'I was in prison and you visited me'...Dale Recinella, FL death row chaplain

Dale S. Recinella
Catholic Lay Chaplain
Florida's Death Row & 
Solitary Confinement

Jacksonville Daily Record:

Dale Recinella ministers to the almost 400 men on Florida’s death row and the almost 2,000 men in solitary confinement.

“I am at death row at cell front,” said Recinella, a Catholic chaplain and a licensed Florida lawyer.

“As I step in front of each cell, my job is to find where this man is with God today and to find the foothold to bring him closer,” he said.

He also talks about his ministry when he can.

Recinella is scheduled to speak to the Christian Legal Society at noon Friday at The University Club on the Downtown Southbank.

He will talk about his journey from his birth in Detroit to his move to Florida, and earning a law degree from Notre Dame University Law School in 1976 and a master’s degree in theological studies from Ava Maria University’s Institute for Pastoral Theology in 2009.

The path is detailed in his book, “Now I Walk on Death Row, A Wall Street Finance Lawyer Stumbles into the Arms of a Loving God.” The book was released a few weeks ago.

For 20 years, Recinella has served as a spiritual counselor and Catholic lay chaplain in Florida’s prisons. In 1998 he began ministering at cell front and to the men in long-term solitary confinement.

His wife, Susan, is on the staff at Florida State Hospital in Macclenny.

When an inmate is executed, Dale ministers to the inmate and Susan is with his family.

Recinella said the couple also make themselves available to the families of murder victims, although they cannot do that if the death penalty is in play because that is a conflict.

Susan Recinella
Clinical Psychologist for
mentally ill adults,
and Catholic Lay Minister
to Families of the Executed 

“We can minister to families of murder victims when the death penalty is not in play,” he said.

“I implore people when we speak to reach out to families of murder victims, be a community support for them,” he said.

Recinella visits death row at Florida State Prison in Starke and Union Correctional Institution in Raiford. He does so as a volunteer, and not for pay.

“’Who pays you to do this?’ one fellow demanded to know,” said Recinella, responding there is no compensation and that he is there as a committed volunteer.

“The fellow on death row stepped back and said, ‘you do this for free? You are crazier than we are,’” he said.

“I sometimes get the same answer from audiences.”

Recinella holds a job as vice president of finance and planning for Christian Healing Ministries in Jacksonville.

He cannot talk about specifics about the inmates. “The confidentiality needs to be maintained,” he said.

Recinella, known there as Brother Dale, said the death row inmates have no choice about who steps in front of their cells.

“My first question has always been, ‘How are you doing today?’” he said.

“That became a joke. ‘I am on death row. How do you think I’m doing?’”

He asks about their families, knowing that there are illnesses and issues. “I’m surprised how many men on death row have large families,” he said.

The men share “the commonalities of being a human being.”

“The commonalities are human commonalities. The worries about people we love. There is also the commonality of the fact their life is scheduled to be eliminated. That is a commonality that is a tremendous commonality,” he said.

“And there is a need for God in a deep and personal way.”

Recinella said he has found that for the most part, the inmates are open to his conversations. “I find that most of them appreciate prayer and frequently they pray for others,” he said.

“I also find that they are struggling spiritually, and the physical conditions are extremely difficult,” he said.

Recinella said the inmates’ belief systems are “all over the lot.”

“I have people who were churched and fell away. I have some who never went to church, never heard about God or had any relationship with God, and everything in between,” he said.

Recinella said that one of the deepest lessons he has learned during his ministry is that “God doesn’t give up on anybody.”

“The world may give up, we may give up, sometimes even someone’s church may give up, and not without some real reasons,” he said.

“But God doesn’t give up, and that is primarily why I am there,” he said.

The Recinellas have five grown children.

Recinella said the book explores questions he and his family have asked, and the death penalty was one.

“I used to be a very strong proponent of the death penalty. I was a pro-life activist, but I’d never considered the death penalty a life issue,” he said.

Recinella said the death penalty can interfere with healing among victims’ families because “it goes on and on and on and on and on.”

“The other part is that in the 98 percent of the murders that the death penalty is not available, those people hear that their loved ones who were killed were not as valuable,” he said.

Dale and Susan Recinellas' website: www.iwasinprison.org/ 

Archbishop Timothy Dolan: Why I love celebrating Masses for prisoners

It well could have been my first Mass as a newly ordained priest at Holy Infant, my home parish, in Ballwin, Missouri…or was it the time I was able to concelebrate with the soon-to-be Blessed John Paul II in his private chapel? Then again, it may have been Mass at one of my favorite shrines to Our Lady, such as Lourdes, Guadalupe, Knock or Czestochowa. But, how could I forget celebrating the Eucharist in the actual “upper room” of the Last Supper in Jerusalem, or in “Shepherds’ Field” outside of Bethlehem at midnight on Christmas, 1979. Then, of course, there’s a special affection for my 10:15 a.m. Sunday Mass in St. Patrick’s Cathedral…

Every Eucharist is special, isn’t it, as we re-live the Last Supper, Our Lord’s death on the cross, and His Resurrection from the dead, and it’s nigh to impossible to select my favorite one.

But, near the top of the list of my most memorable occasions for offering Mass has to be the ones in prison. Yes, you read me right: I savor celebrating the Eucharist for those in jail.

I’ve done it a lot, as have most other bishops or priests, I’m sure. But each one never fails to move me. And I often wonder why they are so special.

For one, the prisoners actually want to be there! No long faces or distracted looks. They really look forward to Mass! In fact, a couple of weeks ago, when I visited the prisoners at Arthur Kill Correctional Facility on Staten Island, they couldn’t fit all the men into their chapel.

They get there early, and nobody ever checks their watches, itching to leave. Of course, as I tease them, they really have no place else to go! Surprise of all, they enjoy a long sermon!

Two, they participate enthusiastically. The inmates cherish serving, lectoring, joining the choir, leading the petitions, bringing up the gifts, and taking care of their chapel. They devour the missalettes, Bibles, catechisms and rosaries people bring them at Mass. Never caught one dozing or daydreaming.

Three, they acknowledge they really need the Mass. When I invite them to “call to mind their sins” at the opening of the liturgy, do they ever; when they respond, “Lord, have mercy!” they mean it; when the lector concludes the reading with “Word of the Lord,” they bellow out “Thanks be to God”; when one of their fellow prisoners leads the petitions, praying for families, friends, healing, grace, mercy, freedom—the tears in their eyes and their sincere “Lord, hear our prayer” leave no doubt their hearts are in it; when, right before Holy Communion, they look up at the Sacred Host and proclaim, “Lord, I am not worthy to receive you, but only say the word and I shall be healed,” they’re not just whistlin’ Dixie.

See, what dawns on me is that these prisoners realize they need a Savior. No bail, attorney, judge, jury or parole board can come through for them right then and there; no spouse, no children, folks or friends are there next to them. They realize they need help, big time; they know they’ve made a mess of things; they’ve come to discover that there is a Lord, a friend, a Savior who will not disappoint them, and who shows up even when it’s not “visitors’ day.” And His name is Jesus. And He is there in a unique and personal way at the Eucharist.

So, they’re like the “Samaritan woman at the well” from the Gospel of two Sundays ago, a sinner, an outcast, who found in Jesus the Christ the Savior for whom she so longed.

So, those prisoners are like the “man born blind” in last Sunday’s Gospel, who realized he was in the dark until he met the “light of the world.”

So, they’re like Lazarus in this coming Sunday’s Gospel, realizing that, without Jesus, they’re dead, lifeless, without hope, “in the tomb,” in perpetual “solitary confinement.”

Once when I had Mass at a jail, one fellow knelt throughout the entire service under the cross behind the altar. At the end of the liturgy I asked why he had stayed there, and he answered, “I’m hoping I’m like Dismas, the ‘good thief,’ there next to Jesus on the cross, hearing Him whisper, ‘Jackson, this day you’ll be with me in paradise.’”

Jackson will get to heaven before me.

They want confession, and they love Our Lady; they enjoy devotions and can’t get enough of the Bible; they pray with simplicity and ease and don’t gripe much; they thank you for coming and want to know when you’ll come back.

And, as they depart, not many ask you to pray for their own intentions—but do they ever seek prayers for their kids, folks, spouses, grandparents and families who they trust are waiting for them, and hurting because of them. And they remind me to visit the prisoners in the infirmary who were too sick to come to Mass.

Some of the ancient Christian writers compared this life here on earth to a prison. Might sound gloomy, but there is some truth there. Actually, we were all on “death row,” but Jesus took our sentence upon Himself; we were guilty, but He paid the price for our sins; we think we’re innocent, but we’re felons; He is innocent and paid our ransom with His blood.

My friends in jail realize this firsthand. For them, it’s more than imagery. For them, it’s real.

So, when one of them at Arthur Kill sang, “Were you there when they crucified my Lord?” they all nodded, “yes!”

And, of course, it dawns on them that the Son of God, the way, the truth, and the life, their Savior, was also arrested, tortured, convicted and executed as a criminal. For them, God does indeed know what they’re going through.

And, of course, it dawns on me—and on those generous priests, deacons, sisters and devoted lay apostles who minister to prisoners—that Jesus told us, “When I was in prison, you came to visit me.”

That’s why I love celebrating Mass for prisoners.

Archbishop Dolan to inmates: 'All of us are sinners'

From Staten Island Live

The modest chapel at the Arthur Kill Correctional Facility in Charleston is a daily source of comfort and redemption for dozens of the prison’s 950 inmates. Today, its grace and sanctity took on added meaning as Archbishop Timothy M. Dolan, spiritual leader of Catholics in 405 parishes in the Archdiocese of New York visited to celebrate mass during the Lenten season. 

Inmate Juan Rodriguez greets Archbishop Dolan at the Arthur Kill
Correctional Facility after the Archbishop said mass at the facility. (Staten Island Advance/Irving Silverstein)

Some 75 inmates packed the room, and according to one, perhaps 15 others were turned away.

According to the medium-security state facility’s Superintendent, Dennis Breslin, those who faithfully attend mass were the primary target audience.

Those who made the cut spoke of the Archbishop and finding God in reverential tones.

Former Manhattan resident Pedro Robles, who’s been incarcerated for 13 years on a conviction of murder, said he attends mass "all the time." He said formal services are held Sunday and Tuesday; a Bible study class meets on Monday and "a special movie is screened on Wednesday."

Paul Vittoriosa of Huguenot, in year two of a five-year sentence on a burglary conviction, called the day "special."

"He takes time out of his day to come to us," he explained.

Inmate Kevin White who sang a song to the Archbishop titled "Beacon of Light," in which he told Dolan "Every time I pray, I think of you," said, "I was in awe." He called the experience of standing and singing before the leader of the Catholic church in this region of New York "extremely motivating and spiritual."

Inmate Mark Teson began the proceedings with a reading about lepers from the Second Book of Kings. Fellow inmate Louis Gelsiomino, who has discovered a love of singing since his incarceration several years ago, performed "Were You There When They Crucified My Lord?"

For his part, Dolan described the inmates as "an inspiration" to him. "A lot of people come see me. You couldn’t do that, so I came here." He reminded those gathered that "two prisoners were with Jesus on the cross. He turned to one of them and said, ‘This day, you’ll be with me in Paradise.’ "

The Archbishop noted that the verses read by Teson about lepers are particularly apt for prison inmates because years ago, when the contagious disease was much more common, lepers were banished to deserted places, much as inmates are shut off from society.

"Jesus likes it when we admit we have problems and are sinners," he said, noting that "all of us are sinners. We need mercy and healing that only Jesus can give."

Dolan related a story of Archbishop Fulton Sheen visiting a leper colony in Africa decades ago and taking with him a cross blessed in Rome. As he passed among the stricken, he came across a man whose hand was little more than pulp and he recoiled, said Dolan. Sheen immediately realized that "he was a leper for turning away. He took the man’s hand in his, saying ‘I am honored and grateful to be in your presence.’ "

He then told those gathered, "Know that you are with me in a special way."

Joining Dolan were Rev. Frank Naccarato, the pastor at Arthur Kill Correctional Facility, who said Dolan’s presence "is a sign of the church’s care and concern for those in prison." Rev. Naccarato told Dolan that attendance at Sunday mass in the prison has increased 50 percent over the last six months.

Also in attendance were co-vicars of Staten Island — Monsignor Peter Finn, pastor of Blessed Sacrament R.C. Church, West Brighton, and Monsignor James Dorney, pastor of St. Peter’s R.C. Church, New Brighton. Monsignor John McCarthy of St. Patrick’s R.C. Church also attended.

At the conclusion of the mass, Dolan was showered with gifts — first, from Breslin, who bestowed him with two New York Mets caps — one for the Archbishop, another for his mother — with the admonition that "You gotta believe."

Breslin also thanked Dolan for his time. "You don’t understand how important it is for the inmates to get visitors in general. When people take time out of a busy schedule, it makes us feel valuable. We can feel invisible," he admitted.

Inmates then came forward bearing bags of Twizzlers (Dolan expressed delight that they were no-fat), a baseball cap emblazoned with the logo of the prison team and a hand-drawn portrait of the Archbishop, crafted and presented by inmate Bernard Ragan. After taking a good look, Dolan thanked Ragan "for doing it from the stomach up."

The presence of Father Cruz, who accompanied Dolan on the visit, was noted, and Ken Hoffworth, director of the prison apostolate for New York, was also acknowledged for his support.

At the conclusion of the mass, Dolan spent time conversing with the inmates in attendance, before paying a visit to the infirmary.

California deacon 'feeding and being fed' by prison ministry

Deacon Larry Chatmon, a member of St. Paul of the Shipwreck Parish in San Francisco, arrives at San Quentin State Prison to assist at Mass in the prison chapel.

from Catholic San Francisco

There are enough house rules as is at San Quentin State Prison, and it is not Deacon Larry Chatmon’s place to add to them when he serves inmates in his prison ministry. He does have some friendly advice for them, however, when they leave the chapel after services.

“I tell them, ‘You have to take what is in that chapel with you when you go back to the yard,’” he said. “I tell them, ‘For you to go in there and receive the Spirit and just leave it there and go back to where you are is not life-changing. If you want life-changing, if you want to truly experience Christ, take him with you.’”

Chatmon, in fact, was promised a life-changing experience himself when three years ago he added prison ministry to his list of duties and volunteerism at St. Paul of the Shipwreck Parish in San Francisco, where he and his wife, Loretta, have worshiped for more than 25 years. He got what he hoped for.

Here’s what Chatmon found: There are people in prison who are probably closer to Christ than most of us, closer to Christ than many people would realize. He was amazed, in fact, by how committed to their faith many inmates are – that they want to learn more about the Catholic Church.

“We don’t find a lot of people in our parishes with that hunger,” said Chatmon. “There is a hunger that they have. Part of that comes from where they are and the circumstances in which they have to live.”

He added, “It brings about an eagerness. People begin to search for God when they hit the ground, when they hit a brick wall. They start looking for some other way.”

The spiritual place in which many of the inmates dwell – closer to Christ – is one Chatmon, 60, tries to occupy himself as a deacon and volunteer at St. Paul of the Shipwreck, where, by his own account, he uses his skills “to help build up the body of Christ.”

He brings to the tasks a body of work experience in the private sector, the nonprofit sector and, for the past 13 years, the public sector, as senior contract manager at the Human Services Agency of the City and County of San Francisco. He was baptized in the Catholic Church at age 36, and introduced to St. Paul of the Shipwreck by Loretta. It has been a good fit for 25 years.

He is one of the Ministers of Christian Service, parish lay leaders who oversee all aspects of the Sunday, 10:30 a.m. African-American spirituality or gospel Mass which, according to Conventual Franciscan Father Paul Gawlowski, the pastor, has the best qualities of the parish itself.

“This is a place of vibrant worship. There is a felt sense of the Holy Spirit during Mass,” he said.

Chatmon, said Father Gawlowski, “brings to parish life wisdom based on his age, based on raising a family (there are four kids), working in the world.” He added, “He brings that wisdom into the parish and helps work with me to make wise pastoral decisions, based on his perspective and my perspective.”

What Chatmon found behind the walls of San Quentin – an eagerness in inmates to grow in their faith – comes as no surprise to the prison’s Catholic chaplain, Jesuit Father George Williams, who arrived for duty in January after serving as a chaplain in a Massachusetts prison.

“A lot of these guys are lifers,” he said. “They have grown up since they committed their crime and reflected on their lives. They found in their Catholic faith a sense of stability and meaning and so they really are sincere about their faith.” Newer arrivals, he said, are disoriented and are looking for “some sense of stability, meaning, purpose.”

Others, of course, Father Williams added, “just come to get a set of rosary beads, or as they often ask, ‘rosemary beads,’ which are their favorite form of jail jewelry.”

Those with sincerity, noted Chatmon, know Matthew 25: “I was in prison and you visited me … I tell you, whenever you did this for one of the least important of these brothers of mine, you did it for me.”

The least of these brothers, Chatmon learned, know Scripture, do a lot of praying and need to connect with people on the outside so they can share a vision. He listens a lot, he said, during his monthly visits.

“I make sure they know I am there to serve them, but I tell them all the time, I think it’s the other way around. I’m the one being fed here. I’m the one closer in touch with the real meaning of our ministry and the real meaning of what being Catholic means.”

Chatmon tells them, too, that he can’t change their circumstances, but he can help in an important way. “I can let them know that I represent the one who changes all things for all of us,” he said. “I tell them that we collectively work together to give praise and thanks, and that our lives are enriched by everyone who we meet who also believes.”

Chatmon, added Father Williams, “does a better job of connecting than a lot of people who come in here.” He added, “He speaks from the heart and he uses very clear, concrete examples from real life and the guys like that. He comes in here with that spirit of openness. These guys are not empty vessels who need all this wisdom poured into them. They have a lot of life experience, a lot of things to teach us.”

It’s also true, said George Wesolek, director of the Office of Public Policy and Social Concerns of the Archdiocese of San Francisco, that Jesus was executed as a common criminal “on a cross with our sins and the sins of the whole world on his shoulders,” and, accordingly, inmates can relate.

“The suffering helps us to connect more quickly with the life of Christ,” said Chatmon. “Because we can’t believe that suffering is all that there is. Tragedy is not all that there is. Having endured a lot in their lives, they start seeking something else. The message is, if you have tried everything else, try Christ.”

Finding Christ behind bars...

from The Catholic Key


It happens occasionally — that Ah ha! moment when it is obvious that a person has been touched by the Holy Spirit, and it’s enough for the men and women involved in prison ministry to keep going back.
Father Ernie Gauthier has kept going back to the jails, prisons and halfway houses to visit inmates, celebrate a Mass or a communion service, and bring God to the residents for more than 25 years.


The priest, a licensed clinical social worker who retired from parish ministry in 2002, has seen changes in the jails and the criminal justice system over the decades. Sheriffs ran the jails in the days before a charter form of administration took over. Buildings and facility campuses have opened and closed. One thing that has remained the same, however, is that it’s depressing.


“It’s not the inmates that are depressing,” Father Ernie said, “it’s the criminal justice system.”


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