Inside Colorado’s Prisons, One Inmate Is Quietly Restoring Dignity — One Hygiene Kit at a Time

A single inmate’s calling becomes a ministry of dignity for men and women entering Colorado’s correctional system.

(Photo: Lightstock)

By Ryan Brady

When a man enters Colorado’s Denver Reception and Diagnostic Center (DRDC), he carries whatever he arrived to jail with. Often, that amounts to almost nothing.

The state’s central intake facility processes approximately 30-40 new inmates daily, assessing their needs and assigning classifications. Many come in without basic hygiene items and necessities, or without any money to acquire them. The lack of such supplies may seem trivial to the outside world, but inside prison walls, it can mean the difference between staying healthy and quickly falling ill.

For Brent Snook, a permanent resident at DRDC, it was a call from God.

Snook spends part of his days working in the intake unit, where he watches new arrivals step into prison life, often unprepared.

“I noticed so many new inmates didn’t have what they needed,” he recalled during an interview inside the facility.

For him, the experience was not merely procedural. It was spiritual.

“The Holy Spirit inspired the project. It was the Holy Spirit,” he said, pointing to James 2:14-18, the famous passage asserting that faith without works is dead. That passage, he said, stirred him to action.

That biblical challenge became the seed of the St. James Project, an inmate-led program that assembles and distributes hygiene kits — including soap, deodorant and shower shoes — to men who enter DRDC without them or cannot afford them. Snook noted that Matthew

25:34-40, Christ’s admonition that whatever we do for the least among us we do for him, also guides the mission.

“Who are the least of us? The lepers, in Scripture. We’re the lepers to the general public, and the least of us are the lepers to the lepers,” he shared.

The idea grew quietly at first. Snook drafted a proposal with the support of Major Davis, a staff member who helped shepherd the idea through the approval channels: first from the facility’s leadership, then through the Colorado Department of Corrections headquarters.

In November 2024, just before Thanksgiving, the project received full approval from the Colorado Department of Corrections and the DRDC. Snook can’t help but see the timing as a sign.

“Eucharist means thanksgiving,” he noted. “That felt providential.”

What followed was months of logistical groundwork. Funding came through the Knights of Malta, a Catholic order with a long history of charity and service. Supplies had to be sourced, ordered, and stocked. Flyers went up around the intake center explaining how to request a package. Inmates needing help could send a “kite” — an internal prison mail slip — to staff who work on the project to both request items and sometimes offer thanks.

Sometimes, the most valuable item in the package is the simplest: shower shoes. They might not look like much, but they are a daily essential. Using them is the easiest way to take care of one’s personal health and practice good hygiene in a shared living environment.

“It's about dignity,” he said several times.

On March 10, 2025, after months of work, the St. James Project began quietly, with the continued support of the DRDC. Just two inmates received supplies on their first day.

There was no ceremony — just Snook and one of the Catholic chaplains, who came with a small plastic bag — but the impact was immediate. Snook shared the story of a man, 6’7” tall, who arrived with virtually nothing. When Snook reached his cell with a kit in hand, the man, overwhelmed, embraced him.

“He had tears in his eyes, and he just jumped on me. I didn’t expect that,” Snook said, laughing.

Today, the project runs daily, operating as steadily as any internal service in the facility. Before it launched, Snook estimates that at least 25% of new inmates lacked essential hygiene items. Now, each of them — men, women and juveniles — has a place to turn. But Snook insists he doesn’t want the attention.

“This is about the project. It’s not about me,” he said repeatedly, framing the work not as personal achievement but as a collaboration of many different people. “If you remove any one piece, this doesn’t exist.”

The St. James Project relies on prison residents, staff, volunteers and the Catholic ministry service.

While Snook prefers not to spotlight himself, those who know him say the project stems from his deeply rooted faith.

Father Jason Moore, the Capuchin chaplain at DRDC, recalled his early days at the facility, relating how Snook was the only one who came to Mass when he first started. But Snook’s quiet consistency was unmistakable.

“Brent listens to the Holy Spirit when called, every time,” he shared.

Snook’s daily routine is structured, even monastic. He wakes at 4:45 a.m. and goes to sleep at 8:30 p.m., filling the hours between with work, exercise and extensive prayer. He regularly prays the Liturgy of the Hours and spends multiple hours reading Scripture. He also listens to the “Bible in a Year” podcast with Father Mike Schmitz when he can.

Each morning begins the same way: with a quiet prayer, Snook composes himself.

“Lord, please make me your servant today,” he prays. “Give me the strength to get through this difficult day, and if you can’t, bring me home to you.”

In addition to his own studies, he helps facilitate the Wednesday Catholic Bible study group and remains fiercely committed to spiritual growth, his own and others’. He says he often “brings the other men back to the Greek, back to the Hebrew” while reading together.

When asked what spiritual figures influence him, he did not hesitate.

“Look to the saints,” he said. “I look up to Mother Teresa of Calcutta,” who is depicted in a hallway mural right outside the library we met in, alongside others who helped the least and lowest of society.

He quoted the famous saint in familiar words: “Never worry about numbers. Help one person at a time and always start with the person nearest you.”

He smiled slightly after repeating the quote.

“I’m a numbers guy,” he admitted. “I like statistics.”

But as Mother Teresa knew, the work is not about metrics. It’s about the human person in front of you.

Within DRDC, the St. James Project has evolved into more than just a distribution pipeline. It has become a quiet ministry of presence, a way for incarcerated men to encounter God’s love through one another. In a place where hope can be scarce and small acts carry immense weight, the gift of shower shoes and soap becomes a gesture of dignity. It helps men enter the prison system not as forgotten individuals but as persons worthy of care.

And for those who receive the kits, the effect can be profound. Many send kites back to Snook, expressing incredible gratitude. Snook reads them quietly and moves on to prepare the next package. The work continues, one man at a time.

The St. James Project continues every day, fueled by prayer, collaboration and an inmate’s humble desire to “help the person nearest you.” In a setting often defined by deprivation, it has become a small but potent source of grace.

And in the end, perhaps Snook’s own words best capture the beating heart of the ministry he helped bring to life:

“It’s about agape love. The love of the Father.”