When Sister Pia Maria first set foot in the maximum-security prison that houses Texas’ female death row inmates, she was understandably nervous. Not only was she entering what was arguably the most dangerous part of the prison, but she was also about to spend some quality time with a group of women who had committed hideous, unspeakable crimes. 

What would she say to them? Would she even make it out?

But when at last Sister Pia and her fellow nuns from the Sisters of Mary Morning Star actually came face-to-face with the condemned women, “all the barriers just dropped.”

“It was like we were just immersed, and we were friends, and we were talking, and we were laughing, and we were just at peace,” she recalled, speaking to CNA.

“There was a spiritual presence, and we were able to connect and bond on our first visit. It was just the grace of God — it was just amazing.”

The Sisters of Mary Morning Star is a contemplative Catholic order of nuns located near Waco, about 40 minutes from the Patrick L. O’Daniel Unit prison in Gatesville, which houses the state’s seven female death row inmates. A relatively young order that originated in Spain and has now spread to 25 convents worldwide, the sisters celebrated their order’s 10th anniversary just last month, in July. 

For the past few years, the sisters have visited their friends on death row — the sisters call it “Light Row” — once a month, forging real friendships with the women and leading six out of the seven of them to embrace the Catholic faith. 

In addition, the inmates have committed to being “oblates,” which means they are laypeople living outside the religious sisters’ community but are nevertheless committed to supporting the community through prayer. 

The tradition of oblates — a word that comes from the Latin for “offering” — originated with St. Benedict, who wanted to establish in his Rule a way for men and women outside of a religious order to be affiliated with their work and prayer. 

“They’re laypeople who live in the world who want to be committed to our community,” Sister Pia explained. 

“They have a connection to our community, like the third order of the Franciscans or the Carmelites … living the spirit of our community in the world, but as a layperson.”

‘Inspired by the Example of Conversion and Faith’

Sister Pia said despite her initial hesitation and nervousness upon being given the opportunity to enter the prison, she said she is inspired by the example of conversion and faith in God shown by the imprisoned women, who view their incarcerated state as something akin to a monastic life. 

“I think we receive so much more from them than we give to them,” Sister Pia said. 

“It’s really rewarding when you go in and minister and receive so much from the individual that you go and minister to. It’s really the light of Christ that you’re receiving from the other.”

Texas is one of the most prolific states in the entire country when it comes to the death penalty, having carried out nearly 600 state executions and six federal executions since 1976, according to the Death Penalty Information Center. According to the same group, Texas has executed more women — six — than any other state. 

None of the women on Texas’ death row currently have scheduled execution dates, but Sister Pia said she and her fellow sisters have had to mentally prepare for and pray about the possibility that the state could choose at any time to end the life of any one of their friends. 

“It’s something we’ve prayed about … we pray that we will be strong,” she said. 

“It will be very difficult for us because we’re close to them. We hope that it doesn’t happen. We pray that there’d be a miracle, that their executions be stayed … but we leave it in the hands of God, that there be peace and grace that they receive when the time comes.”

What Does It Mean to Be an Oblate?

Anndrea Stamey, a Texan who grew up Baptist and was married in the Episcopal Church, officially converted to Catholicism in March after being interested for several years in the Catholic faith. She said that when the Sisters of Mary Morning Star moved into a convent about two miles from her house a couple of years ago, she began attending daily Mass several times a week and helping the sisters with various needs. 

“It was simply a quiet, prayerful, and joyful place to be alone with God,” Stamey told CNA.

The sisters’ prioress approached Stamey about becoming an oblate in early 2022. Stamey, despite not being Catholic yet, loved the idea of supporting the sisters in an even deeper capacity than she was already. 

“I was vaguely familiar with the role of oblates in general, and after hearing more, and praying about it, my desire grew,” Stamey said. 

Today, after taking the vows necessary to become an oblate, “I truly feel ‘one’ with them, their prayer, and their life … it means so much to simply be able to go to the convent and pray and be involved in any ways they invite me,” she said. 

In terms of the sisters’ ministry to the women of “Light Row,” Stamey said she has only been to the death row prison a few times but says that as a fellow oblate, she has been “readily welcomed” by the inmates. 

“Most have a depth of faith that I don’t see with believers ‘on the outside,’” she commented. “Their gratitude for God’s work in their lives is strong. Some say going to prison saved them; otherwise they would have died in their sin, forever separated from Christ.”

“They definitely have hard days and still deal with constant struggle, but their security in God’s love is the foundation for most of the ones we met in the Faith Dorm. I miss them. We always left with more joy and energy than when we arrived.”

Stamey said for her, the experience of being an oblate has been about saying yes to God’s invitation to obedience in service of greater spiritual gifts. 

The sisters “love [Jesus] and the Church, giving their lives to uphold it in prayer. And they have been very generous to me. The Lord has truly worked through them to bless me immeasurably more than I could ever have asked or imagined.”

“If God is calling you, ask for the grace of courage to obey, and the Holy Spirit will supply it. I have always been amazed at God’s blessings when I respond in ‘simple’ obedience,” she said. 

An Observation and an Invitation

Deacon Ronnie Lastovica, the Diocese of Austin’s pastoral care coordinator for the region where the prison is located, has ministered to the women of the Gatesville prison for over a decade. He was instrumental in coordinating the religious sisters’ entry into prison ministry.

“I’m convinced it’s the Eucharist that they’re drawn to. And they, all on their own, desired to learn more about our faith,” Lastovica told CNA, referring to the women on death row. 

Lastovica said women who have converted all individually chose to receive the sacraments and become Catholic. Two of them were baptized while on death row and received full sacraments, and the others were already baptized Christians and came into full communion with the Catholic Church. 

“You’ll see that the ladies on death row, when they speak about the power of the Eucharist, what it’s done for them … God is there. God is alive. In the very moment, you see, even for the worst of sinners, hope is restored. And there’s no greater gift that can ever be given to a soul than the presence of Christ himself.”

An Observation and an Invitation

A couple of years ago, Lastovica was reading about the new order of sisters coming to Waco. He was struck by how similar the womens’ prison life was to religious life — living in cells, a structured day of work and rest, not interacting much with the outside world. He called the sisters’ prioress and asked if they would consider visiting the women in prison. 

At first, he said, the prioress was hesitant because she wasn’t sure that prison ministry fit with their order’s contemplative charism. But the order decided to make an exception, in part because the women on death row are unable to come to them — so the sisters had to be the ones to make the first move. 

And it has worked out very well, Lastovica said — to the point where the Waco sisters received permission to continue visiting every month.  

“They all bring their own brokenness to this community of women who, on Light Row, are also broken, but yet they’ve been healed by the blood of the Lamb. Jesus has restored them to their dignity and their worth and their true identity that they are all precious daughters of God.”

“They’re teaching them the Liturgy of the Hours. They do Scripture studies. They’ve introduced them to all the practices that the sisters have which are doable in prison,” Lastovica explained.

“The women get up in the morning, they do morning prayers, they go out to the garden, they work for two hours, they come back in. It’s just a beautiful way of life that they’re living.”

Like Sister Pia, Lastovica was certainly apprehensive to enter a maximum-security prison for the first time decades ago. But he said even in the presence of violent offenders, “I’ve never felt threatened.”

“They have a respect for God. Maybe they don’t believe in God, but they respect people that come and represent God, and of course, in our tradition, Jesus Christ. And I’ve always carried the Lord with me. I always had the Eucharist with me,” he said. 

“All we can do is our part, and encourage them to do their part, and trust God. God’s going to do his … we just bring them the good practices of our tradition of a prayer life, sacramental life.”

Lastovica’s experience with prison ministry is further confirmation, he said, that God “comes looking for us,” even those who seem to be the most sinful and broken.

“A lot of [the prisoners] don’t feel like they’re worthy; they just don’t. And they’ve got to embrace the fact that they are worthy, that they’re not defined by what they’ve done or what they haven’t done or what people say about them or what they don’t say about them. And so once they begin to embrace that … it changes them instantly.”

“We’re called to see Christ in each other. And that’s a tall order. Some people are not willing to do that,” he said, acknowledging how difficult and painful it can be for a person who is a victim of a crime or is affected by a crime to forgive the perpetrator. 

“None of us are beyond redemption. That’s the good news,” he said.

This story was updated after posting.