During my seminary years, I had several encounters with inmates whose lives were transformed by their experiences in prison. Once, prior to my ordination to the diaconate, I was assigned to the New Bilibid Prison in Muntinlupa to give catechesis to our brother inmates in the Medium Security Compound. My presence there was an affirmation that God was already at work among them. The inmates’ dedication and desire to know more about God and to deepen their relationship with Him were very inspiring.
Despite the events they had gone through, the suffering they endured as consequences of their actions, and their willingness to amend their lives, I saw in them a revelation of God’s undying love. Every time they shared their personal stories, I was amazed at how they gradually experienced God’s liberating love, manifested in their testimonies. Their experience behind bars paved the way for them to realize what true freedom means—a freedom that comes from a heart willing to let go of the aches of the past, live the present with gratitude, and face the future with hope.
My experience in prison marked a significant impact on my life as I continued my missionary journey.
Years after my ordination to the priesthood, I was brought back to this experience when I had the opportunity to visit a penal colony in Ancón, Lima, Peru. It was a two-hour drive from the Parish of the Holy Archangels, where I was assigned. I never thought I would be able to continue this ministry, which is very close to my heart, until two prison ministry volunteers—a couple, Reginaldo and Marleni—approached me. They had been serving in the ministry for many years and were very close to the Columbans, as they were part of the Columban Missionary Collaborators, a ministry founded by Fr. Noel Kerins, an Irish Columban whose main purpose was to empower local people to become missionaries.
When they shared their experiences in the prison, especially the challenges of finding a priest to administer the sacraments, I realized how important accompaniment is—the gift of my presence with the inmates, especially the migrants who had been in prison for many years without visits from their families.
My commitment to help in the prison ministry brought me immense joy, especially the moment I celebrated Mass with them right after the pandemic, when visitors were once again allowed to enter the prison. I remember how they approached me with gratitude, telling me that they had been waiting for that moment to finally receive the Lord in the Eucharist after many years since their last Mass in their home countries.
That celebration did not end there. I had several occasions to visit them. Not only did we celebrate Mass, but they also asked for confession. Those moments confirmed that I was no longer a stranger to them—I was one with them. They are my brothers who never cease trusting in the mercy of God. No matter what their past may be, they hold on to the hope that they are not forgotten.
My regular visits—administering the sacraments, celebrating Mass, and sharing simple agape meals with what little we have—accompanied by their inspiring stories, are indeed like a heavenly banquet made present on earth. Their stories reflect God’s endless love, enabling them to hold on to hope that one day, when they see their families again, they will be renewed—no longer prisoners of their past.
My mission in Peru, especially among migrants, has widened my horizon. Migrants are not only found on the streets of Lima or in the peripheries of the parish. Some of them are in prison, with no one to visit them. Their longing to be reunited with their families is a daily struggle. Yet through my presence and with the help of dedicated volunteers, they have found a new family. It is a blessing to be part of this journey.
As I continue God’s mission in Peru, I always look forward to being with them—being inspired by their stories of hope and strengthened by the friendships and brotherhood we have established. Like my experience in the Philippines, the same is true in Peru: inmates are no longer labeled by their past. They are seen as brothers whose lives reflect God’s unceasing love.
Their testimony has taught me the real meaning of freedom: even when you are behind bars, if you set your heart free from past heartaches, resentments, anger, and hopelessness, you become a living example that true freedom comes from the heart—and no one can take away this gift from God.
