Not losing their religion

2 SEPTEMBER 2025

Prison chaplains would probably not make very good jury members – they are not there to judge, just to listen, provide some comfort and “be one of the links in the chain, that gives them (inmates) the encouragement to make better choices in life and faith,” according to Steve House, a longtime Anglican Chaplain.

In the routine and repetition of prison life, where time is often measured in lockdowns and court dates, a peaceful force moves through the corridors, one that doesn’t carry keys or wear a uniform. Prison chaplains are a unique presence in correctional centres, offering something rare in this environment - spiritual care without judgment.

They don’t work for Corrective Services NSW. They are not part of ‘the system.’ They are not there to convert. They are there to listen.

 

It's a calling, not a career

Steve House, an Anglican chaplain who’s been serving since 2004, brings lived experience and deep empathy to his work.

“I don't even see it as a job,” he says. “This is a ministry. It's a calling. I believe we should bloom where we're planted.”

Steve’s journey into prison chaplaincy wasn’t smooth. “I came into it kicking and screaming,” he admits. “I’d lived half my life on the wrong side of the tracks and was afraid I’d see people I knew.”

Marty, the Salvation Army chaplain, blends in with his long plaited beard, tattoos, and a past that helps him connect with inmates.

“They put me here because I look like an inmate,” he jokes. But behind the humour is a deep empathy. “If you get a lot of heavy conversations in a day, it can burn you out,” he says. “So, I do my own self-care and spread the visits out.”

Different faiths, shared humanity

Jesse Mawson, from Churches of Christ, brings a thoughtful and philosophical approach to his ministry.

“When the rug is pulled out from under you, of course you're going to seek support,” he says. “It’s either great love or great suffering that is your doorway into faith.”

He sees his role as helping people “focus on the present moment, what they are feeling right now and to journey through that with them.”

Laurence Gresser, the Catholic chaplain, finds deep meaning in his work and a sense of belonging in the prison chapel.

“It’s very rare inmates even ask our denomination,” he says. “This work is a privilege. When I was offered prison ministry, I said yes straightaway, it was the best choice I ever made.”

He adds, “I miss it when I'm not here. This is my favourite church in Sydney. It's got the best congregation.”

Grace in unexpected places

Nau Ahosivi, the Uniting Church chaplain, sees inmates simply as human beings, without judgment or bias.

“I pay no attention to faith, culture or past,” he says. “But I am here to share the light.”

He values the support of his fellow chaplains: “That’s the key to me staying here, the support and the way we work together.”

Philip Evans, the newest member of the team, joined seven months ago with a desire to serve those on the margins.

“I wanted to give meaning to the chaos of life,” he says. “Being in here, shoulder to shoulder across different faiths has helped me understand what it means to work in this place.”

“There’s an authenticity here I never got as a pastor in the community. Here, people wear their scars on the outside.”

Mouhamed Sari, the Muslim chaplain, brings a counselling background and a calm, reflective presence to the team. He didn’t seek out the role, he believes it found him.

“I didn’t choose this work,” he says. “It chose me.”

Mouhamed’s approach is shaped by his belief in individual dignity and the power of listening. “Everyone has a different story,” he says. “We can’t treat everyone the same. We can’t paint them all with the same brush.”

Together, these chaplains offer chapel services, prayers, and quiet conversation. They’re available to inmates and staff alike, and they don’t pick or choose based on faith. Their work is guided by compassion, not conversion.

Despite the emotional toll, the chaplains find strength in each other. “We are blessed with each other,” says Nau. “We all bring different gifts.”

Their presence is a reminder that even in places built to contain and rehabilitate, there is room for grace. As Marty puts it:

“People don’t care what you know. They just want to know that you care.