Speech to the National Conference of Prison Chaplains
Milton Keynes, 9th June 2026
It is a real pleasure to be with you today.
Indeed, of all the conferences and gatherings that I have attended over many years in public life, this is one that feels particularly close to my heart. For throughout my time as a barrister, recorder, Member of Parliament and, ultimately, as Lord Chancellor and Secretary of State for Justice, I came to appreciate ever more deeply the unique contribution made by prison chaplains to the life of our prisons and to the wider cause of justice.
I therefore want to begin with a simple but heartfelt message: thank you.
Thank you for your ministry, your service and your steadfast commitment to some of the most vulnerable, damaged and often forgotten people in our society.
As Justice Secretary, I was determined that chaplaincy should never be regarded as a peripheral function within the prison system. I saw it as central to the health and humanity of our prisons.
I say that not merely as a former minister responsible for the system, but as a Christian who believes that justice divorced from mercy becomes brittle, and that punishment without the possibility of redemption ultimately serves neither the individual nor society.
Whenever I visited prisons, I would seek out chaplains. I wanted to hear what was happening beyond the formal reports and statistical returns. Governors and officers could tell me much—and rightly so—but chaplains often possessed a unique insight into the lives of prisoners. You encountered them not simply as offenders, but as human beings; not merely as case numbers, but as people with histories, hopes, fears and, often, profound wounds.
You were frequently the people they trusted.
The people they spoke to when no one else would listen.
The people who sat alongside them after a bereavement, during a mental health crisis, following self-harm, or in the aftermath of devastating personal news.
And you did so not because it was convenient, but because your vocation called you to do it.
That vocation rests upon a profound theological truth.
The Christian understanding of humanity begins with the declaration in Genesis that every person is made in the image and likeness of God. That truth does not disappear when someone enters a prison gate. It is not forfeited by criminality. It is not extinguished by failure.
A person may commit terrible acts; society is right to hold them accountable; but their inherent dignity remains.
For Christians, that conviction shapes everything.
It is why we believe that no one is beyond the reach of grace.
It is why we believe that transformation is possible.
And it is why prison ministry lies so close to the heart of the Gospel itself.
The Bible is, in many respects, full of prisons and prisoners.
Joseph was imprisoned unjustly, yet discovered that God had not abandoned him even in confinement.
Jeremiah was imprisoned for speaking uncomfortable truths.
John the Baptist preached faithfully from prison before his martyrdom.
Peter was imprisoned and miraculously released.
Paul wrote some of his most powerful letters while in chains.
And our Lord Himself knew what it was to be arrested, bound and subjected to the machinery of earthly justice.
Indeed, one of the most moving features of Scripture is how often God is found at work in places of captivity.
The Book of Acts tells us of Paul and Silas imprisoned in Philippi. Their feet fastened in stocks, their freedom removed, they nevertheless sang hymns through the night. The result was not despair but conversion, reconciliation and new life.
What an extraordinary lesson that remains for prison ministry today: that even in places designed for confinement, the human spirit can encounter freedom.
The words of Jesus in Matthew 25 remain foundational:
"I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink ... I was in prison and you came to visit me."
What strikes me every time I read that passage is that Christ so closely identifies Himself with those who are imprisoned.
He does not ask whether they deserve compassion.
He does not require us first to calculate their worthiness.
He simply identifies Himself with them and calls us to respond.
That does not mean abandoning accountability. It does not mean ignoring victims or minimising wrongdoing. As a lawyer and former Lord Chancellor, I have always believed deeply in the rule of law and the necessity of justice.
But Christian justice is never merely retributive. It is restorative. It seeks not only to punish wrongdoing but to restore what has been broken wherever restoration is possible.
That aspiration lies at the heart of your ministry.
Every act of listening.
Every difficult conversation.
Every bereavement visit.
Every act of reconciliation.
Every service of worship.
Every prayer spoken quietly in a prison cell.
Every encouragement offered to a prisoner who has lost hope.
These are small acts in the eyes of the world, perhaps. Yet they are often the very building blocks of rehabilitation.
As Justice Secretary, I was committed to ensuring that rehabilitation remained a central purpose of imprisonment. Public protection will always come first. Punishment matters. Accountability matters.
But if we are serious about reducing reoffending and creating safer communities, then we must also be serious about helping people change.
The evidence of my own eyes convinced me that chaplaincy has an indispensable role in that process.
Many prisoners arrive having experienced fractured family lives, addiction, trauma, abuse and exclusion. Some have never known stable relationships. Some have never been told that they possess value beyond what they can do or provide.
Chaplaincy offers something profoundly counter-cultural: the insistence that every individual matters because they are known and loved by God.
For some prisoners, that may be the first time they have ever heard such a message.
I also want to pay tribute to the contribution of chaplains from other faith traditions.
The prison chaplaincy of today reflects the religious diversity of modern Britain. Muslim, Jewish, Sikh, Hindu, Buddhist and other faith leaders serve faithfully alongside Christian chaplains in supporting prisoners and staff.
Their work is of immense importance.
While our theological traditions differ, we share a commitment to the dignity of the human person, to moral responsibility, to compassion and to service.
I saw at first hand how multi-faith chaplaincy enriches prison life, promotes understanding and helps prisoners maintain spiritual identity and stability during difficult periods of their lives.
The contribution of chaplains of all faiths deserves recognition, respect and gratitude.
As we gather today, our prison system faces significant challenges. Population pressures, mental ill-health, addiction and resource constraints continue to test institutions and staff alike.
Yet at moments of pressure, the role of chaplaincy becomes more—not less—important.
For you are custodians of hope.
You remind us that people can change.
You remind us that a person's worst decision need not be the final word on their life.
You remind us that justice and mercy are not enemies but partners.
And you remind us of the great Christian truth expressed by St Paul in his Second Letter to the Corinthians: that anyone who is in Christ is a new creation.
In a prison system often preoccupied with risk, security and immediate pressures, that is a radical message.
But it is also an essential one.
Because without the possibility of redemption, rehabilitation becomes an administrative exercise.
Without hope, reform becomes impossible.
And without recognising the God-given dignity of every person, justice itself loses part of its moral foundation.
So let me conclude where I began.
Thank you.
Thank you for your faithfulness.
Thank you for your ministry.
Thank you for your witness.
Thank you for the countless unseen acts of kindness, compassion and courage that rarely attract headlines but transform lives nonetheless.
May God continue to bless your work, strengthen your ministry and sustain your calling as you serve some of those whom Christ Himself called us never to forget.
Thank you very much indeed.
