Inside Arizona Prison Volunteer Stories: Dan Norcott
- Along Side Ministries
- 12 hours ago
- 2 min read
"Because of you, hope walks into prison"
- ASM Volunteer Dan Norcott
What would it feel like to walk into a prison and see a church?
Not a building with stained glass and pews —
but a visitation room filled with orange uniforms and open Bibles.
The inmates and volunteers call it “Orange Church.” And every week, because of faithful supporters like you, church happens in one of the darkest places imaginable.
Serving these men is one of the most powerful experiences of my life. When we walk through those prison gates, we don’t know what God is going to do — but we know He will show up.
And He does. In big ways.
Men come up to us and say, “God answered my prayer.”
Sometimes it’s the first time in their lives they’ve ever seen God answer one.
I serve as a prayer volunteer. Grown men — men the world has written off — lean in close and share things they have never told another soul. Regrets. Shame. Fear. Longing for forgiveness. Longing to be loved.
Sometimes I ask them to pray out loud.
Their faces tighten. Their voices shake.
“What should I say?” they ask.
For some, it’s their very first prayer.
In that holy moment, I get to tell them about Jesus.
When we finish praying, I look them in the eye and say, “I love you.”
And more often than not, they say it back.
We just met ten minutes earlier.
These men have already been judged and sentenced. But when they walk back into that room asking for prayer, it takes humility. Courage. Hope. And we are there.
For many of them, we are the only people who show up. The only ones who come back week after week. The only ones who see them not as criminals — but as men created in the image of God.
Because of your support, we don’t condemn them.
We look at them through the eyes of Jesus.
Last year, we baptized men in prison yards across the state. Before each baptism, we teach them what it truly means — that salvation is not found in water, but in surrender to Christ.
During those classes, men share their stories. And many, for the very first time, surrender their lives to Jesus.
There is nothing casual about those baptisms.
They are sacred. Hard-won. Eternal.
On nights like that, driving home in the van, I’m pretty sure it never touches the ground.
And none of it happens without you.
Your prayers.
Your generosity.
Your willingness to care about men the world has forgotten.
Because of you, church is happening behind prison walls.
Because of you, men are hearing about Jesus — some for the very first time.
Because of you, lives are changing for eternity.
Thank you for helping bring light into the darkest places.
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