The cell block is smaller than I imagined. It is shaped like a piece of pie with the center cut out. The cell blocks are arranged in a circle around a hub, where prison staff watch the inmates through one-way windows and video screens.

There are six round metal tables, each with four round metal stools, all bolted to the floor. On one wall is a kiosk with a monitor for video calls. There is a phone and a screen for sending written messages.

Along the opposite wall are three cells — four-person rooms with bunks and restrooms. A metal stairway leads to three more cells on the second floor. The central area extends upward to a tiny skylight high in the ceiling.

The door closes behind us, and the men gather around. Some remember us from our visit a month ago. Others are new, so we introduce ourselves.

In county jails across the country, U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement detains undocumented immigrants until they are deported or gain asylum. Most are deported.

Shalom Mennonite Church in Indianapolis shares in a ministry called IndianaAID (Assistance to Immigrants in Detention). It is a volunteer group that supports people detained by ICE, bearing witness to their experiences through visits, offering information and providing resources. 

For two years, volunteers have been making weekly video visits to people detained in the Clay County Jail in Brazil, Ind. In October, prison officials granted us permission to hold Bible studies there once a month. 

It is December, and Pastor Brian Bither begins by acknowledging it is hard to be away from your family as Christmas approaches. The men nod. Later they will share about their families. We share the IndianaAID newsletter, with a poem Miguel wrote to his children. Another man gets up and gives him a high five.

Pastor Brian talks about the biblical context of Jesus’ birth: Israel’s exile to Babylon and return, only to be taken over by Rome. People needing to travel to be counted so that they could be controlled and taxed.

The men in the jail have also made a dangerous journey, crossing an invisible border, only to be controlled and taxed, with no voice.

Long ago, the expected king who came to save turned out to be a baby lying in a manger with the feed for the cattle. Shepherds, not royalty, visited him.

Then and now, things don’t turn out like you think they will. And yet, something good came out of this.

The men reflect on their hopes for a better life, only to find themselves in this jail. Yet, they have built community here.

An Irish man who has been here a long time and only speaks English is quick to show newcomers the ropes. An Arabic-speaking man sits sadly through the Bible study in Spanish and English. Afterward, the men ask for a Spanish-Arabic dictionary so they can communicate with him. Those who are bilingual translate. They nod as others share their stories and reflections.

The door opens, and three men come in. Wearing the orange-striped outfits of ICE detainees, they carry their bedrolls and bag of clothes. They are directed to a cell on the second level. The other men look up and call a bienvenidos (welcome) to them.

Who wants to be welcomed to a jail cell? After they unload their few things, the others gather around and begin to orient them to the environment.

We try to open the door for them to reflect on the unfairness of finding themselves here. They say they have found both hope and disappointment. Despite how they have been treated, this country holds hope for them.

Some hope for release and asylum, others for a quick deportation. All hope to be reunited with loved ones.

We listen to their stories. We take notes on how we might help from the outside. We share resources. Our presence lets them know they are not forgotten. We pray with them. And promise to be back next month.

Jeanne Rhoades Smucker is a retired pediatric nurse practitioner and member of Shalom Mennonite Church in Indianapolis. She has published a memoir, Llano Grande: Growing Up as a Missionary Child in Ecuador.