Other state demands were even more clearly problematic. When guards expected special deference or favors in exchange for not creating difficulties—when the informal system expected participation in practices that violated biblical ethics—the line had to be drawn. And drawing it carried consequences. The inmate who refused to play the game was not rewarded with respect; he was punished with inconvenience, loss of privileges, and, at times, hostility. Even the Rancagua Pentecostal leaders from outside showed me little respect. When I confronted one of them about their members stealing from backpacks, sowing discord, lying, smoking freebase cocaine, and fornicating with their girlfriends during conjugal visits, he said that I was no better because I broke the state’s rules by using a cell phone. I vehemently disagreed with Charlatan’s logic. Using a cell phone is not inherently evil, and no public policy can make it so, while the other sins I described are condemned by the Word of God.

My principle was simple, derived from the apostles’ declaration in Acts 5:29: “We ought to obey God rather than men.” Where institutional rules conflicted with no biblical command, I obeyed them. Where institutional corruption could be navigated without participating in sin, I navigated it. But where participation in the system required me to lie, to steal, to exploit, to emotionally abandon my wife, not attend church services, or to endorse the exploitation of others, I refused—and I bore the consequences of that refusal, both from the guards and the Pentecostal carnal Christian showmen who led the prison churches.

Maintaining Integrity When “Everyone Does It”

The most dangerous moral argument in prison is the argument from normalcy: “Everyone does it.” Everyone buys food from the guards’ side business. Everyone uses a cell phone. Everyone pays the mozo for privileges. Everyone looks the other way when the evangelicals run their extortion scheme. Everyone does it—so why shouldn’t you?

The answer is that you are not everyone. You are a child of God, bought with the blood of Christ, indwelt by the Holy Spirit, and held accountable to a standard that transcends the prison’s social code. “Be ye not conformed to this world” (Romans 12:2) applies behind bars as surely as it applies in the factory, the classroom, the boardroom, or the sanctuary. The “world” you are called to resist is not merely the abstract world of secular philosophy; it is the specific, concrete world of your módulo, with its bribery, its gossip, its extortion, its perversion, and its petty power games.

Maintaining integrity in this environment is exhausting. It requires constant vigilance. It means that you will be scammed by men who exploit your honesty—as I was, repeatedly, losing money, possessions, and dignity to inmates who had no compunction about lying to a man’s face. It means that you will be mocked for your principles by men who have abandoned theirs. It means that the comfortable compromises available to everyone else are not available to you.

But it also means that when you open your mouth to preach the Gospel, your words carry the weight of a life that matches them. The inmate who watches you refuse to participate in corruption, who sees you share your food without demanding repayment, who notices that you keep your word when no one else does—that inmate may one day ask you why you are different. And when he does, you will have an answer: Jesus Christ, “who loved me, and gave himself for me” (Galatians 2:20).

The Cost of Saying No

Let me not romanticize the cost. Saying no in prison is not merely uncomfortable. It can be dangerous.

When I refused to lend money for drugs after the first time, my cellmate was offended. When I was scammed out of thirty thousand pesos and refused to purchase another phone from a known thief, I was nearly implicated in a stolen-property scheme that could have gotten me stabbed. When I insisted on holding my Thursday evening worship meetings despite my cellmates’ complaints, I created friction that eventually forced me to change cells. When I challenged the hypocrisy of professing evangelicals, I made enemies who controlled portions of the módulo’s internal politics.

Each of these confrontations carried a price. I paid it. Not always gracefully. Not always without anger or frustration. But I paid it because the alternative—conforming to the moral standards of the prison—would have cost me something far more valuable than comfort or safety. It would have cost me my testimony. And a man’s witness, once lost, is nearly impossible to recover.

“For what shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?” (Mark 8:36). In prison, the stakes are not the whole world. They are a slightly better cell, a slightly easier relationship with the guards, and a slightly less dangerous social position. But the principle is the same: the soul is worth more than any temporary advantage, and no compromise is worth the price of your integrity before God.

Action Steps

Before entering prison ministry, understand the informal economy of the institution where you will serve. Ask experienced chaplains and long-term volunteers about the dynamics of bribery, smuggling, and internal politics. Ignorance is not virtue; it is vulnerability.

Establish your ethical lines in advance. Decide before you are pressured what you will and will not do. Once you are in the moment, the pressure to compromise is intense. Clear principles, decided in prayer and grounded in Scripture, are your best defense.

Do not judge inmates for participating in the informal economy until you understand the pressures they face. The man who buys food from the guards at inflated prices is not sinning; he is surviving. The same is true for those who buy cell phones, electronic equipment, and cutlery. Reserve your moral energy for the genuinely sinful practices—extortion, lying, talebearing, wrath, exploitation—and address those directly.

Be prepared to pay the cost of integrity. You will lose money. You will lose privileges. You may lose safety. Count the cost before you commit, and then commit without looking back (Luke 14:28-33).

Discussion Questions

How does a Christian inmate distinguish between permissible participation in the prison’s informal economy and sinful compromise? Where should the line be drawn?

Read Acts 5:29. What does it mean to obey God rather than men in a prison context? Give specific examples of situations where this principle would apply.

How should outside ministers respond when they learn about the corruption that pervades the prison system? Should they report it, ignore it, or work within it?

What practical steps can a church take to support incarcerated believers who face social and physical consequences for maintaining their integrity behind bars?