastic the audience were in their applause (they had clearly loved it), and by the fact that eight or nine of the prisoners and some staff wanted to shake me by the hand and have a chat. Nothing staggering or dramatic was said, although one member of staff generously went out of his way to assert how “powerful” he felt the event was. But the spirit of camaraderie, the warm feeling that comes from a shared experience of truth or beauty, and genuine gratitude was strong.

 Later I found out that five copies of Mark’s gospel had been taken away for further reading (Hallelujah!) and that, having returned to their lessons, a few of the prisoners and some of the teaching staff had used the next little while to talk about their experience of the performance – I trust in a positive way! I left HMP Hatfield a very relieved – and very happy – man. 

 It’s hard to exaggerate how moving my visit to HMP Wakefield was, and how elated I am now it’s all over. Without the presence of my trusty sidekick Woody to steady my nerves*, I was worried at the start about how I would be received. But then the men started filing in – and a sweeter bunch one could not expect to meet. Surprisingly (to me) there were quite a few older (55+) men among them, as well as some younger ones. I was told later that this group had a variety of relationships to faith. Some were genuine believers; rather more were simply seekers of one kind or another. 

 Whatever their reasons for being here were, and I was under no illusions that there were some pretty serious criminals in the chapel with me, it quickly became apparent that these men were surprisingly “human” – not at all like their stereotypes – and obviously as flawed and in need as the rest of us. A few handshakes and introductions later I began to feel a little more at home. In particular one prisoner shared how he too had memorized much of the Bible, and proceeded to entertain me with flawless versions of Psalms 1 and 91. Most impressive!

 Once the performance started, and especially in the second half, I could see that the audience were clearly engaged. I would even go as far as to say they were hooked. I was expecting some signs of unspoken cynicism and boredom, and to be truthful, this was evident in a couple of the men’s faces - at least to start with. But not by the second half. From Chapter 9 Verse 2 onwards the people were glued - all of them, even the initially reluctant ones. Dear faces were looking up at me. Open faces. Drinking it all in. I can’t say why this happened particularly, although it’s interesting that by this point I found myself focusing rather more on God in prayer (particularly on his love for me) and rather less on the apparent effect I was having. But the Holy Spirit was there, too. I’ve no doubt about that. Even as I recall it now, my hand is shaking from the sense of His presence and action. By the end and a generous round of applause, it was time for the questions and comments. Now we would see what they really felt….

 Honestly, their response seemed no different to a very good night in a church setting. Gratitude, delight and laughter characterised the next twenty minutes or so. I got questions about my memorisation, about the (abrupt) ending at Chapter 16 verse 8, and about my next project - and could I come back please? One prisoner, a studious-looking younger man, said something I hope I’ll never forget. “Your performance was transportive. Just for this afternoon I forgot I was in prison. And let me tell you: of all the things we as prisoners need, this is the most valuable.” Lastly came one super question from the chaplain: why had I chosen to do this project in the first place? 

I wish I could bottle what I said and what happened in the next few minutes. I decided to tell my 40 year old testimony. The whole caboodle: My choice to read the Christian books my girlfriend had lent me one Saturday night; the sudden desire to pray (without knowing why or even how); the realisation that I had committed some pretty nasty acts despite the fact that I usually imagined myself a basically “good” person; the abrupt change in the atmosphere in the room from a guilty tearfulness to a strange warmth and peace; the presence of a Someone or something in the room, whom I couldn’t see, but whose acceptance and kindness I felt - completely and unconditionally; and a voice which was not my own but was mysteriously situated somewhere within me saying “Bless you, my son. Bless you”; how I had burst into tears thinking I had met “God”; how I’d woken up the next morning thinking it was just emotion; how by some freaky ‘coincidence’ I had agreed to visit my friend’s church the next day; how my experience of the previous night (including the double blessing) was repeated from the pulpit in the form of the story of Jabez; how I suddenly knew in my heart of hearts that God existed (and if he did, he was Lord of the Universe, and thus also Lord of my life); how I gave my life to him; how within a month I received a calling to tell people of his love; and how after years of trying to do what other people called “evangelism” (and largely failing), suddenly discovering that I could at least tell stories, including this one - the beautiful Gospel of Mark. 

 All of this poured out of me with the uncanny fluency that suggested there was another power at work in me than simply my own. I wondered if I had gone too far. I looked to one side, where the chaplain stood, to check whether I had not strayed over some line. But not before ending with the announcement that “the person I met in my room that night is actually here. Just like the angel says at the end of my story, “He is Risen!”

 Silence. Then joy. And not just my own. Everywhere, and I mean everywhere, across the room, faces nodding in agreement. 

 After another surprisingly enthusiastic round of applause, the 28 or so prisoners filed out, all of them shaking me by the hand, each one taking away a copy of Mark’s gospel, some asking when I was coming again. The men seemed genuinely delighted to have been there. I was genuinely bowled over. 

 One parting shot. Here is what one prisoner said to one of the helpers as he left: “I know how Stefan feels. When I first visited the chapel here in Wakefield prison, the presence and love of God for me was so powerful, that I, too, burst into tears.”

 When I heard this, I found it difficult to hold back my own. It was all too much… God. Way too much.

*Because HMP Wakefield is a Category A, high security prison, Woody was not allowed in, having failed the prison security check. His replacement performed fairly well, though.

I just want to thank everyone who prayed for me as I was in HMP Ranby yesterday. I enjoyed this visit as much as the other two, but it was very different. There were about thirty men in the chapel with me. Including the C of E chaplain and, periodically, the Muslim Imam. The majority of them, I was told beforehand, would be regular attenders at Sunday services. Moreover there were likely to be very few “troublemakers” among them. And so it proved. A more receptive, indeed kind audience I could not have wished for. I was faced with the fact, once and for all, that many of the people now living in our jails are nothing like their popular image, or at least the one that had hitherto been in my brain. Whereas I have been expecting hardened, perhaps even cynical, certainly very wary people, I’ve encountered nothing of the sort. Instead I’ve met a large number of individuals, here and elsewhere, who are truly no different to you and me. In fact I would go as far as to say that this particular audience seemed more receptive, indeed more vulnerable and open than many of the people I typically meet on my travels. 

 The feeling of doing the performance was different as well. As I looked at the men’s faces, especially during the second half of the show, I didn’t see prisoners, nor even members of an audience to perform in front of. Rather it felt like we were simply brothers sharing in a beautiful and meaningful experience. Imagine your best moments round the dinner table with family and friends - and then quadruple that feeling. That was about the measure of the sense of connection and respect I felt, and I believe everyone else felt as well. You could tell from their eyes that they were absolutely loving what they were receiving. In fact they seemed hungry for it. Even starving. And when the question and answer session started, I was amazed by the profundity of the comments and the vulnerability that some were prepared to own. Far from being wary of their fellow prisoners, they seemed often in agreement about some quite deep issues. Far from being embittered and individualistic they clearly held one another in deep respect. 

 “What I liked about the Jesus in your performance was how larger than life he was,” remarked one prisoner. Several others drew our attention to Jesus’ full blooded humanity, as reflected in his suffering in the Garden of Gethsemane. He knew what we’ve suffered, seemed to be the general conclusion. Others asked how they might incorporate the sense of immediacy and reality they had experienced that afternoon into their own Bible reading. This led to a hardly-to-be-expected discussion on the use of the imagination in prayer and scripture meditation. Another prisoner pointed out how Jesus was quick to commend the faith of the woman with an issue of blood or that blind Bartimaeus: “Your faith has healed you.” We all wondered aloud about what this sort of faith looked like, admitting that our own faith, as in our trust in Jesus in apparently impossible situations, was typically so small, like that of a “mustard” seed. Yet another referred to how alike we were to some of the disciples, particularly Peter, who stands up for Jesus one moment, and denies him the next. 

 As I write about these highlights, I can’t get out of my mind some of the faces of the men in front of me. I think particularly of the young chap who sat at the back during the first half, but came down to the front for the second, his eyes wide open and glistening, seeming to drink in every word. I think of the other young man who before we started confided in me in a low whisper that he was very new to this prison and therefore feeling quite nervous. Interestingly he started the afternoon on the front row and ended up on the back one! But at the end, during the Q&A he was one of the most voluble, in front of men he didn’t know very well, about how much the performance had meant to him.

 In truth I loved being with these men. And when it was time to say goodbye, I really didn’t want to. I know this sounds preposterous but in a couple of hours we had built up a really meaningful relationship: honest, totally focused and humble about our brokenness. Honestly it felt like church – or at least how church is meant to be. 

 As in the first two performances, the prisoners filed out quietly but not without many taking with them copies of the gospel of Mark, and several of them shaking me by the hand to thank me personally. One asked for a mustard seed (I’d given out a few earlier while telling the eponymous parable). All the copies of my booklet on contemplative prayer, Be Still, also disappeared, as well as my copies of The Choice, a testimony of a former prisoner, named Andy Robinson.

 Three things are worth mentioning about the end, which were further surprises to me. The first was when the chaplain stood up before the men and said that there were parts of the performance that had actually made him cry. I hadn’t expected that! What an amazing, courageous admission on his part! Then there was the big, burly black prisoner who was asked to pray for me. I’ve forgotten much of what he said as he placed his hand on my shoulder. But I know that much of it hit home. Finally there was a reaction to something I’ve promised Jesus I will always bring up at my performances. Instead of telling my full testimony, I tried to answer the question as to what has motivated me to do this performance. This was my answer: “I firmly believe that the person who dominates this story, and the one I met in my room all those years ago, is none other than Love Itself. More to the point (as we are told at the end of the story), He is risen. He is alive and He’s everywhere. And, more to the point, He’s here.” 

I’ll never forget the thunderous, spontaneous applause that followed my final remarks of the afternoon.

 Twenty seven-twenty-eight men attended. This was a harder group to enthuse, especially at first, perhaps down to the make-up of the group. As a remand prison, most prisoners only stay a few weeks before moving on. A lot of younger and perhaps “tougher” men than in the other jails on my tour. It was also extremely hot. 

While most attended in the first half, several were looking away, apparently disengaged, but as had happened previously, there was an apparent turn around in fortunes, once the second half started. Perhaps it’s the story itself which certainly increases in pace and becomes a lot more dramatic – very emotional and violent. Or maybe as before, it’s because by the second half I tend to relax and not worry so much about the outcomes. Rather than worrying about what people are thinking, it pays to focus on Jesus Himself, my “audience of One”. As I relaxed, so engagement improved among the men. 

We had some decent questions at the end. One was “how do you manage to bring such a variety of emotion to your characterisation?” (Great question)! I was happy with the answer which involved how I could empathise with some of the characters, e.g. Peter, as I too have often let people down or even betrayed people. Several of the prisoners agreed that was their experience as well. I also talked about how difficult it is to inhabit the character of Christ, particularly at Gethsemane. I talked about how I typically try to relive the most terrible of my life experiences (not a particularly pleasant pastime). But recalled one moment in Edinburgh when I had found myself in a deep place of prayer before the performance and how the Gethsemane scene felt like agony to do. I remember being unable to hold back the tears, I felt so awful. And I remember several people on the front row spontaneously bursting into tears as well. This seemed to have an impact in the men.

 At the end a good number of Mark’s Gospels were taken away and all my “Be Still” prayer books and “The Choice”, a testimony by an ex-prisoner disappeared!

  I didn’t count but I think about twenty-seven were there.  I was told many would be regular attenders at chapel, although it became clear by the end that several were very new Christians and others hadn’t got a faith at all as yet. Before the performance started, it was almost cancelled! The chapel carpet had been cleaned that morning. As it was an extremely hot day, it was deemed that the humidity and heat levels were too great for the audience to be able to use the room. (There are no windows in the chapel and all doors must be locked for security reasons). In the event, after a hasty appeal for prayer from the PRAY 4 I AM MARK WhatsApp group and others people praying at Daylight Christian Prison Trust, the performance was able to go ahead, and a special dispensation granted for one of the doors to be left open. The volunteer chaplain confided with me afterwards that, given the response of the men to the show, he wouldn’t be surprised whether this was an indication of spiritual warfare around the event. I’m not one to make a lot about such things, but I’m inclined to agree - especially given the emergency prayers that went up - and the corresponding change of mind by the authorities - with only minutes to go! 

 The response of the men at the end was sensational - as good as any of the other events on this tour. One man, seated in the front row, had not even intended to come along (he thought it was a band practice) and definitely did not have a faith. But he was one of the most voluble in his praise of the event at the end of the show, saying how much it had touched him. Another man said he could see himself in the events. He was actually “there “. A third man made so bold as to say the following in front of all the others: “This is one of the darkest places on earth,” he said, “and what you’ve brought today is Light. We badly need the Light.” 

Again, I didn’t count but I think every single man came up to thank me personally and shake me by the hand as they filed out to return to their cells. These were truly special moments. Another young man confided: “I’ve only been to chapel once before and I’m not sure where I stand, but this really meant something to me. Thank you.” There were other comments like this. Blows me away, really! 

 The volunteer chaplains on duty, Jon and Peter, were absolutely delighted at the response. As Jon said, as we wished each other farewell, there is such a deep need for Christ in prison, and the prisoners he works with are absolutely hungry. He had expected to bring God to the men when he began this ministry, but what he found was that God was already here, often working in more dramatic and awe inspiring ways than you’d typically not see in our middle class churches. It seems that Jesus absolutely delights to be among the last and the least.

 Given my experience of prison ministry so far (for which I’m truly grateful), I couldn’t agree more.

 This has got to be one of the hardest experiences of the tour. Nevertheless, it was still an enjoyable one. HMP Deerbolt is a category C prison with a chequered history and a mixed population of remand prisoners and men with longer sentences. It also has a mix of ages. A lot of 20 to 30-year-olds, many of whom are in prison for drug related offences, and several older prisoners.

Twenty-seven prisoners attended, either having been selected or having chosen to come along. (One prisoner wasn’t meant to be there but had apparently pleaded four or five times to be able to come along). I was told beforehand, that some of the men, particularly the younger ones, would potentially be quite difficult to handle. And, to be truthful, there was a significant minority of prisoners who found it very difficult to concentrate or behave particularly well. In general though these were low grade disruptions - a bit of chatter, a few off colour jokes, some giggling - among a tiny minority. One prisoner did take exception to something that was said or the way in which he was being looked at. In the middle of Act Two, he stood up and started shouting at me and then at the chaplain. He had to be politely escorted out of the room, as at this point were several others who were clearly not finding it easy to be sensible. But these incidents were largely the exception to the rule. The majority of the prisoners were as engaged as any in the other jails I’ve visited, even, to their great credit, while these minor shenanigans were going on.

 A number of things served to encourage me as I continued to perform, occasionally under quite challenging conditions: the utter seriousness, fascination and even hunger (not too strong a word) on the faces of most of the prisoners before me, especially the older ones; the way in which I could sense various incidents and phrases making a particularly strong impact; the manner in which a mysterious silence seemed to descend on the whole room (even among the boisterous ones) every time my ‘Jesus’ spoke - what was that about?; and, encouragingly, the tangible feeling, on at least five or six occasions of a kind of “electricity” coursing up and down my arms and my fingers. I’ve encountered this before, most notably in a performance in Gwennap Pit in Cornwall several years ago. Was it fanciful of me to conclude the Holy Spirit was intent on encouraging me to keep going and to believe he was truly at work, despite everything? I believe not. 

 So I wasn’t entirely surprised by the way in which a good number of the prisoners came up at the end and shook me by the hand, saying how much they enjoyed the performance. (It’s worth noting that there was no time for a Q&A so this was the only indication of my ‘approval rating’ I was going to get). A little distracted by some of the antics earlier, I searched their faces to see if there was any sense of irony in their congratulations. But no. These were serious, genuine compliments. A little brief, and street smart to be sure, but sincerely meant.

 One prisoner’s gratitude made a particularly deep impression on me - a tall guy whose multiple tattoos and physical presence were quite imposing, to say the least. I was told later that he could typically be counted on to cause trouble, but had been as good as gold throughout the presentation - much to the chaplain’s surprise. A comment of “Great job!” made with gusto by one of the female officers had a similar effect - all the more so because it came some forty minutes after the event, and had been completely unsolicited.

 Could it be, I pondered, that despite all the indications to the contrary, the Holy Spirit had “got thorough” to his people after all?

 And so I AM MARK tour of His Majesty’s prisons comes to an end - and as it does so, I feel a mixture of elation and exhaustion. Even more strongly, I feel enormous gratitude for everyone who spurred me on through their prayers and their messages. Thank you so much, everybody!

 HMP Low Newton is a closed prison for female adults and young offenders. Slightly bruised by my HMP Deerbolt experience, I was looking forward to going, especially as I had been in a female prison before – HMP Send – with positive results. And as it turned out, this last performance was one of the best of the tour in many ways, even though the audience dwindled as it went along. By the end I was speaking to about ten people in total. 

 Nevertheless the experience was a profound one - for all of us. 

 How do I know this? 

 Because of the eyes.

  I know I might be accused of being overly subjective. But, with nearly a hundred performances under my belt, I believe I’m now a pretty good interpreter of people’s responses. You can certainly tell if a group is “on side” or not. And sometimes individual faces are very expressive of what’s going on within. Of course I could be well wide of mark, but I would hazard a guess that the following hypothesis is true of Low Newton. 

 There was a girl on the right hand side who was looking at me with a half smile on a face and a studious calm. She clearly has a strong faith and was most appreciative when it came to the Q&A. 

 There was an older lady towards the back on the left-hand side, whose eyebrows and eyes kept moving in sympathy with the action - it was like a melody how she kept in time with the events on stage. She seemed to be completely immersed in the story. I’ve never seen a more expressive reaction on someone’s face. Even when she closed her eyes (which she did for several long periods), it wasn’t because she was bored, as I feared initially. It was because she was being profoundly affected, in a deep form of prayer.

 Then was there was the lady on the left of the aisle, right in front of me, whom I really warmed to because she listened with such a knowing attentiveness and a genuine sense of gratitude. 

 And then there was the lady further back on the left. At times her eyes became glazed, I think she was struggling to concentrate on every word, perhaps because there were so many coming at her all at once. And who could blame her? There are roughly 14,600 words in Mark’s Gospel! But at other times she seem to be completely taken up in the story, as her comments at the end of the play would suggest. See below. 

 Oh, and I shouldn’t forget the guard who sat at the back who, contrary to my expectations, and perhaps against his better judgment, was completely enthralled. These words were clearly speaking to him too, on a profound level! 

 Finally there were the facial expressions of the six or so individuals who didn’t - or couldn’t - last the course. It seems that there were a variety of reasons why this was so. When the interval came, I gathered that some of them hadn’t realised that the performance would be that long. Others said they had to be elsewhere, in particular to check the shopping that was being delivered for them. If they’re not present when the shopping arrives, they have to put up with any mistakes that have been made and can’t send anything back. And it is true to say that in the case of at least two of the prisoners, seeing their mates go was enough reason for them to leave also.

 Yet up to that point the engagement of all six had been near-perfect. The atmosphere in the room was in complete contrast to the at times rather difficult experience of performing at Deerbolt the day before. These prisoners were not only respectful and kind, but were moved to a pensive silence throughout. Again it could be that I’m completely wrong about this, but what I saw in many of these ladies’ eyes was recognition.

 What do I mean by this word? Well, can you think back to the time when you were not a person of faith? I’m willing to bet that some of what you’d heard from Christians about their faith actually struck a chord, at least in one part of your soul. Having said that, another part of you would be feeling a significant amount of resistance to the message. Am I right?

 I know this was true of my experience. It seems to me, as I look back, that God was remarkably persistent and patient in pursuing me, despite various rejections on my part. There was always something uncannily uncomfortable about Christians when they shared their faith. You didn’t like them very much but you had a sneaking impression, in a very deep part of your brain, that what they were saying was true.

 Well, this is what I saw in many of these ladies’ eyes: an albeit rather embarrassed or reluctant knowing that they were listening to the truth. The memory of their faces, so open yet hesitant, encourages me to pray for them and to believe that the Holy Spirit was at work in that room at that time. 

 One more thing ought to be said about the ladies who left at half time. Remember I mentioned the lady whose eyes sometimes glazed over but who stayed to the end? This was her comment during the Q&A which followed the performance. “You know those ladies who left at half time? Well, bad for them! They were simply doing what Jesus’s disciples were doing at that point in the story – letting him down when he needed them most.” 

 What a profound statement!

 Of course she’s absolutely right: from chapter 9 of Mark onwards, Jesus’s would-be disciples begin to desert him. They are terrified. The cost was too much. Even his most apparently loyal followers decide that discretion is the greater part of valour in the end. It’s no accident that Jesus says towards the end of the first half of my play, that to follow Him involves suffering significant losses as well immeasurable rewards. To keep going towards Jerusalem was to deny oneself and potentially suffer for your faith. Well, this is what the lady who stayed on had picked up on with such wonderful perceptiveness!

 So as I come to the end of my journeying, what conclusions can I draw about this last few weeks? Are there any significant learning points? 

 First of all, I want to say that the tour was thoroughly worth doing. The response was generally very positive, disarmingly so, from the majority of men and women whom I met. In some cases their awareness of their need, their level of faith and their commitment to Christ put me to shame. And the sense of the Holy Spirit at work among us in a beautiful and exciting way was very real. 

 As for learning points: Well, if I could have my time again, I would probably think again about the length of the performances in Deerbolt and Low Newton, and perhaps in HMP Hatfield as well. In these places a shorter performance of say, one hour and 10 minutes, would have worked slightly better given the attention span of some of the audience, often younger more restless prisoners. 

 I also would think again about some of the vocabulary used in the gospel which may have evoked some sensitivities on the part of one or two prisoners. Similarly, I now feel squeamish about using the 1984 NIV translation of Mark in a women’s prison. Although it’s my favourite version (perhaps it’s because it’s the one I grew up with), it’s far from gender inclusive. While the ladies were very kind about this, it would have been better for me to replace many of the references to “man” in that translation (there are a lot of them) to “woman”. 

 But these are minor concerns in the context of what happened on this tour as a whole. It was the privilege of my life to be among these men and women. And I have much - and many people - to be thankful for. Especially Gaius Phillingham and Karen Mansfield at Daylight Christian Prison Trust, who put the tour together (a huge job) and whose brainchild this was; the prison chaplains of various ilks; my wonderful hosts; and of course my absolutely amazing prayer partners and friends. To all of you a BIG thank you! 

 I embarked on this adventure without much understanding of what prison life was like. I can’t say that I have much more now. But what I would say is that I’ve seen enough to suggest the following: 

• That God loves every single one of us, whatever we have done or not done, whether we are “inside” or “outside” our nation’s jails.

• That in his forgiveness, kindness and offer of transformational grace, he makes absolutely no distinctions. • That we are all as messed up and needy as each other. 

• And that Jesus seems to have a particular fondness for “the last and the least” - those on the outside of polite society, the ones most would rather forget about or cast out to the margins, and very often the people who know they need him most.

Matthew 5:3 AMP “Blessed [spiritually prosperous, happy, to be admired] are the poor in spirit [those devoid of spiritual arrogance, those who regard themselves as insignificant], for theirs is the kingdom of heaven [both now and forever].”