Lessons Learned after 500 Visits to Prison

In 2015 Todd Cioffi paid his first visit to the Handlon Correctional Facility in Ionia, Mich. While a team of faculty, staff, students, donors, and administrators have poured into the program over the years, Cioffi’s week-in, week-out commitment is hard to match.

On Friday, Sept. 6, Cioffi, senior advisor of the Calvin Prison Initiative, reached a milestone: entering the facility for the 500th time. Upon this visit, his students, his colleagues, and Michigan Department of Corrections leaders surprised him with some special recognition. Cioffi received a custom-made wooden plaque made by guys at Handlon to honor his commitment.

On Tuesday, Sept. 10, faculty and staff on Calvin’s Grand Rapids campus held a reception to honor his commitment as well.

“These are the sorts of things that put it back into perspective again,” said Cioffi. “You plow the ground; your head’s down; you keep plowing and plowing and plowing – and then all of a sudden you poke your head up, and people are like ‘Thanks!’”

We recently sat down with Cioffi to reflect on his journey over the past 10 years—a journey that he almost missed out on.

When you were first asked to be part of this program, what was your initial response? 

No.

I had played more of a counseling role with the seminary to help them navigate the college – just pointing them toward the people they should talk to, what professors would be excited about this – and I was more than happy to do that. So, I very much supported the idea and the vision.

I ended up working on and off with David Rylaarsdam for about a year. I saw the proposal go to faculty senate and get denied. And that really upset me quite a bit. I was surprised about how upset I was, because I didn’t have a horse in the race. I was helping, but it wasn’t my thing.

So I talked with some faculty after that and just said, “You know, this potential program is spot on with the mission; it’s just spot on – you know that?” And they agreed, saying, “God will work it out. We’ll figure it out. If it’s God’s will, this will happen.”

So the second time the program was proposed to Calvin University, it was accepted. I again was surprised at how good I felt about that – like, “That is really cool; I’m excited about this.” But I was still working with the congregational and ministry studies (CMS) department, which is why I had come to Calvin, and didn’t feel like I was prepared to leave that behind yet. So I actually said no twice, and then they asked a third time, saying, “What if we had codirectors?” and then I naively thought, “You can take two jobs at 50 percent, and it’ll stay right there at 50 percent.” But that was a good fit, actually. 

How many visits did you make to Handlon Correctional Facility before you realized saying "yes" was the right decision?

I knew within the very first semester that this was exactly where I needed to be. I started imagining year after year what my exit strategy from the CMS department would be. I kept thinking, “If I could do this prison stuff full-time, I would.” Which again was kind of surprising, because it’s very nonconventional for a professor. 

Every time I go into that prison, if I’m around those students for five minutes, all is well. I don’t know how to explain it . . . it’s just been so life-giving. 

What's the most important lesson you've learned over the past 10 years?

The students have taught me that God is up to something and that you don’t have to grip so tight – you don’t have to try and ensure things come out right – because, I mean, I work with guys who have been locked up for decades, and they are men of faith – men of joy, hope, love, gentleness, patience. I feel like I’ve been doing time with them for these 10 years, in a way. In many ways you are working in an environment that kind of breaks you; it doesn’t give in; it will outlast you – and then how do you respond? For several years I responded with anger, frustration, doubt, wanting to quit – and it was the students who began to minister to me in those moments, saying, “It’s going to be okay; God’s got this. It’s going to be okay; you’re fine.” And it finally sunk in recently. It took 500 visits. This was a lesson that took 500 visits.

There are a lot of things we can do in life where we, frankly, are in control. You don’t know if you can complete a Ph.D. – well, what do you know? . . . You can. Or you can think, ”How hard is it to publish?” – well, you figure it out. There are a lot of things that you do kind of control – and the more opportunities you have to control things, the more you think you should be able to control. And yet, for once in my life, I ran up against something I had no control over. . . . I think this is really a faith lesson about how you can’t literally change the world – and how do you live faithfully in a world that you can’t change? Well, lo and behold, it was a bunch of convicts that could teach me that . . . and I’m a guy with Ph.D. in theology.

What's something you know now that you didn't know 10 years ago?

When you start a program like this, especially because we committed from day one to having about two-thirds of our student body be guys with life sentences . . . you kind of go into that thinking, “I know that it’s good and right to commit to this,” so the vision is good, but then you’re like . . . early on . . . “Oh, that guy’s not going to be able to change; he’s been like this for 25 years, incarcerated, and nothing’s going to change here.” And I found myself lacking the hope that the guy had.

And now, after all these years, I am kind of like, “I think just about anybody can change, God-willing, with God’s help, with God’s grace.” I’ve seen some guys I thought would never change – change completely, completely. I mean, going from a person of sheer anger, hatred, and violence to one of kindness and love. So now I look at all people, knowing that anything’s possible here. I have a renewed sense of humanity, frankly.

What's been the biggest surprise during this 10-year journey?

To get into our program (Calvin Prison Initiative), you have to have seven years or more on your sentence – and it’s a five-year program, so nobody is supposed to parole within that time. And yet we’ll have our 19th guy parole here in about a month. I never thought I’d see any of our students in this program on the outside.

And here’s why I’d never thought I’d see that. Because when we started the program, I began to get to know these guys to the point where one guy’s mother told me, “You know him way better than I do.” That’s because you have been with him so much for so many years, and you talk about everything. And when you are talking to a guy who is doing a life sentence, a natural life sentence—so there’s no opportunity to parole—and he’s come to terms with the fact that he’s going to die in prison, and you are looking this guy in the face, and you think “My word, talk about something out of my control.” And then a profound sadness comes over you, and you think, “Oh, I really care about and love this guy. One, I’m never going to be able to enjoy this relationship on the outside; but, two, he’s going to die in here.” And then all of a sudden one guy finds out that he’s getting out. I’m about as excited as he is, and I can watch him all of a sudden bloom with hope and renewed desire to live and pay it forward. It’s kind of like a resurrection, right? The guy had kind of come to terms with his death, in a sense. He kind of knew where he was going to die. I mean, who knows that? . . . And then all of a sudden it’s all different. Now the whole world is open again. I didn’t think I’d get to experience that with them – what a gift!

Why do you keep going back week after week, year after year?

I’ve reflected a lot on Matthew 25 all these years, where Jesus says that when you feed those who are hungry, clothe the naked, and visit the prisoner, you are actually visiting him. I can absolutely give testimony that that’s true.

I’ll just say that sometimes, in a more conventional environment, a more standard environment – church, whatever – sometimes my sense of spirituality gets a little dulled. I don’t find a reason to jump up and down and say, “There’s Jesus!” And there (in prison), like I said, I don’t think there’s ever been a time I’ve been there that I don’t have a moment when I don’t have to say, “Thank you, Lord; you showed up yet again” – so there’s almost this sacramental sense in which I’m actually experiencing Christ – in the same way that we would talk about the bread and cup. [It’s as if Christ is saying, “When you go, there I’ll be. When you receive this one, there I’ll be.” I can say Amen. Amen. 

Now I don’t know what I would do, frankly, if I couldn’t go in. Unfortunately, that idea crosses my mind every so often, and I honestly try to quickly put it out of my head – because I don’t want to imagine not being able to be around these guys. Some of them have become such dear brothers to me that if the day would come where I could not see them or visit them, I don’t know what I’d do. A huge part of me would be missing.
 
Love is really the right word. I think I’ve been taught a lot about love in that context, even with all its challenges.