We are grateful to share the following reflection from Lily Bronson, a 4th year violist at the Oberlin Conservatory of Music. Lily faithfully served alongside Renovare Music as a teaching aid at the Grafton Correctional Institution for two semesters in 2024, and we are so grateful for Lily’s heart for the men of Unmuted Strings.

“Then the King will say to those on his right, ‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you clothed me, I was sick and you visited me, I was in prison and you came to me.’”
-Matthew 25:34-36

It was a student performance like any other: families gathered in the audience, musicians conversed excitedly, and chairs were pushed last-minute into their proper places onstage. Along with the other teaching interns, I distributed programs, helped with tuning, and was excitedly introduced to loved ones in attendance.

Yet this wasn’t really a normal performance at all. It was no concert venue we were in, but rather a brick building with no AC that functioned as a chapel. These visiting families hadn’t purchased tickets, but instead had signed up weeks in advance to be put on a “gate pass” for otherwise restricted entry. The student performers weren’t children, they were adult men, and in lieu of concert black were wearing the usual blue uniforms that designated them as what they were: incarcerated men at the Grafton Correctional Institution (GCI).

For the past two semesters, I had been working as a teaching intern through Unmuted Strings, a program that collaborates with Renovare Music to provide string education for the residents of GCI. Each week, I had driven half an hour with my peers to be met with strict entrance regulations, airport-level security, and a passionate beginner orchestra composed of men who were eager to learn and grow. My role in our collaboration was multifaceted; there were days when I led sectionals, delivered individualized technique instruction, and even conducted the whole group. More importantly, I developed relationships with the incarcerated men, learning from their diverse experiences and immense commitment to learning.

I was confronted with my own prejudices about those who are incarcerated, recognizing that what makes a beautiful, successful musical experience is not dependent on where you are located or the social status of the performers. Instead, it is grounded in mutual respect and curiosity, a genuine love of music, and a desire to communicate meaningfully that goes beyond an expectation of perfection.

Setbacks and injustices, unfortunately, were not absent from our experience. There were moments when guards would enter our rehearsal space, speaking in loud voices to reduce our orchestra to a list of names and numbers. We experienced the loss of an orchestra member who was suddenly transferred to a different institution without warning or explanation. It was in these times that I saw how uncomfortable incarcerated life could be, and how different this was from the life the inmates were free to live under our musical instruction.

It was a joy to watch how music became a way for the performers to escape the dehumanization of the prison system. They were encouraged to have their own thoughts and ideas, develop solutions for problems, and re-form their own musical and personal identities. When speaking to the musicians, many of them shared how their journeys through music had allowed them to experience real growth and success, defined by nothing other than their own joy at considering themselves musicians.

In these moments of both resistance and resilience, the members of Renovare demonstrated an inspiring amount of flexibility, patience, and joy that inspired me so deeply, giving me no doubt as to the assurance they found in their faith. To me, they embodied Philippians 4:12-13: “I know how to be brought low, and I know how to abound. In any and every circumstance, I have learned the secret of facing plenty and hunger, abundance and need. I can do all things through him who strengthens me.”

In the face of abundant joy, disarming prejudice, limiting conditions, and limitless potential, God was at work through our musical efforts at Grafton. My own faith was expanded by working with the men, as I learned how to love a group of people I would otherwise have never encountered. Not many people have the opportunity to love others in the final way illustrated in Matthew 25:36: “I was in prison and you came to me.” Having now done so, I can see why Jesus mentions this: bringing community to the isolated, belonging to the rejected, and hope to the disheartened is all the work of God’s kingdom, and I am so honored to have been a part of that throughout this past year.

In the end, the performance at GCI was a great success. Audience members were profoundly touched, swaying along with the music and applauding loudly after each piece. Looking around at the faces of the incarcerated men, I saw a degree of pride, joy, and eagerness that would not have been out of place on the most spectacular international stage. As the men closed the concert with a joyful chorus of Christmas carols, I was profoundly struck by how God had used our musical collaboration to transform the heart of a prison into someplace truly wonderful.

Reflections on Prison from an Oberlin College Student

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