Chris Dankovich describes how transformative the Keryx prison ministry is, working miracles in the least likely of places. 

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One of the men ahead of me was already crying, and he hadn’t even made it through yet. The person directly in front of me was breathing so heavily that I thought he might pass out. The love was overwhelming.

I have been this way nearly every single day for two decades. Yet, as I walk these same steps, this time I enter some place entirely different from anywhere I’ve ever been.

We walk through a tunnel of 40 missionaries, interspersed with 40 other men who have walked this very path in prior years. Each reaches to me one by one to shake my hand and give me a brief hug. We shake more hands in minutes than we have in years. Tough guys are already breaking down from the love, and it’s only two minutes into this incredible four-day religious retreat within prison walls.

This is the beginning of the single largest event in the Michigan carceral system, one that has changed my life, and which has changed the trajectory and faith of thousands of people.

Keryx is a Greek word that refers to the herald or ambassador of a king, charged with delivering a message exactly as commanded. Each year, dozens and dozens of volunteers from local churches of every denomination gather under the Keryx prison ministry banner to deliver a message of God’s love to hundreds of prisoners throughout the state. Based off of similar life-changing religious revivals available at regular churches worldwide, such as Cursillos, Emmaus Walk, Via de Christo, and Kairos, this retreat-within-prison is unlike anything else, working miracles inside of the least likely of places.

Having received more individual blessings than I have in half a lifetime, I make my way to the other side of the gymnasium, where seven tables are set up around a stage, making what is normally a basketball court look like a cool, intimate music venue. Three outside sponsors sit at each table, and I am directed to sit, of all places, at the Table of Ezra, next to a man who looks like the twin of my late grandfather. The kind, elderly gentleman introduces himself as Paul. He has not only chosen to come into this place for this event, he has done so twice a year for over a decade. The other volunteers at the table introduce themselves as more prisoners fill empty seats. I knew none of these men before. Over the TCF Keryx Weekend #6, we would become like family.

This first day was just a few hours long. We got to know each other by name, prayed together, and broke bread together at a dinner that was better than any prison meal. The Keryx volunteers get permission from the prison administration to bring in food and snacks, the likes of which many inside haven’t had in years or even decades. Prisoners of all faiths, or none, sign up for the event, and many do so because they’ve heard about the food. The Keryx volunteers know this; it’s a fishing line.

Regardless of why they come, once here, in this gym transformed by faith and love into a house of worship, transformation happens. Over the following three days, starting at 6:30 a.m. and going until almost 9 p.m., every moment is devoted to spreading and deepening understanding of the message of Christ in these men. From the group discussions to the chapel services to the songs of worship (where I sang in front of others for the first time in decades), each activity is designed to bring the kingdom of God to the forefront in the hearts of these men.

These men in prison have sinned, and have been shut away for years. Some once knew the Word and abandoned it. I once thought I understood the message of Christ and had been completely wrong, after which I lost faith for years. Some had never heard the gospel. These are men who have lived lives of struggle, of violence, of an “us versus them” world inside and outside of prison. Many are heavily tattooed, physically strong, tough, hardened.

And now many of them are weeping. They’re trying to hide it, but there’s no place to hide in this gym. Some break down during worship, overwhelmed by the emotional power of the moment. Some break down while eating, not from the food but from recognition of the gift of love that it represents while sitting at a table with others who fully accept them in this moment.

Prison staff are forbidden by policy from speaking about their personal lives, or asking about the personal lives of those in prison. But the volunteers ask about us and our feelings with genuine curiosity. They share about their families, struggles, hopes, dreams, and faith. After getting to know us over the first two days, one of the sponsors at my table gives a most powerful gift: He shares a story about something he is ashamed of, a serious crime he committed as a youth but for which he was never charged.

As his faith developed, he was driven to seek forgiveness for it and to make amends. The power of his story and his openness made the gang member at our table openly cry (as did I). The next day, as I shared my hopes, regrets, and determination to glorify God as I go forward in life, Paul hugged me as we both stood in a prison gym where I was incarcerated, He told me that he had never had children, but if he had, he would want that child to be like the person he saw before him today. Tears streamed down my cheeks. I prayed in that moment that God help me and always keep me to that standard.

There is no one who’s the same after attending a Keryx weekend. Dozens who attend accept Jesus as their savior for the first time. Dozens more reaffirm and strengthen their faith. But in everyone are planted seeds of transformation. They are introduced to a completely different way of being and seeing the world, one based not on competition, greed, or getting what you want by any means necessary, but instead a far more powerful and beautiful world based on a spirit trust and love.

I attended the sixth Keryx held here, but some prisons in the state have had over 70 going back to the 1990s. Dedicated missionaries travel around the state to many of the 32 prisons here, voluntarily entering places most people want to stay far away from, to act as fishers of men.

The spirit continues to flow through hearts and through the prison, even after the Keryx prison ministry weekend retreat is over. Men who have been through the experience act differently on the yard and in the units. People lend a hand to others. They pray over meals. Bible studies have sprouted on the yard. There is more openness, less violence.

My family and friends notice a difference in me. I was Christian already, but struggled to speak about my faith before Keryx. Now it’s no longer my instinct to hold back. From inside this place, I’ve now convinced others out there to open their hearts to God, to pray, and to go to church. And it’s not just me. The spirit works through countless men who’ve been through the program.

Each week, we gather on Thursdays in the gym. Only it’s no longer the gym. Despite going there thousands and thousands of times before, this place is now the Keryx room, where I merely work out and shoot pool on other days. On Thursdays, around 60 people gather with seven to 10 volunteers who choose to be here for worship and fellowship. We sing, talk about the Bible and about life in small groups, and end by circling up and holding hands in prayer. The designated reader prays over prayer requests for loved ones and for strangers, conflict zones around the world, and specific cases of healing. Every man, most of whom have focused on all the wrong things in their past, are focused here and now on everything right.

Touchstone: A Journal of Mere Christianity recently published a different article by Chris that partly covers this topic, “In Prison You Came: The Missionaries Spreading the Word to America’s Dark Corners,” in their March/April 2026 issue.