Salt Lake City, Utah — In early February, an unsettling rumor worked its way through the scrub-clad population of the Utah State Prison: Two rival gangs planned to "take care of business" in one of the facility's chapels. The juicy tidbit weaved — like gossip does — through the cafeteria, around the gym and in and out of a few dozen cells before landing, eventually, at Craig Burr's feet.
Burr, division director of programming for the Utah Department of Corrections, faced a tough decision. Should he cancel church, violating inmates' First Amendment right to attend worship services? Or should he allow the preaching to continue on schedule, putting inmates, officers and dozens of religious volunteers at risk?
"Constitutional rights and safety — those are two issues we never want to mess around with," Burr said.
They are, however, two issues prisons and jails across the country must balance every day.
In the interest of security, over the last 20 years, Utah has battled prisoners over everything from the right to maintain a Hindu-approved vegetarian diet to the right to participate in Native American sweat lodge ceremonies. Just last week, the Utah County Jail denied an inmate the right to meet with his pastor because they believed the preacher, a soft-mannered Bible school graduate, to be a safety threat.
On a national level, the American Civil Liberties Union processes thousands of complaints each year from inmates claiming their religious liberties have been violated. Twenty percent of First Amendment claims filed in federal court come from prisoners.
"We have a fine line to walk," Burr said.
He decided to cancel church — just for one week. But then a knife fight broke out in the family history center and prison officials called preachers and told them, "We'll let you know when to come back."
For Ron, a gray-haired grandfather who wished to be identified only by his first name, the decision was devastating. Once a devout member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, he stopped attending services after his wife died suddenly from a staph infection. Depression led him to pornography, which led him to start sexually abusing his 9-year-old granddaughter. Now five years into his sentence, the time Ron spends in the chapel — which is, between services, scripture study and volunteer work, nearly all of his time — is the only time he finds peace from a tormented conscience.
"If you come to prison justly, you've offended your maker," he said, tears pooling in the weathered lines framing his blue eyes. "I'm just seeking some sort reunification. I want to get back in God's good graces."
By federal law, correctional facilities are required to provide inmates access to religious literature, the opportunity to attend religious services and accommodation for religious dietary rules, said David Hudson, author of the book "Prisoners' Rights" and a scholar at the First Amendment Law Center in Tennessee. In a landmark decision in 1987, however, the Supreme Court ruled prisons and jails could regulate inmates' religious rights if it was "reasonably related to legitimate penological interests."
Advocates for the incarcerated see the decision as granting "too much leeway" in dealing with security concerns.
"Oftentimes in the lower courts, prison officials do not provide any evidence that their regulation serves a legitimate prison interest but simply come up with a post-hoc, speculative reason to justify the restrictive policy," David Fahti, director of the ACLU National Prison Project, told the First Amendment Center. "Prison officials often dream up plausible — and sometimes not very plausible — reasons for their actions."
Up in his office on the side of the mountain, with the prison laid out like a miniature city in front of him, Burr and his advisers mulled over the idea of breaking the churchgoing inmates into groups and allowing them to attend only once every five weeks. Smaller groups would be more manageable for the officers.
When dealing with criminals, Burr said, even minor security risks must be taken seriously. Horseplay's not allowed in prison. No pushing. No grabbing. Even a bump could lead to an altercation.
"In the incidence that there may be something of a security concern, we close down the area and make sure that area is secure," he said. "The procedure is the same if that area is the gym or the church."
It was procedure that got Nathaniel Wall, a preacher from the Alpine Bible Church in Lehi, kicked out of the Utah County Jail lobby last week. He came to the jail three times in hopes of visiting a member of his congregation who was nearing his trial date.
When he was asked for his "clergy card," Wall whipped out several cards issued by his church identifying him as a pastor. But attending officers didn't recognize his cards or his religion, which has only a small following in Utah County.
"There's a verification process that must be followed to maintain security," said Darin Durfey, chief deputy of Utah County Jail, said. "He couldn't produce the proper paperwork."
Both Wall and Durfey agree, though, that there is no standardized clergy card.
"They work with a lot of LDS bishops so I think they have an idea in their head of what a clergy card should look like," Wall said. "I don't think it's disrespect. It's just ignorance."
The vast majority of religious volunteers at the Utah State Prison are Mormon, but there are 12 different religions practiced on prison grounds. On an unrestricted Sunday, hundreds of inmates crowd into the dull, windowless chapels. Even on weekdays, the chapels at the Utah State Prison hum with activity. A Wednesday finds half a dozen big, tattooed men gathered in the chapel knitting while a rock band pounds out Christian-flavored tunes. In side rooms, volunteers from the Jehovah's Witness and Mormon churches conduct scripture study sessions for 30 or so rapt inmates.
"Some people will say that inmates have a 'come to Jesus' moment when they go to prison that lasts about as long as they are in prison," said Bob Feland, Utah State Prison chaplain. "Me, I'm a believer. I believe there are those who are really converted."
Research indicates spirituality may be a strong factor in rehabilitation. According to a study by the Heritage Foundation, if an inmate does not return to prison it is usually due to a change of heart.
It's a concept that, despite his no nonsense approach to security, even Burr buys into.
"It's very important to us as a department that the offenders have an opportunity to have a well rounded life," he said. "We feel spirituality is an important part of that."
After a few weeks of finagling, Burr figured out a solution.
Instead of allowing inmates to take turns attending church, the prison now offers multiple worship services each Sunday. Where before officers were only required to check in on meetings every twenty minutes or so, someone will now be posted inside the chapel. To work it out, Burr had to rework the entire prison security plan.
"It was a lot of work," Burr said. "But I think it's the best way."
Ron, for his part, is OK with the compromise.
"It means everything in the world to me just to be here in the chapel," he said.