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We have two commentaries this month. Be sure to see them both. Commentary:
By Ann B. Sherer I have visited many people who are dying of disease. I have walked with people were contemplating suicide. I understand how to offer pastoral care in these settings. But when I visited with James Chambers on death row, knowing that in two days the state of Missouri would kill him unless the governor granted a stay, I could only listen and cry. Here was a healthy man who had done a terrible thing. In l982 Mr. Chambers killed Jerry Oestricker outside a bar near Arnold, Mo. The violence that resulted in Mr. Oestricker's death can never be acceptable, and my compassion extends to the Oestricker family and friends. There are personal factors that help explain why Mr. Chambers behaved as he did, though none of them excuse his actions. There are questions about the fairness of the legal system, the adequacy of counsel, and the proportionality of the sentence of death for this particular crime. Such circumstances are not unique. In recognition of similar questions surrounding many capital cases, our United Methodist General Conference last May passed a resolution asking for an immediate moratorium on imposition of the death penalty. All of that was abstract until I looked Mr. Chambers in the eye and listened to him tell me about his mother, siblings and wife. His wife, Darlene, talks, without stopping for breath, reflecting the urgency she feels, desperate to let me hear their side of the story. Now it is days later and I have watched him die. Strapped to a gurney in a glassed-in room, surrounded on one side by family and concerned people, on another side by the victim's family and on the third side by state's witnesses and press, he groggily looked toward Darlene and with his last breath said, "I love you." Then the drugs that stop heart and breath kicked in and he died as we watched. Darlene beat the glass and screamed in pain. Her two young adult sons tried to help as they patted her and said, "Mama, don't cry. Mama, we are so sorry." Finally, she collapsed and was taken to a hospital to be treated for shock and exhaustion. Two hours before his death, I watched Jim as he spoke with me and Darlene by phone from his cage-like cell. He spoke first: "Ann, they are going to kill me. Darlene will not believe it, but they are going to kill me. It is over." Darlene protests, "The governor is going to help us yet." They talk. The three of us talk. He gets to touch no one, not even his wife. On that night, Jim was docile and resigned. He talked a little about God and his hope for forgiveness. Death was coming. We prayed again and I had to leave. An hour before the time of execution the governor called and said, "Go ahead." Darlene was stunned. She had fought for 18 years to keep this moment from coming and here it was. The guards and the staff behaved professionally. There was an air of solemnity. Everyone was polite. Armed personnel were everywhere. Outside, protesters gathered. Inside people did the job you and I paid them to do. Many death row inmates have done terrible things. Some should never be released. They are a danger to society, but they are human. We are not smart enough to decide who lives and who dies. This is God's job. Since 1956 United Methodists, in our Book of Discipline, have said no to capital punishment and urged its elimination from all criminal codes. I felt called to witness this execution and its horror. We have a deep responsibility to care for and protect the victims of crime. But state killing is not the answer. It perpetuates violence. I trust God to help us find another way, the way of restorative justice where we are engaged in ministry with the victims and the victimizers.
Commentary:
By Lynda C. Ward On March 12 in South Bend, I attended a prayer vigil held in opposition to the impending execution of Gerald Bivins for the shooting death of Rev. William Radcliffe in 1991. As I stood among friends, colleagues, and strangers, I was reminded of a question once posed to me in seminary: "If you were asked to hold a sign that summed up your Christian witness to the world, what would your sign say?" Some at the vigil held signs that read "We must pray for our enemies and bless them," others had buttons or signs asking for "forgiveness" and opposing the death penalty. And yet none of these messages quite captured why I had left my comfortable chair in the library and opted to stand in the cold, drizzling rain for a man who was convicted of a heinous crime. As a Christian, I am called to pray for my enemies and to have their best interests at heart; and certainly a murderer is an enemy. But what does it mean to pray for Mr. Bivins, and what would be in his best interest? Many opponents of the death penalty say that life in prison would be best, but somehow this seems incomplete. Yes, he should be locked up, but then what? Who will be there to confront him with the truth of his actions? What process will there be to encourage him to make some kind of reparation to the Radcliffe family? Who will help him change and grow? Surely we shouldn't leave him alone to sit in prison, a unreconciled murderer, for the rest of his life. Some signs say "forgive him," but is forgiveness such a simple process that it can be requested of someone on a button or a sign? And should we forgive Bivins before he has tried to make it right? Certainly we should not hate him or desire revenge, and we must be willing to engage Mr. Bivins in the process of forgiveness, but is it a true embodiment of the Christian message simply to forgive him before he has made some changes in his life and tried, somehow, to right his wrong? It seems to me that full forgiveness involves a restoration of relationship, and so it is logically impossible to forgive an enemy. Instead, we forgive friends, not because they are our friends, but because we have loved them as our enemies until they have become our friends. Yet had any of us spoken with or visited Mr. Bivins? I had not. Those who favor the death penalty often hold signs proclaiming "An eye for an eye!" And truly the death penalty does offer a kind of justice: it holds Bivins accountable for his actions, and it exacts a death for a death. But is it a witness to God's love? Is it in Mr. Bivins' best interest? Does it promote the process of reconciliation, or does it cut this process short? Certainly for the gravity of his sin, Bivins deserves to die, but fortunately we serve a God who does not give us what we deserve, but instead gives us what we don't deserve: a second chance, a helping hand, an opportunity for redemption, mercy. "Blessed are the merciful for they shall obtain mercy." I wonder what would have happened if instead of justice we, as our witness, offered Bivins mercy? Would he have been healed? Would we have been healed? I guess we will never know, for in the end the death penalty dashes any hope for a second chance, denies an opportunity for reconciliation, and prevents us from answering these questions. So what would my sign read? I think it takes both courage and the support of a strong community to offer mercy to people who have committed heinous crimes, but I think as Christians we must try, for truly (and this is what my sign would read): "A world without mercy, is a world without God."
Last updated January 14, 2004 |
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