Beef brisket. Coleslaw. Baked Potato. Onion Rings. Deviled Eggs. Cheese Biscuits. Fruit tea.
37 hours from now, the man who murdered my housemate 37 years ago will meet his Maker. This will be his final meal. That knowledge humanizes him more than I want it to. It forces me to consider what he might be thinking and feeling as the end draws near...what it's like to experience the smell and taste of food for the last time...what it's like to imagine the experience of dying...to anticipate the unknown. I welcome these imaginings and the tears that accompany them partly because they signal that my desire for a soft heart is not entirely futile. I pray for him...or perhaps it's more accurate to say the Spirit transforms my wordless groanings into intercessions I can't articulate.
But harsher thoughts rush in: "Why do you get to choose and control your final hours in a way Karen was not allowed? She didn't know her final meal was her last. She didn't get to choose her manner of death or how much pain she might experience. No one gave her sedatives to numb the terror or ease her pain before you bashed her head in. She didn't get to appeal for clemency based on her good behavior or her steadfast faith - her case would have been very, very strong."
The old battle still rages inside me. Mercy and Indignation. 37 wearying years.
When I learned back in the spring that Nichols' death had been scheduled for December 11, I began the process of agonizing over whether to attend. It had been scheduled twice before and delayed. I wrestled long and hard with questions like "what does it look like to live Christianly in THIS context in THIS moment?" How do Christ's teachings in the Sermon on the Mount apply? What does it actually mean in real world practice to...
- Not resist an evil person
- Turn the other cheek
- Give generously to one who wrongfully exploits you
- Go twice as far with the usurper as they demand
- Love your enemy
- Do good to those who act in hate toward you
- Forgive in the same way you have been forgiven
As a follower of Christ...
- What does it mean to measure this man with the same measuring rod I want to be measured against? I want the measuring rod of mercy!
- What does mercy look like in this situation?
- Is it a manifestation of revenge or unforgiveness or hatred to want to be present at his execution?
- Is the obligation I feel to represent Karen and his other victims mere sentimentality? It doesn't change anything. It won't mean anything to them. Is it evidence of a hard and unforgiving heart?
- Is it blatant hypocrisy to pray for his redemption then show up to watch him die?
- Why does it feel "right" that this is happening and yet my spirit can't be at rest?
- Is it possible to faithfully hold the tension between justice and mercy?
- What should I THINK, BELIEVE, FEEL, and DO?
As I am inclined to do, I turned to scholars, theologians, and pastors for insight. While helpful, my mind was distracted and pulled toward emotion...which is my least favorite place to live. Fortunately, one of my local pastors who is theologically astute and has the soul of a poet, gave me the gift of a compassionate, attentive ear so I was able to express at length and with deep emotion my intense struggle. He granted me a great gift with 3 simple words: You are free. The sentence of death is just and you are free to attend if that is helpful, and you are free from any obligation to be there. Those words may seem simple or even obvious, and even though on some theoretical level I "know" that, have those words spoken to me in that moment (for the first time in my 60 years of life with Christ) was powerful and they lightened my load. I'm so grateful.
The last few months have been a roller coaster. It started with a call from Sierra - the dedicated victim advocate in Tennessee who has been keeping me informed for a decade - confirming that, even though there had been some recent debate about me attending, I was cleared to do so and would soon receive my packet with instructions. My deep emotional reaction and the relief I felt were clear indications that some part of me needed to be there. However, a couple weeks later, I received another call telling me the "rules have changed" and not only am I not allowed to be a witness, I am not even allowed to be present at all with the victim advocate team. Members of the press can be there, but I cannot...another of many confounding mysteries along this journey.
I asked for the opportunity to meet face to face with Nichols and that request was also denied. The idea scared me, but I have lingering questions - of little significance to anyone other than me - that I want answers to. I also hoped his eyes might reflect an understanding of the gravity and impact of his actions and maybe...just maybe... I could even hear him express genuine sorrow for what he has done.
I've never heard Nichols say he was sorry...other than on the witness stand when his life was at stake. It's hard to judge sincerity in that context. I've had no indication that he owned up to the destruction he wrought, not just on Karen, but on the other 12 victims and all their friends and family. In fact, I interpreted the many appeals and attempts to reverse his conviction as evidence of him not taking responsibility or repenting. I have read the opposite into his words and paintings which I interpreted as full of "frivolity and victimization."
Today, I found a video that accompanied his recent request for clemency (which Governor Lee denied). Like everything else related to him, it stirred up conflicting reactions. There's beauty in it. And unfairness. And redemption. His is a moving story of transformation that began with words of forgiveness from Karen's mother and a challenge to become someone worthy of that forgiveness. It appears her prayers on his behalf have been answered. While this video doesn't bring full resolution, it answers some of my lingering questions, and I hear his expressions of remorse that seem authentic. Yes, it could be yet another selfish appeal to escape punishment. I don't know his heart. I want to hear him say "I accept this punishment as just. I submit to the consequence of my actions. I know death by lethal injection might bring discomfort but it won't compare to the pain I caused Karen and my other victims." But that isn't meant to be. I am still grateful to have found this video because, whether or not he is sincere, learning about the actions of Karen's mother toward him is instructive and moving. While he was still in his sins, not knowing his need or desiring a new heart, she extended grace and pointed him to Jesus. Surely, that is what it looks like to live faithfully in the tension so that mercy will triumph over indignation.
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