For many Catholics, the vocational example set by priests, religious, and deacons seems unattainable; a neat, straight line from cradle to ordination or profession. As most of those who have actually discerned a calling to holy orders will confess, however, this is seldom the case. The paths we walk on our way home to Christ are filled with setbacks, unexpected turns, and callings which may at first feel alien to our sensibilities. Few understand this better than Deacon Gerry Scilla, who for much of his diaconate has served as Vermont Catholic Charities’ prison ministry coordinator.

“I didn’t come from a particularly religious family” said Deacon Scilla, currently at Saint Pius X in Essex. “We were what might be called ‘nominal Catholics’.” From beginning to practice his faith more regularly to his ordination as a deacon, he describes a gradual process; “It was a series of baby steps, small movements, right up until I was ordained.” Ordained in 2003, Deacon Scilla soon found himself called, unexpectedly, towards hospital ministry. “The funny thing is, I’m a germaphobe” Deacon Scilla laughed. “If you know me, you know I order Purell by the gallon … and every time I got that little pull towards that ministry, I’d think, Lord, you got the wrong number! But I eventually thought, well, I’m being called, and I must go, eventually you simply have to trust in God.”

This theme of being called in unexpected, sometimes uncomfortable directions has come to define Deacon Scilla’s vocation. After three years of hospital ministry, another calling emerged – a call to prison ministry. “It was very different from the baby steps before, from the first night, this is where I knew I wanted to be.” Having been involved in prison ministry for 20 years now, Deacon Scilla considers it the defining calling of his diaconate. “Now, at this point, some of the inmates say to me, ‘Deacon, you’ve been in jail longer than I have!’”

The term “prison ministry” typically evokes an image of offering the sacraments within the prison itself. While this is certainly an extremely important part of the ministry, the work doesn’t end there. “I’ve gotten involved with Vermont Catholic Charities, coordinating with prison ministry, people coming out of prison often need food, clothing, places to stay.” Inmates released from prison return to a society which often treats them with hostility and suspicion. Finding employment and housing is a fraught, complicated affair for those with felony records; in Vermont, the recidivism rate for released inmates is nearly 45%. “Behind the walls of the prison, my ministry is entirely spiritual, but once they’re out, we can’t simply forget them. Their needs are the same, greater in a lot of cases.”

While the idea of going, voluntarily, to a prison every week seems unthinkable to many, to Deacon Scilla it’s a very natural thing; “I never feel uncomfortable. I know this is where I have to be.” Two years after Deacon Scilla was ordained to the diaconate, the Diocese of Burlington received a new bishop: Bishop Salvatore Matano. Scilla reflected on the words of Burlington’s ninth bishop, which encouraged him to explore prison ministry: “Bishop Matano really was an inspiration, he used to say that the most important thing deacons can do is to be out in the community, serving. I really took that to heart. I love serving at the altar, serving at Mass, but I took it to heart that I’m really not doing all that God’s calling me to do, if that’s all I do.”

“When I’m at the altar, I approach it with the view that I’m there for those who can’t be there” Deacon Scilla explained. “Those in prison, the sick, people in nursing homes who can’t come, I often think of them by name.” This care for the spiritual and material well-being of members of society who, so often, are invisible or even deliberately pushed from sight, echoes that most fundamental truth which Christ proclaims in scripture: “Truly I tell you, whatever you did for the least of these brothers and sisters of Mine, you did for Me.”

“The most important tool in prison ministry is your ears” Deacon Scilla said. “Even after these guys get out, very often they’ll call or ask to see me, just to have someone to talk to, to listen to them.” While it may seem like a foregone conclusion to many of us that we have people in our lives who lend an ear to our problems without judgement, for many people in or leaving prison there are few such people they can turn to. “It’s a continuation of pastoral counsel. I never turn anyone away. I never say ‘Look, you’re out of prison, you’re not my problem anymore.’ Jesus wouldn’t do that, so how can I?”

In an age of renewed evangelization, Pope Francis and other Church leaders have repeatedly expounded upon the importance of ministering not only to the parts of mainstream society that are visible and easy to reach; but also, those isolated quarters of our communities which are so often overlooked or even deliberately ignored. For men like Deacon Gerry Scilla, Christ’s call to minister to the loneliest of souls is not just a reading at Mass; it is a calling, a missionary vocation lived daily.