A month ago, we celebrated the Nativity of Jesus with a beautiful Mass at the Ohio Reformatory for Women. Today, I still see the “light that has shone” upon this prison.


The first verse of the first reading from Isaiah 9:1-6 proclaimed, “The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; upon those who dwelt in the land of gloom a light has shone.” For the incarcerated such as myself, when taking the verse literally, it becomes a profound and hope-filled statement for our future.


2025 was the third consecutive year where Bishop Earl Fernandes celebrated Christmas among inmates, inside a cinder-block and tin chapel, surrounded by electric double fences topped with razor wire. He and his special guests were the manifestation of bringing light to the land of gloom!
The first year Bishop Fernandes came, I was a nervous wreck because as the musician/soloist I’d never played/sang in the presence of a bishop. The second year, I was comfortable around him but twice as nervous because he brought Gov. Mike DeWine and First Lady Fran DeWine. This year, I got a grip and was able to truly enjoy my musical efforts because his guests were Knights and Dames from the Order of Malta. I didn’t know these people, I had never met them, but they felt like home — it was a weird and unexpectedly comforting feeling.


Our chapel was absolutely packed with guests from the Diocese of Columbus, ORW staff and over 150 inmates. The Mass had been announced as “Open for All,” resulting in the majority of the congregation being non-Catholics, and it was wonderful! What an opportunity to demonstrate our style of worship.


Coincidentally, the biggest section of inmates was seated nearest to me (to the right of the altar), so I was able to discreetly signal when to stand, respond or sit. That helped raise the overall comfort level and sense of community.


A few friends watched me closely, following my lead, and their participation quickly rippled through others. From my vantage point at the keyboard, it was quite heartwarming. While they may not have understood everything, the level of respect shown served as a great equalizer.


I’d been awaiting Bishop Fernandes’ homily with blessed hope, particularly since the Jubilee Year of Hope was coming to an end. I just knew he would have a special message for us. My mantra all year long had been spes non confundit “hope does not disappoint” and it didn’t! However, I certainly didn’t expect him to say that he had a special papal blessing for us at the end of Mass! And that was just the beginning of his homily. It only got better from there.


Bishop Fernandes delved into the reading from Isaiah. I was very moved that he associated inmates as the ones who walk in darkness and in the land of gloom since it is so true! Prison is gloomy and dark — that’s part of the punishment. Ironically, though, I have found that my faith sees better in the dark. I discovered it by accident in 2021, when my parole was denied for the fourth time. Darkness, devastation and depression sucked me in like quicksand so I couldn’t see anything, let alone what God was doing or allowing at the time. But I believed. I knew my faith saw Him when I couldn’t. I endured in the dark for quite a while, letting faith guide me eventually to solid ground.


Anyway, Bishop Fernandes encouraged us repeatedly to open our hearts to Jesus and the power of God’s love. That’s what faith had done in the dark to get me out of the quicksand! His words were validation, confirmation and exactly what I needed to hear — or see in the light of a new day!
He went on to quote, “For every boot that tramped in battle, every cloak rolled in blood, will be burned as fuel for flames.” He used it as a rather dramatic reference to our crimes, emphasizing that forgiveness comes with taking responsibility. While I have faced and taken the ugly responsibility of my crime, personal forgiveness has been more of a challenge because I feel such deep remorse for what I did and the pain I caused.


For many years, I didn’t think forgiveness could coexist with remorse. Then I learned it’s not an either/or condition; it can be both. That point was driven home when Bishop Fernandes said, “I don’t know what many of you have done, and quite frankly I don’t care. I came here to bring the forgiveness, love and light of God to you through His Son, Jesus. You have to take responsibility to allow His forgiveness into your heart. Open your heart to Him.”


He said, “God sent his Son to the outcasts and margins of society too, and you can come to Heaven because of Him.” The directness of his words were only eclipsed by the intensity and compassion in his voice. I felt and I saw on the faces of my fellow inmates pure relief, awe, joy and tears. It was the most straightforward declaration of love and worth I’d ever heard. The Amens and affirmations that rang through the congregation were like angel whispers echoing from one side to the other.


At the end of Mass, Bishop Fernandes gave us the papal blessing. It was the third of only three entrusted to bishops of every diocese by Pope Leo XIV to bestow on congregations in exceptional situations. And our bishop had saved this one for us! I was so overjoyed and overwhelmed that now I can’t remember anything beyond, “His Holiness, Pope Leo XIV loves you and __ … “ Even so, with this extraordinary blessing, I felt his presence, and the power of the Holy Spirit that washed over me was like a holy waterfall.


After Mass was a small reception where I was able to come “out of the waterfall,” so to speak, unwind and enjoy fellowship with many of our guests. I spent time chatting with three Knights of Malta; I love that prison ministry is within the sphere of their mission — defending the faith and caring for the poor. They were so genuine, energetic, funny and welcoming that I didn’t feel like an inmate but almost a real person.


All too soon, it was time to go. It was 10:53 and Formal Institutional 11:00 Count was quickly approaching. Count time waits for no one. Seriously!


So after a few more quick hugs and “Thank yous,” I hustled all the way across the compound to my housing unit. My respite from prison life was over and everyone else had to get back to life in America. But you know what? It was LIGHT! Gratitude and love had lifted the darkness and gloom, enabling me to walk in a great light. I see that light every day now and it strengthens my faith, inspires me, and gives me hope. Merry Christmas ad infinitum.


Michele Williams is incarcerated at the Ohio Reformatory for Women.