In 1986, when he was 25 years old, drug addict Jonathan Wayne Nobles brutally attacked two women in Austin, Texas, stabbing them to death. He was arrested, and stood trial. He never took the stand, and virtually the entire case rested on his confession. It was an open and shut case. He was found guilty and, according to Texas law, sentenced to death. He was sent to Huntsville Prison. When he first arrived, he alienated almost everyone. He got into fights, broke away from the guards and physically harmed himself just to get out of his cell. But one of the people who befriended him was the priest who ministered to the prisoners. He encouraged Jon to attend Mass. So he did. He went once. And then again. And then again. And he kept going back. Something just clicked. After several months, Jon Nobles was baptized. And his life after that changed.
Jon Nobles became known for his kindness, looking out for other inmates, ministering to them, quoting the scriptures. He developed a deep devotion to the rosary and the Eucharist. He learned about St. Catherine of Siena – who herself helped convert a convicted killer. That led Jon Nobles in 1989 to become a lay Dominican. He served as the godfather to another inmate, Cliff Bogges, and was there for his baptism. He was also there to assist at Mass the night Cliff Bogges was executed. As his own execution date approached, in an extraordinary move, he met and reconciled with the mother of one of his victims. They talked for five hours. At the end she told him, “I feel compassion for you, Jonathan.” He replied, “I don’t know if I deserve it.” “No you don’t,” she said. “But you have it.” A few hours before his death, he made his last confession. And in an unprecedented act, he made one simple request for his last meal: the Eucharist. He fasted all day before he received his last communion. He called it his spiritual food for his journey home.
Jonathan Wayne Nobles was executed by lethal injection on October 7, 1998, the feast of the Holy Rosary. He was 37 years old. An hour after his death, a bishop celebrated a funeral Mass. Jon Nobles was laid out in the white habit of a lay Dominican. His journey was over.
And what a journey it was. It didn’t occur in the jail I minister in, but It’s one of the most haunting and humbling conversion stories I’ve ever heard.
I’ve seen a lot in prison – both good and evil. I’ve seen countless healings and miracles behind bars and have watched God heal cancer, straighten crooked limbs and even shorten prison sentences. I’ve seen the lame walk, the deaf hear and and yes – even demons have been cast out. In the jail I volunteer in, anytime the chaplain has someone who demonically manifests or has spiritual issues, I’m the one they call.
“If you want to pray – go to church. But if you want to see Jesus at work, find the sick, the suffering, the bleeding and the dying and you’ll meet Him face to face.”
I once had a jail minister, whom I was mentoring, lean over to me as we were walking to a different cell and whisper “I feel Jesus more present here than I do anywhere else – even in church.” I laughed and said “You don’t have to whisper it. It’s true.” I often tell people “If you want to pray – go to church. But if you want to see Jesus at work, find the sick, the suffering, the bleeding and the dying and you’ll meet Him face to face.”
I wrote a book called “Heathen to Healer” and believe me – I’ve been both. What is the biggest difference between me and the people I minister to in jail? Simple; I was never caught. And more than once, I’ve wondered what I missed out on. There is a priest on my team who celebrates Mass in the jail and he has a saying that – I think – perfectly encapsulates the jail ministry.
“Never forget that you could be ministering to people who we could someday be naming churches after”
Please pray for those behind bars.