Opening a door behind walls

When Devon Terrell appeared on the screen for class, he entered from a place most students never have to imagine. He didn’t have a desk in a quiet library, and he didn’t have easy access to email, a course website, or a printer — the ordinary tools most graduate students take for granted. 

Devon was studying from inside Sheridan Correctional Center. He has been in prison for more than 20 years, and with no possibility of parole, he’ll live his life there. This past spring, after months of handwritten papers, Zoom classes, lockdowns, scanned assignments, printed readings, and plenty of unseen perseverance, Devon completed a Certificate in Reconciliation and Restorative Justice through Catholic Theological Union (CTU). 

As far as those involved can tell, Devon is the first person to earn any CTU certificate or degree while currently incarcerated. That makes his accomplishment significant in its own right. For the Precious Blood family, it means even more: the cry of the Blood heard where hope is scarce and the power of believing no one is beyond reconciliation. 

“This is completely in harmony with Precious Blood spirituality,” says Kevin Considine, assistant professor of Systematic Theology and director of the Schreiter Institute for Precious Blood Spirituality at CTU. Considine worked closely with Devon during the certificate program. “This is what we should be doing.” 

Devon had already been doing graduate-level theological work through prison education programs connected with Lewis University and North Park Theological Seminary’s School of Restorative Arts. Through those studies, he was introduced to restorative justice, and he began preparing for a future role as a teacher inside the prison. Michelle Clifton, director of the prison education program at Lewis University, began talking with Considine about whether Devon could complete CTU’s Certificate in Reconciliation and Restorative Justice.  

From the beginning, Considine says, the request felt mission-driven. The C.PP.S. charism has always called the Precious Blood family to go where healing is needed, to stand with those who suffer, and to build community with people pushed to the margins. 

Devon’s situation brought that mission into sharp focus. “The prisons are a place where there’s a lot of need,” Considine says. “It’s a place where Precious Blood spirituality already is and a place where we already should be.” 

Still, a mission can be clear while the details remain complicated. Devon didn’t have access to a computer or email. When he wrote papers, he did so by hand on notebook paper. When an assignment was finished, he gave it to Clifton, who scanned it and sent it to Considine. Feedback had to travel back through the same indirect route. 

Even getting the readings to Devon took planning. Other students could open the course website and download an article. Devon couldn’t. Books and readings had to be sent to Clifton, printed, and delivered inside the facility. Sometimes the system worked smoothly. Other times, it didn’t. At one point, another student discovered that Devon was missing a required book, something Considine had no way of knowing until the class community began looking out for Devon.

Life inside a correctional facility brought its own interruptions. A class meeting could be canceled with little warning, and a planned in-person visit was called off when Considine arrived and learned the facility was locked down. In one reflection paper, Devon wrote about surprise cell inspections, when belongings could be moved or thrown around and left in disarray. Considine said that made him think about the basic conditions required to be a student: keeping track of papers, preserving notes, meeting deadlines, finding concentration, and holding on to one’s work. 

“There are so many variables that are unknowns and things that are just not able to be controlled,” Considine says. 

Devon kept going. When Considine began meeting with him regularly over Zoom, he saw the depth of Devon’s ability. He found discipline, theological insight, and intellectual curiosity. 

“He can do some really rigorous work,” Considine says. “He’s kind of a cut above.” 

That rigor was joined to a spirituality that Considine recognized as deeply compatible with the Precious Blood tradition. Devon comes from an African American Protestant background, but Considine said his understanding of reconciliation and restorative justice harmonized with Catholic theology and with the spirituality of the Blood of Christ.  

Devon is a poet and musician, and Considine saw in that creativity an effort to take trauma and moral injury and shape them into something repairable, something that could give life. That movement from wound to witness is deeply Precious Blood. It doesn’t pretend harm hasn’t happened. It trusts that God can bring healing even from places marked by rupture. 

During the independent study, Devon and Considine met one on one. Later, Devon joined a larger hybrid class of about 15 students. Some were in the classroom, others were online, and Devon joined by Zoom from the prison. Everyone knew he was incarcerated, but Considine made clear that Devon was to be treated like any other student. He could share as much or as little as he wished. 

There were moments when Devon did share, particularly in conversations about racism, reconciliation, restorative justice, and the prison system. Other students listened, supported him and, in quiet ways, began to care for him. Considine compares it to a coach watching a team looking out for one another without being told. That, too, is Precious Blood spirituality lived.  

For Considine, the experience challenged some assumptions and confirmed others. He had to learn, week by week, the realities of prison education: the barriers, the delays, the uncertainty, and the dependence on people inside and outside the facility who could make communication possible. It also confirmed his conviction that theological education belongs in places like Sheridan. 

He was also struck by how much good work is already happening there, especially through Lewis University, North Park Theological Seminary, and others. The Schreiter Institute didn’t bring reconciliation into the prison from the outside. It joined a movement of grace already underway. 

Devon’s certificate feels less like an ending than a beginning. Considine hopes it can serve as a test run that opens the door for other incarcerated students. He’s careful not to overpromise. The first year involved a great deal of trial and error.  

“Hopefully, Devon’s not the last,” Considine says. “The idea is that this opens the door.” 

The Blood of Christ draws near to the wounded, not as visitors with easy answers, but as companions willing to listen, learn, and walk together. In Devon’s perseverance, in Michelle Clifton’s practical care, in a class that supported one another, and in an institute willing to try something difficult, that charism took flesh.