Feeling pressured to provide proof to your stakeholders?

Faith-based education does more than teach — it builds brotherhood. New research reveals how community drives transformation in prison.

Can data reveal human flourishing after prison? Five rounds of reentry evaluation at House of Mercy say yes.

When we think about prison education, we tend to ask one question: Does it reduce recidivism? It's a reasonable question, but it may be the wrong one. My recently published study in the Journal of Global Education and Research asked a different question: Does participating in a seminary-level theological education program actually change how people flourish while they're still incarcerated and after they come home? The answer, across 266 participants in six facilities and four states, was yes. Participants in The Urban Ministry Institute (TUMI) prison program showed higher scores on established well-being measures, healthier thinking patterns, stronger coping skills, and more positive relationships than comparison groups. And those gains didn't evaporate at the gate. Program graduates in reentry carried the markers of flourishing into post-release life. What flourishing actually looks like Flourishing isn't a soft concept. Drawing on Diener's Flourishing Scale, a validated instrument used in positive psychology research, the study measured constructs such as purpose, engagement, meaning, and positive relationships. These aren't warm feelings. They're measurable conditions that predict sustained behavior change. What the data showed was this: when incarcerated men and women are given access to rigorous academic study grounded in community and accountability, something shifts. Not just in what they know, but in who they are becoming. The research identified five mechanisms driving that transformation: deep educational engagement, authentic peer community, relational accountability, future-oriented purpose, and restorative action through mentorship. Each reinforces the others. Together, they create the conditions for the kind of change that lasts. Why this matters beyond the research Policymakers, funders, and program designers consistently reach for recidivism as their primary metric. But recidivism tells us something quite narrow — whether someone returned to prison within a given window. It tells us almost nothing about whether a person is living well, contributing to their community, or building a meaningful life. If we want justice systems that actually produce human flourishing, we need to measure what flourishing looks like. And we need to fund and design programs that create the conditions for it. Faith-based theological education in prison, when done with rigor and relational integrity, does that. The full peer-reviewed article, "Religious Higher Education in Prison in the United States: The Importance of Well-Being," is published in the Journal of Global Education and Research (Vol. 10, Issue 2, 2026). Read it here.

We rarely discuss people serving life sentences who've genuinely transformed. Karen Brown's 40-year journey shows why we should.

What does dignity look like for our unhoused neighbors? Sometimes it is a shower, sometimes it is a mailbox, sometimes it is simply being seen.

Measuring flourishing is not simply about identifying domains or creating a reliable tool. It requires asking questions in a way that respects the dignity and lived experience of the people responding. That cannot be done from a distance. It requires proximity.

This is why prison education isn’t just a moral argument—it’s a practical one. It reduces future crime. It lowers costs. It strengthens communities. And it saves lives, sometimes in the most unexpected places.

This research contributes to a growing body of evidence showing the value of high-quality educational programs in correctional settings—not only for reducing recidivism but for fostering human flourishing.

Mary Flin’s example challenges me to rethink what it means to serve, to listen, and to love my own neighbors. Her life is a living answer to the question: What if every neighborhood had a chaplain?