Showing posts with label capital punishment. Show all posts
Showing posts with label capital punishment. Show all posts

Sunday, May 17, 2015

2015.05.17 Humans Need Love and Fair Treatment as Much as Dogs Do

Leonberger dogs are a German breed of huge canine critters. I met them in the park near us, walking with their owners. These two are majestic, leonine—symbols of grandeur that made my world that day. These dogs are tall, dark and handsome. Okay, maybe too much pant and drool but............




When our children were growing up we always had dogs. Our last dog was Peregrine, Peri, a stray  (Shepherd/blend of sorts) who wandered into our back yard one Thanksgiving day. Immediately the clamor began—the please, please, please beggary. It included phrases like “we have to keep this dog, Mom” followed up by, “he needs us; he’ll be all alone; see how thin he is; how can you just ignore him, he came to us; It's THANKSGIVING!" I think one clever one of them added something about a gift from God. We gave Peri a home and love for several years. He turned out to be a she. 

The dog before Peri was Pip. Pippy we found at a local farm. The farmer was looking for a home for Pip, and well........  Pip was a combination mutt-brand, a cross between a St. Bernard and some kind of coon hound. He was mostly white with few markings, rambunctious and able to wag his whole butt not just his tail. Occasionally and unprovoked, he stretched out his neck and raised his head to let out a howl, as any good coon hound would do. He was a pip—full of great expectations! It didn’t matter whether there were any coons about of course. Pip was affectionate, hyperactive, and generally nuts. So were we at the time. Pip got run over and all of us blamed the speeding driver, not our Pip. 

And before Pip we had Pal. We favored names that  began with P,  I guess.  Pal was a gentleman. He was some kind of mutt-brand as well and I don’t remember where we got Pal. He looked like a beagle with black and white markings. He would bark once at the door then stand and wait until someone opened it. He never fussed to eat, or whined to be let in or out. He had a white bib almost like a perennial butler. You’d expect to see him carrying a tray of elegant champagne flutes. Pal died a natural death.

Peri died, at our hands and thanks to a taunting neighbor kid and her hysterical mother; we did not get any more dogs. What do you do when a police officer shows up at your door with a bad dog story? Allegations were that Peri had bitten right through the child’s snow jacket. The child was fine but we had no way to defend Peri, even though our children reported that the child had taunted our dog.

It’s a traumatic experience to, as they say, “put a dog down.” Why say it this way? Well, it minimizes the fact that we are committing murder, or in cases of extreme age, disease and suffering, mercy killing. Sometimes I wish we could do that for humans. I’ll never forget Peri’s placing her paw against my then-husband’s chest as we said goodbye. I still don’t know if we did the right thing. I suppose we were afraid that Peri would bite someone. Was Peri dangerous?  She never had been but we didn’t know her history except her few years with us. But at least it was painless for Peri, though not for us.

Reports indicate that in Oregon, where euthanasia choices are legal now, not many people avail themselves of this right. I suppose it's our addiction to the idea of freedom of choice that tells us this is a good option. I don't disagree but can't quite imagine myself making that choice. It's not because I think that the timing of death is somehow God's doing, because my theology doesn't support this view of God.

I'm glad that capital punishment  is illegal in Massachusetts, yet as we in Massachusetts endured the painful deliberations about whether to kill the Boston marathon bomber under federal law, I wondered. To spare a life may be as just as drastic as to take one. What is gained by that? I thought that until I heard about conditions in the Maximum Security prison where this young man, the same age as my oldest granddaughter, could spend the rest of his life. Such a prison serves neither justice nor mercy nor humanity nor the goodness of God. Our system can do better.

Incidentally, I also know from a counselor who works with staff in such prisons, that those who work in the supermax facilities are being driven slowly insane as well. And we Christians thought crucifixion was bad! It too, however, was institutional violence. We believe that there can be resurrection and new life because love goes on, despite cruelty and violence and human sin, individual and systemic.



I took a small action about my horror at the existence of such prisons. Here is a note I sent to our Massachusetts Senators, Edward Markey and Elizabeth Warren.

"The morning after I'd watched an interview on Greater Boston with a man who'd spent five years in a maximum security prison, I woke in a sweat of horror. I couldn't shake it off. I didn't even know how to pray. I did not know about the conditions of absolute unremitting isolation that exist in these prisons. ABSOLUTE isolation.  I kept asking myself: How can a nation that dares to entertain mottoes like "In God we trust" and call itself civilized, countenance such pure evil in its midst? It's an insane asylum we create, not a prison. My horror goes far beyond the Tsarnaev case and any crime and punishment issues. It's a spiritual question. We have devised a way to slaughter souls.  Capital punishment is not justice, but it might be mercy killing."

 Most of us would not treat any dog this way, for any reason, so why treat any human this way? It makes no sense to me. It serves no purpose except a sinful one. I pray that we can do better.



P.S. Tsarnaev's jury just decided that he should be put to death because of his heinous crimes. This could be merciful for him in the end, but the process will take a long time. I hope Helen Prejean, the sister who visits inmates on death row, will visit him and pray with him. I have faith that God has mercy enough for all of us.  I pray as well that all those who suffered death and loss because of Tsarnaev's crime, will recover some quality of life, find the grace of resurrection, and live with hope— though they will never forget.








Wednesday, May 23, 2012

2012.05.23 How Should Things Be? A God's Eye View.

How ya gonna live your dash? These words startled Fred Allen out of a breakdown and into a breakthrough.  The dash is what falls between a birth date and a death date on one’s tombstone.  The question has a flavor of the eternal in it.

Allen had been working as a member of a tie-down team in the death house of a Texas prison. His job was to make sure an inmate was securely strapped onto the gurney before a lethal injection was administered. The tie-down job could be compared with the ancient work of nailing down (securing) criminals to crucifixion crosses in ancient times. No one should  have to such a thing.

Fred Allen had officiated at 125 executions until one day he strapped down a woman, the first to be thus executed, and something happened.

I heard Allen’s story in Werner Herzog’s documentary film, “Into the Abyss. A Tale of Death, a Tale of Life,” a film that chills and warms simultaneously a story fraught with contradictions.

Herzog, with skill and compassion, interviewed everyone affected by a violent crime in which three people were murdered. The crime had no defensible motive (stealing a car); it was perpetrated by young and undeveloped brains out of control; two 18 year old young men were found guilty; and it happened in a “gated” community. 

I heard the voices of the murderers and their families, families of the victims, the prison chaplain, and law enforcement officials.  Some years had passed but they spoke as if it were fresh though not emotionally immediate.  Capital punishment is legal in Texas, but no state can afford to wear the self-righteous badge on this issue.

Herzog’s documentary, however,  was not polemical. Rather it sought to unveil the inner story from the perspective of ALL the participants. It was like a play, each interview a scene, the script coming from the hearts of all of the principals who together made a whole story, a parable that challenges but does not tell you how to think or what exactly to do—like most biblical parables.

This drama of the human soul—territory of the unexpected—unfolded in uncanny and utterly unpredictable ways. Listening, I could almost get a God’s eye view into the spiritual innocence of the bared soul.  I wondered if I could know God through what should happen or through what shouldn’t happen—or both?

Michael Perry, 28, was executed on July 1, 2010 for the murders.  Perry’s co-defendant, Jason Burkett, in a separate trial, received a life sentence. 

Was it a fluke or an injustice that Burkett got a lesser sentence than Perry? Shouldn’t he too have been executed?  Perhaps, but his life was spared because of the not too late confessional testimony of his father. With  uncharacteristic humility, Des Burkett, a hardened criminal softened. From prison he spoke of his own criminality and lifelong drug addiction. His son never had a chance at a life, he said, because he never had a father. Two women jurors wept.

What if we could interview all the players in Jesus’ execution trials:Pilate, Pilate’s wife, Herod, Peter, Mary, Barabbas, crowds? What if we could get the inside story?  We try feebly but we really can’t explain it forensically. But Jesus had a father, too, a spiritual one by whom he felt abandoned and to whom he cried out. Like Burkett’s earthly father, Jesus’ Heavenly Father intervened to make sure His son didn’t die forever —as intended. Should he never have died, or should he never have been raised?  Mary Magdalene wept.

Its easy to say I’m against capital punishment. It’s not easy to see the issue made flesh. I couldn’t play either/or. Morality went out the window.  I had to participate in a God’s eye view‚ even though I should have felt disgust, shouldn’t have felt empathy with “bad guys” when my heart had melted listening to the grief of the woman who had lost her mother and her brother, “my whole family in one fell swoop.”

At one point Herzog, joshed with Perry about fate and faith, allowing as how the Old Testament would have been in favor of capital punishment, but Jesus probably wouldn’t have favored it, right?  He fed Perry his line and split divinity in half—a serious theological error that should have been cut.  Still, it was endearing. The interview must have been difficult for Herzog, too.

Michael Perry, dark-haired, young, handsome, leaned into his words. He was mere days away from death yet he spoke with hope. “Ya never know,” he said with a shrug and a smile. He wasn’t a monster, simply a child. I’d never been able to separate the sinner from the sin, more than in my head, until seeing this film.

At the end Perry said his last words: "I want to let everyone here who is involved in this atrocity know they're forgiven by me.” Was he trying to emulate Jesus? Who should be forgiving and who forgiven?  He sobbed briefly, mouthed "I love you" to his mother, and twice whispered, "I'm coming home, Dad." I don’t know if he meant God or his absent father.

The lethal injection took nine minutes. 

Fred Allen strapped and watched. He had spent time with the death row inmates, most of them men. He had provided amenities, like a solicitous mother.  He took orders, served a last meal, maybe chatted. He made sure they were clean and dressed in their own clothes, no prison garb. Then he escorted them to their death. It was his job; it provided a fine pension. He should  do his civic duty.

Nevertheless, when Allen had to strap a woman he soon broke down.  The woman had been calm, accepting. Allen shook and sobbed convulsively. This shouldn’t happen to a woman.

“I just couldn’t control myself at all,” he said. “This thought came to me, how ya gonna live your dash? I’m gonna stand still and watch the birds. How come there are so many humming birds? Ever notice?”

Fred Allen retired early—and forfeited his entire pension.

Jason Burkett is serving his second 30 year sentence. He married in prison and his wife is now pregnant even though they were never allowed to touch each other. Parthenogenesis or sperm as contraband? Burkett will soon be a father.

How ya gonna live your dash?  How should ya?