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Execution Echoes
Reflections on the Seven Last Words of Christ
Jeff Hood
Echoes.
I’ve heard them.
I’ve felt them.
I’ve known them.
I’ve lived them.
I’ve cried them.
I’ve walked them.
I’ve seen them.
The Seven Last Words of Christ
“Forgive them, for they know not what they do.” -Luke 23:34
“Today you will be with me in Paradise.” -Luke 23:43
“Woman, Behold your Son…Behold your mother.” -John 19:26-27
“My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?” -Mark 15:34
“I thirst.” -John 19:28
“It is finished.” -John 19:30
“Father, into thy hands I commend my spirit.” -Luke 23:46
“Forgive them, for they know not what they do.” -Luke 23:34
Meetings about murder are strange. Each time I accompany one of my guys to their execution, I am required to attend a training session. The gathering usually consists of multiple officials explaining to me the process and asking if I have any questions. Of course, this is a moment for technical questions about how the execution is going to go down. I try not to get to bogged down in moral questions. Such questions are most often quickly swatted down and create tension at an exceedingly sensitive time. Sometimes I feel like a coward for not pressing harder in these meetings. Other times, I rationalize such compliance with the fact that if I cause too big of a stink, I’ll jeopardize my ability to be there for my guy. I don’t know what the right answer is. I just know that it is a very strange place to be…standing there looking up at the foot of the cross.
Murderers surround you in an execution chamber. There is no getting around it. Everyone there is there to kill someone…namely, the person strapped to the gurney. That is their job. I used to think that I wasn’t included in that number. I used to think that somehow, I was clean. Of course, my purpose there is not to kill someone. I’m called to be there for my guy. I’m called to pray. I’m called to read scripture. For all of my good intentions, I ultimately do nothing to stop the execution. I sit there and watch someone I love be murdered. I feel it. It is so heavy. To know that you can’t do anything is devastating. It is the worst sort of moral injury…regret. I stand there at the foot of the cross…knowing that I stand amongst the murderers.
I used to pray out loud, “Forgive these participants in this execution, for they know not what they do.” Now, I pray, “Forgive me, for I know not what I do.” Maybe by acknowledging my own ignorance…I will at least feel my own complicity. The first step toward making something right…toward making something whole…is to acknowledge the deficiency in our own soul.
Jesus, in your mercy:
Forgive my complicity.
“Today you will be with me in Paradise.” -Luke 23:43
Jesus was not alone on the cross. There were two criminals.
One criminal spoke of his desire to be taken down. “Are you not the Messiah? Save yourself and us.” Surely, any of us would want to be saved. Pain shooting through the nervous system does not usually push someone to ask for more. This criminal had the nerve to say it. When someone is being executed, it’s normal to wonder about God’s whereabouts. Such savagery shouldn’t be dismissed easily. Executions shouldn’t pass by unchallenged. God and man should be held responsible.
“Are you not God? ” Why doesn’t God stop injustice? Why are these executions allowed to continue? If God is God, why can’t God keep it all from happening? The criminal that demands temporal salvation cannot be dismissed. I am him…and so are you. We do pray for healing…right?
“…for you are subject to the same condemnation? And indeed, we have been condemned justly, for the sentence we received corresponds to our crimes, but this man has done nothing criminal.” This is not true. Jesus committed a multitude of crimes when he challenged the system. Jesus demanded justice. Jesus demanded grace. Jesus demanded so much more than the law allowed. Jesus hung out with criminals and made demands for their welfare…as a consequence…Jesus hung with them in their punishment too. Jesus was a friend of those facing the death penalty. Jesus became a criminal so that he might know criminals. Jesus was executed so that he might know the executed. Do such truths mean that we should be executed? It certainly doesn’t mean that we should be standing on the sidelines. Come closer. Come closer. The horror, divinity and humanity is all mixed together there. Salvation is too.
“Remember me.” There are few more human phrases. In our deepest moments of need, we cry out to not be forgotten. The criminal speaks for all of us. Every execution I have ever been in, the cry of the departed is the same, “Remember me.” So often, I find the words repeating on my lips. “Remember me.” Everything feels forgotten in the execution chamber. Life takes us to places of death and destruction. “Remember me.” It’s a reminder of reality. It’s a reminder of hope. It’s a reminder for us to remember why we long to be remembered.
“Amen, I say to you, today you will be with me in Paradise.” The message of Jesus is clear…God always answers. We will not be left alone…God always comes to us. Even when we feel alone…God is there. The promise to the criminal is a reminder to all of us criminals…all of humanity…we will not be forgotten…we will be remembered. That is the only hope that I can leave an execution chamber with…remembrance.
Jesus, in your mercy:
Remember me.
“Woman, Behold your Son…Behold your mother.” -John 19:26-27
Words are scarce in those moments. You are brought into a chamber devoid of much else other than the weapons that are going to kill someone you love. Your choices are clear. You either pick up one of the weapons or you listen. Sometimes the greatest way to combat oppression is to listen to the voices of the unheard. When there isn’t much that you can do, you either listen or run. I cannot flee…and so I listen.
Words matter. Jesus pointed John to his mother, Mary. In doing so, Jesus was determined to make sure that his mother was provided for. On multiple occasions, the person that I accompanied to the execution chamber requested that I take care of someone that they love. Concern for the welfare of others…especially those you love…is an incredibly human response to impending death. Jesus was dying in much the same way that the guys that I work with do…concerned about those he loved until the very end.
During the horror, John stood at the cross and tried to provide comfort. I’m sure he felt helpless. I’m sure that he felt like he couldn’t do anything. I’m sure that he felt like his agency was completely stripped away. I know the feeling. Yet, John was there to respond to one of Jesus’ final requests. Jesus needed John. Jesus trusted John. May we all be prepared to be there…just like John.
Jesus, in your mercy:
Make me present.
“My God, My God, why have you forsaken me?” -Mark 15:34
Why does God allow such horror? It’s one of the fundamental challenges for anyone who seeks to touch the divine. If God is powerful to save, then why doesn’t God stop the lunacy of it all. Does God not care? Maybe God is not powerful to save? Maybe God is a tyrant? The circuitous nature of the conversation speaks to the frustration of engaging such conversations. I guess that’s why it’s’ about faith. Do you believe that love is out there…a love that is more powerful than any love imaginable? Sometimes life is about focus…a focus on faith in that which is above all else…love. I have chosen to believe. Or maybe love has chosen me? That doesn’t mean it’s easy. There are those moments on crosses. Those moments where there is nothing else to do but to scream out. Those moments at the foot of the gurney.
Bleeding out…Jesus screams out. What does Jesus feel in those moments? I think he feels the questions that I just described. The horror of unknowing. The absence of answers. The pain…the full pain of it all. Pain causes us to feel furthest from God. There is no getting around it. We feel most alone when we hurt the most. Love feels so far away in the throes of suffering. However, these moments call us to cry out to God even more.
I have a reoccurring dream that haunts me. I’m standing in the execution chamber. I am desperate to stop what is happening in front of me. I am restricted from doing anything. All that I have is my voice. When I attempt to speak, my lips won’t move. I am muted. I can’t say anything…not because I don’t want to…but because I literally can’t. This is the way that I feel in every execution. I am desperate to cry out to God to stop it all…but I can’t. The cries just fester loudly in my soul…as my body begins to shake.
Why have you forsaken me? Why have you forsaken him? Why have you forsaken us? The questions bounce around like marbles in a glass jar. It doesn’t matter who is asking them, it just matters that the questions fill the room. Then, death comes. The questions are dead. Maybe. Or maybe the fullness of all answers have finally arrived.
Jesus, in your mercy:
Hear my cries.
“I thirst.” -John 19:28
Depending on the state, the condemned are often not allowed to drink (or eat) in the hours leading up to the execution. Repeatedly, my guys complain about the dryness in their throats. The reason for such prohibition is that the state is concerned that the condemned will vomit on the gurney and disrupt their execution. Such fear is not unwarranted. On multiple occasions, the condemned have violently thrown up on the gurney. Imagine a volcano shooting out of someone’s mouth. In such a situation, the condemned suffocates to death on their own vomit. The prohibition of drink is not without reason…but it is exceptionally cruel.
Life cannot be maintained without water. You have to drink. I have to drink. We have to drink. The desire for drink is about as fundamentally human as it gets. Such desire should remind us that the person being executed is actually human. It’s easy to forget. Too often, we think of righteousness as the fulcrum of humanity. We think that there are times where we get so much better than everybody else, that we can dictate who lives or dies. But such a standard is not the standard of what it means to be human. We are all created in the image of God…and that is what makes us human. We all thirst. Jesus was human. The condemned are too.
Since Jesus was thirsty, he knows our thirst. The condemned do not thirst alone. Jesus is on the gurney. Jesus is thirsty. We are thirsty. Such thirst illustrates are need for waters of healing and life…that cleanse us of our desire for killing. I thirst.
Jesus, in your mercy:
Quench my thirst.
“It is finished.” -John 19:30
Executions are complicated. Prior to that moment, you’ve work hard to save a life. You’ve petitioned. You’ve begged. You’ve marched. You’ve written. You’ve spoke. You’ve done absolutely all that you can do. But such things don’t turn out to be enough. Then, you find yourself in an execution chamber. What should you want to happen? On more than one occasion, I’ve felt guilty for praying that one of my guys would die as quickly as possible. I don’t pray for such things because I want them to die. I pray for such things because I don’t want them to suffer. Botched executions lead to horrific consequences. Then again, I don’t want them to die. The chaos that takes over the brain in such moments is so disorienting. You just long for a conclusion. Whichever direction it goes, you long to hear…it is finished.
What is it going to take to abolish the death penalty? I hear the question regularly. While most questions about the death penalty are exceedingly nuanced, this one is not. People are not going to be willing to even consider abolishing the death penalty until they are forced to see it and feel it. When Jesus declared the end of his suffering, he did so from a place of experience. I’m not sure that we will be able to end the suffering until people are able to viscerally (though not literally) experience an execution. We must draw as many people as we can to that place…it is finished.
I believe there is a time coming when executions will stop. For now, all I can do is sit and listen for that powerful phrase…it is finished.
Jesus, in your mercy:
Be with me in my finishing.
“Father, into thy hands I commend my spirit.” -Luke 23:46
There are moments in life where the only path available is forward. In such moments, we make our reality by walking through it. Executions are highly choreographed affairs. The squad that carries them out wants absolutely no surprises. I am a part of the plan…and the expectation is for me to do exactly as I’m told. For someone who doesn’t believe in executions, such a juxtaposition is really difficult. Yet, there are no other options. Whatever you say or do, the outcome is going to be the same. With or without you, the person in front of you is going to be executed. Resistance is futile. The futility of these hours is something that you share with the condemned. They know that they are not going to stop their execution. So, we are taken to a chamber to die together. One physically. The other spiritually. In an execution chamber, the end result is always death. The only option that one has is prayer.
Prayer is a way of surrender. We lift up our concerns to God with the knowledge that such concerns are too great for us to carry. Prayer is a way of declaring that the only path forward is in God’s hands. In the execution chamber, prayer is the only way forward. There are no other options.
Resistance is over. Jesus is declaring that he has walked as far as he is physically able. His spirit is in God’s hands. This is the only way I know to walk in or out of an execution chamber. I give the spirit of the person I love to God. I give my spirit to God. Our spirits are no longer our own. Such a realization is a reminder that they never were.
Jesus, in your mercy:
Help me give my spirit.
Listen.
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