Welcome to From the Prison Chapel, a weekly feature from Dismas Ministry.
Each week, we are honored to share a homily by Rev. Fr. Jarek Sniosek of the Diocese of Venice Jail and Prison Ministry. Fr. Jarek has graciously given Dismas Ministry permission to share his homilies with our supporters, volunteers, prison ministers, and friends.
We present each homily in its original form, preserving the message as it was written. Following the homily, you’ll find a brief prayer.
📖 Wisdom 12:13, 16–19; Psalm 86; Romans 8:26–27; Matthew 13:24–43.
A man who had spent years in prison once rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and looked quietly at the tattoos covering his arms. Some reminded him of the gang he had once believed would never abandon him. Others marked decisions he would give anything to undo. Every image carried a memory. Every memory carried a regret.
Someone asked him gently, “Have you ever thought about having them removed?”
He smiled and answered, “I have. But even if every tattoo disappeared, I would still remember why I got them. My biggest problem isn’t what’s written on my skin. It’s making sure it isn’t still written on my heart.”
Then, after a long silence, he added something he had learned through years of struggle.
“But here’s the good news. God reads hearts much better than He reads tattoos.”
That may be one of the most beautiful ways to understand today’s Gospel. Jesus tells a story about wheat and weeds growing together in the same field. The servants want to pull up the weeds immediately. They want everything cleaned up as quickly as possible. But the owner says, “No. Wait.” Why? Because he knows something they do not. He knows that if they rush to judge the field, they may destroy the wheat that is still growing.
That is exactly how God looks at us.
People usually see the outside first. They see the arrest record, the newspaper headline, the prison sentence, the addiction, the divorce, the failure, the mistake that changed everything. Many people decide who we are by looking at one chapter of our lives.
God never does.
He looks beneath the surface. He sees the tears nobody else has seen. He hears the prayers whispered in the darkness. He notices every sincere effort to change, every apology, every temptation resisted, every act of kindness that no one applauds. While others may still see weeds, God already sees wheat beginning to grow.
And here is the part of the Gospel that can change not only your life but also this entire place. If God can already see the wheat growing in you, then He can also see the wheat growing in the man sleeping in the bunk next to you. That difficult person, the one who gets on your nerves, the one everyone has written off, the one you struggle to forgive—Christ may already be doing His quiet work in his heart as well. Before you decide who someone is, remember how patiently God has decided who you can become.
The Book of Wisdom tells us something remarkable today. Because God is all-powerful, He is also patient. Human beings often think power means acting quickly and punishing immediately. God shows His strength differently. His strength is revealed through mercy. He gives people time to repent, time to heal, time to become the person He created them to be. That means none of us should ever decide that someone—including ourselves—is beyond hope.
Now, I know what some of you may be thinking. “Father, you don’t know what I’ve done.”
You’re right. I don’t.
But God does.
And He still brought you here today.
That tells me something.
Your worst decision did not have the final word. If it had, you wouldn’t be sitting here listening to the Gospel. The fact that you are here means God is still writing your story.
Sometimes we spend so much time wishing we could erase the past that we forget something even more important. God is not asking us to erase yesterday. He is asking us to surrender today. We cannot rewrite yesterday’s pages, but with His grace we can decide what gets written on the next one.
St. Paul gives us another comforting promise. He says that even when we do not know how to pray, the Holy Spirit prays within us. Isn’t that encouraging? There are days when the only prayer we can manage is, “Lord… help me.” There are days when words simply won’t come because shame, fear, loneliness, or regret have stolen them. Yet even then, God understands the language of a broken heart. Before we can even finish our prayer, the Holy Spirit is already carrying it to the Father.
And perhaps that’s why I love that man’s words so much.
“My biggest problem isn’t what’s written on my skin. It’s making sure it isn’t still written on my heart.”
When he first got those tattoos, they told the story of who he thought he was. Years later, they became a reminder not of his past, but of God’s mercy. He discovered that while tattoos may remain on the skin, they do not have to remain on the heart.
The same is true for every one of us.
Maybe everyone outside still remembers your past. Maybe some people will always define you by the worst thing you have ever done. That is their choice.
But it does not have to become yours.
And it does not have to become the way you see the men around you either. Every person in this chapel is more than the worst decision he has ever made. Every man here is still a field where God is patiently at work. Some wheat is easier to see than others, but the Lord never stops cultivating hearts that are willing to let Him in.
Because today Jesus asks a different question. He does not ask, “What did your life look like years ago?” He asks, “What is growing in your heart today?”
If the answer is faith, even a little… if the answer is hope, even when it feels fragile… if the answer is repentance, however imperfect… then the wheat is already growing.
And where Christ sees wheat, He never gives up on the harvest.
Prayer
Lord Jesus, there are moments when I look at my past and wonder whether I can ever become the person You created me to be. Sometimes I remember my failures more easily than I remember Your mercy. Sometimes I believe the labels others have placed on me more than the name You call me by: beloved.
Teach me to see others with the same patient eyes with which You see me. When I am tempted to judge, remind me how gently You have judged my own life. Help me never to forget that every person I meet is someone You are still loving, still healing, and still calling by name.
Today I place my heart into Your hands. Pull out whatever keeps me far from You—not by force, but by the gentle power of Your love. Give me the courage to stop living as the person I used to be and the hope to become the person You already see.
When I grow impatient with myself, remind me that You are patient. When I feel ashamed, remind me that Your mercy is greater than my past. When I cannot find the words to pray, let Your Holy Spirit pray within me.
Help me believe that my story is not finished, that my life is more than my worst mistake, and that with You, even the field where weeds once seemed to flourish can become a harvest of grace. May I leave this chapel today determined not only to let You grow wheat in my own heart, but also to believe that You are quietly growing it in the hearts of my brothers as well.
Amen.
What a wonderful gift from Dismas Ministry! This homily arrived in my inbox just hours before I am to visit inmates in jail and prison. I had already prepared my own lesson based on Sunday’s readings. It’s reassuring to see most of the elements I wanted to emphasize in Fr. Sniosek’s homily. But his is polished and wonderfully tailored for just the sort of “congregations” I am about to address. Very pleased and grateful to be able to borrow Father’s wisdom!