Opera in Prison? Getting Inside with Your Program Idea

Yesterday, I sat on a panel that felt like a full-circle moment.

The event was hosted at the DC Department of Corrections, and the panel took place just before a performance that I’m still wrapping my head—and heart—around. One of my former DOC employees, a deeply talented individual who recently earned his master’s degree in opera, had returned to the facility—but this time, not as staff. Now, he was a creator, an innovator, and a visionary.

At the end of his graduate program, he pitched an idea to Peabody and Johns Hopkins: bring the arts inside a carceral space. And they said yes.

So what did he do with that yes?

He brought professors of poetry, music, and business inside the walls to work with young people incarcerated at the DC DOC. These professors taught workshops on how music is composed, how to write lyrics and poetry, and how the music business actually works. The students created original poetry and lyrics. Then, students from the Peabody Institute composed music to accompany those pieces. And then, inside the facility one day and in a gorgeous DC church the next, opera students performed those compositions—music and lyrics born behind the walls—for a live audience.

I can’t overstate the magnitude of that moment. For the students who wrote the words. For the performers. For the audience. And, for me.

I sat on a panel before the concert, alongside two powerful justice-impacted individuals—one a poet, and the other one of my former DOC students, now home and lifting others up on their reentry journeys. One of the questions we were asked was: What advice would you give to someone who wants to implement a program in a jail or prison?

There’s the short version: Be creative. Be respectful. Be ready to play the long game.

And then there’s the version I want to explore with you this morning.

If you want to do work inside a jail or prison—if you want to bring your passion, your talent, your gift to people who are incarcerated—you have to understand this: the gate only opens when you follow the rules. It’s not glamorous. It’s not always fair. But it’s the reality.

Prisons and jails have strict policies for a reason—some related to safety and security, some rooted in longstanding bureaucracy, and yes, some that are just frustrating relics of a rigid system. But if your goal is to reach the residents inside, then coloring inside the lines is not optional. It's essential.

Now, here’s the beautiful part: once you're in, you can do all kinds of creative coloring. You can innovate. You can inspire. You can bring healing and hope through entrepreneurship classes, theater, meditation, cognitive behavioral programs, music, art, business planning, coding—you name it.

You can color outside the lines in what you teach and how you engage. But you have to earn your place first by respecting the structure that governs the facility.

Too often, well-meaning volunteers get frustrated with the red tape. They bristle at background checks or get offended when their materials have to be reviewed. They want to “shake things up”—and while I admire the heart behind that, the reality is that going rogue can get you barred from coming back. And more importantly, it can hurt the residents who were counting on your presence.

So here’s my heartfelt advice: be the kind of volunteer who builds trust. The kind who shows up consistently, who respects the staff, who’s flexible when schedules change, who doesn’t take things personally when the gate doesn’t open on time. Be the kind who follows the rules so that you can be the one who opens minds and hearts.

Because here’s the thing: volunteers are the soul of most programs in correctional spaces. Paid staff can only do so much. Volunteers bring in fresh perspectives, real-world experience, new ideas, and most importantly—human connection.

I’ve seen firsthand what a single poetry workshop can do for a young man who hasn’t talked about his feelings since he was ten. I’ve watched a coding instructor help someone discover a talent they didn’t know they had. I’ve seen reentry coaches walk someone through the terrifying first days of freedom. I’ve seen artists ignite joy and pride in people who thought they had nothing to offer the world.

Volunteers breathe life into places that are often suffocating. They bring light. They bring dignity. And they are, in many ways, the key to unlocking personal freedom long before release day.

If you have a skill, a story, a lesson, a talent—share it.

If you know how to write a resume, lead a meditation, build a budget, or write a song—share it.

If you have time, patience, and a genuine desire to make a difference—share that, too.

Color inside the lines to get through the gate. Then, once you’re in, paint something extraordinary.

Until next Sunday….