By Sister Marie Nassauer

Jesus is condemned to death. An innocent man, you were accused by the state. How many of your brothers and sisters suffer the same fate in prisons around the world? There was no justice for you. There isn’t any justice for them.

Jesus is agonizing in the Garden of Olives. You were alone. How many are forced to live their lives in a tiny cell—alone, unloved, uncared for, fearful, sick, dying.

Jesus is stripped of his garments. How important is our clothing! Your brothers and sisters have theirs taken away and replaced with the most degrading outfits—bright orange jump suits, white coveralls, black and white stripes, dull green, ugly brown pants and shirts. The dignity of the person is non-existent.

Jesus is carrying his cross. Not one of the on-lookers makes a move to assist you on this difficult journey. Today, we have chaplains, volunteers, visitors, pen pals, all who are willing to help prisoners carry their cross. Jesus, bless them on the way.

Jesus, dying on the cross, looking with unconditional love, speaks to the man hanging next to him, to all convicts who are repentant, and to their innocent victims: “This day you all will be with me in Paradise.”

Maryknoll Sister Marie Nassauer reflects on her time connecting with men and women in prison, including Death Row inmates

These are thoughts that my pen pals have shared with me about daily life behind bars.

Alan, on Death Row for fourteen years, received a long letter from his mom. At the end she said: “I love you and I miss you.” How pleasing it would be for all inmates to receive a letter like this mother wrote to her son.

Troy is a sports fan and is always ready for news of NASCAR, the NBA and the local football teams. His pastime on Death Row is reading. Newspapers and magazines are non-existent, so he looks for books to block out the ever-present noise and to transport him to places outside of his cement-and-steel cell. He needs a radio (TV is not allowed) so that he can listen to games. The radio he previously had was destroyed by Officers in a shake-down. The price of that radio was $14. The new ones, expected in the summer, will come from China and have a design that cannot be tampered with, taken apart or used for a hide-away! The price is listed at $20, very expensive for one who is poor and who has to rely on donations.

Wes is in prison for life. He is in his early forties, uneducated and mentally challenged. Inmates call him “grandpa” because of his physical appearance. Wes loves animals because “they don’t hurt us as people do.” He is an ardent fan of the Chicago Cubs.

Anne, in a maximum security prison, participates in the program “Puppies Behind Bars”. She is both happy and sad whenever her little dog, whom she has lovingly trained, graduates and leaves her to be a helper for a wheelchair-bound adult, a blind youngster, a bomb-sniffer for the police or a companion for one of the traumatized service men and women returning from the war in Iraq.

J.T. has been incarcerated for 10 years. Thanks to generous friends, he was able to complete a college correspondence course and recently graduated as a paralegal with an average of 95.5%. That is not an easy thing to do, studying 24/7 in the noisy atmosphere of a cell-block.

Alex is waiting impatiently to appear before the parole board early next year. He has spent most of his 16 years in prison studying for a Master’s degree in Theology, then teaching courses in Bible, Ethics, World Religions and Native American studies.

Ray, in each letter that I receive from him on Death Row, begins with the words: “God bless you, I hope you are well.” He loves reading the Bible and prays frequently.

This is what I wanted to reflect on with you this day.

Sister Marie

Alan on Death Row for fourteen years, received a long letter from his mom. At the end she said: ” I love you and I miss you.” How pleasing it would be for all inmates to receive a letter like this mother wrote to her son.

Troy is a sports fan and is always ready for news of NASCAR, the NBA and the local football teams. His pastime on Death Row is reading. Newspapers and magazines are non-existent, so he looks for books to block out the ever-present noise and to transport him to places outside of his cement-and-steel cell. He needs a radio (TV is not allowed) so that he can listen to games. The radio he previously had was destroyed by Officers in a shake-down. The price of that radio was $14. The new ones, expected in the summer, will come from China and have a design that cannot be tampered with, taken apart or used for a hide-away! The price is listed at $20, very expensive for one who is poor and who has to rely on donations.

Wes is in prison for life. He is in his early forties, uneducated and mentally challenged. Inmates call him “grandpa” because of his physical appearance. Wes loves animals because “they don’t hurt us as people do.” He is an ardent fan of the Chicago Cubs.

Anne in a maximum security prison, participates in the program “Puppies Behind Bars”. She is both happy and sad whenever her little dog, whom she has lovingly trained, graduates and leaves her to be a helper for a wheelchair-bound adult, a blind youngster, a bomb-sniffer for the police or a companion for one of the traumatized service men and women returning from the war in Iraq.

J.T. has been incarcerated for 10 years. Thanks to generous friends, he was able to complete a college correspondence course and recently graduated as a paralegal with an average of 95.5%. That is not an easy thing to do, studying 24/7 in the noisy atmosphere of a cell-block.

Alex is waiting impatiently to appear before the parole board early next year. He has spent most of his 16 years in prison studying for a Master’s degree in Theology, then teaching courses in Bible, Ethics, World Religions and Native American studies.

Ray. In each letter that I receive from Ray on Death Row, he begins with the words: “God bless you, I hope you are well.” He loves reading the Bible and prays frequently.

This is what I wanted to reflect on with you this day.

Sister Marie

Dear Citizens of the State of Texas:

In this reflection I am asking questions with the hope  that you will respond, if not with words  or deeds, then certainly in your heart.

My concern is about your State, which I have named “The Execution Capital of the United States. Do you take pride in that title?

Each month the National Execution Alert is available on the Internet. Why is it that the majority of inmates listed are incarcerated on death row in Texas? Is it because there are more criminals than in the States of New York, New Jersey and Connecticut, to name three, which have abolished capital punishment?

To give an example: Look at the Alert for October, 2008. Of the nine inmates listed, six were executed in Texas. For the month of November, out of the seven named, six were from Texas. Doing the math, we see that there is an execution at least once a week in Huntsville. Are you proud of this fact?

How does the executioner feel after each lethal injection sends a man or woman to death, guilty or innocent? Does this person rest at night satisfied after having done his job? How can the State send out the message: “Killing is wrong”? If you cannot feel compassion, sympathy, or sadness, I suggest that you be present at an execution.

Be there as the condemned gasps his or her last breath.

It is a terrible sight, one that I witnessed in December 2001, when I went to Huntsville to accompany my pen pal, Vincent, saying his final good-bye.

It was an experience that will be with me forever.

Who are the women on Death Row and in our prisons? Why
are they there?

When the majority of women come to jail or prison, they are at the
bottom of the barrel. They have nothing left. If there was a man
in the woman’s life, he has long gone, as are her job, apartment,
even her children. There is no one out there to care for her
family, keep house, visit her or send money.

Many of the women come from a chaotic background of drugs,
alcohol, physical and sexual violence. Young girls are forced to
leave home to pursue a disastrous life-style of their own. Street
life beckons and offers some way of living for them.

The average incarcerated woman is single, a high school drop-out
with little or no work experience. At the time of arrest, she
was probably on welfare, subject to drugs and abuse.

While searching for love and acceptance, women can fall into the
trap of developing a dependency upon men. How many can trace their
criminal behavior to the men in their lives?

Why are the women behind bars? Women are convicted of less
serious offenses such as drug dealing, shoplifting, passing bad
checks. Serious offences include: manslaughter, arson, child
neglect. Women on Death Row have been accused of murder.

Statistics and Facts about Women on Death Row.

As of January 2008, there are 56 women currently facing execution.
Since 2000, eight female offenders have been executed; three in
Oklahoma, two in Texas, and one in Arkansas, Alabama and Florida.
The last woman, Frances Newton, was administered a lethal injection
on Death Row in Texas. She maintained her innocence to the end.

We pray:

Holy Mary, Mother of God, ease the pain of women in
prison cells. Grant them courage, strength and hope. Grant us
your compassion so that we might understand their plight and
support the rebuilding of their lives and families. Amen.

To walk into a U.S. prison, especially Death Row, is to enter a desperate world of stern guards, strict regulations and humiliating body searches. The air is filled with yelling, screaming, cursing and the clanging of electronic gates. My experience with prisoners in Chile was nothing like this.

For a time I was director of Caritas in a northern Chilean diocese. At the jail in town I made friends with a guard in the female section. She told me many women were arrested and thrown into jail with only the clothes they were wearing. Together, we supplied Caritas used clothing and material to these needy women. They transformed the material into pillows and spreads, making their dingy living area a bit more cheerful.

When I returned to the United States after 37 years as a missioner in Chile, I looked for an extension of my work with the poor. I found it through an ad in the magazine Sisters Today inviting readers to share their faith by writing to a Death Row inmate. It sounded easy. “Anyone can write,” the ad said. “You need be only a Catholic Christian who cares and wants to touch a life.”

I answered the ad and received the address of a man named Vincent. He was 37 and had been on Death Row in Texas for 13 years. Vincent was the first of my many Death Row pen pals.

I introduced myself to Vincent as a Catholic nun belonging to the Maryknoll missionary order. I assured him that I knew nothing about him and whatever he wanted to tell me would stay with me. I promised to write each week and said I hoped he would respond in like manner. I prayed for God’s blessing on him and asked him to remember me in prayer. After a few weeks, I sent my photo and requested his.

I didn’t hear from Vincent for a long time, but I kept writing. Finally, he answered. “I wasn’t going to write back, but because you kept writing to me, I hope we become good friends.”

Shortly afterwards, Vincent asked to meet me. In June of 1999 I made my first visit to the maximum security prison in Livingston, Texas. As I waited for the guards to bring him, I thought, “What will I say? How will I react to a person who will some day render his life in exchange for the life he took?” Then, through the thick bullet-proof glass separating us, I looked into the face of a calm and smiling human being. We visited over the phone
or quite a while.

While visiting Vincent, I met several European women visiting their Death Row pen pals. I was surprised to learn that many hundreds of people from other countries, where the death penalty is outlawed, correspond with prisoners in the United States.

After my visit, Vincent wrote, “As always, I’m happy to hear from you. All the love you show me makes me feel so good inside. If our Lord so wills, I’ll get to see you again.”

My last visit to Vincent was to say goodbye. He asked me to be with him at his execution on December 12, 2001. I stood with his mother watching through a glass pane as his earthly journey ended by lethal injection.

Since Vincent’s execution I am involved in prison ministry more than ever. I am now a regular visitor at Sing Sing prison, just a 10-minute drive from Maryknoll. One of our Sisters attends Mass weekly at Sing Sing along with a group of volunteers, who reflect with the inmates on the readings from that Mass. The day of Vincent’s execution, this group prayed aloud for him. Jim, a Sing Sing inmate, said that he had known Vincent before either of them landed behind bars. When our Sister told me about Jim, I wanted to meet him.

On my first visit to Sing Sing that grey December day, Jim told me that he ran away from his abusive stepfather in New York at an early age. He arrived in Dallas, Texas, poor and alone. One evening, as Jim was being assaulted on the street, Vincent came along and saved him from serious injury. The two were friends until they lost touch. Ironically, Vincent’s execution brought me this new friendship with Jim, whom I visit twice a month.

I also continue my Death Row pen pal ministry. Every week I write to Johnny in Oklahoma, Raphael and Troy in Texas and Richie in Arizona, and they are good about replying. All are Christian and struggling to believe in the God who loves them in spite of the mistakes they made in life. Acceptance, encouragement and friendship help them cope with the daily hardships of prison life and assure them that someone cares.
Society has many misconceptions about prisoners, especially those under a death sentence: that they are incorrigible, irredeemable, brutal, selfish and uncaring monsters.

But in my contacts with condemned men, I have found the contrary. They are poor, spiritually and materially. They know what they have done; all have admitted it. They are sorry for their mistakes and are trying to make restitution in the only way open to them: suffering the misery of incarceration and loss of freedom. All are grateful for whatever kindness is shown them. They are hungry for love, acceptance, respect and compassion. They try to remain human.

The idea of the state killing a healthy human being is appalling. Pope John Paul II has said, “The dignity of human life must never be taken away, even in the case of someone who has done great evil. I renew the appeal for a consensus to end the death penalty, which is both cruel and unnecessary.” May these words of the Holy Father touch the hearts of all Americans.

To be a Death Row pen pal, contact Michael Denson, P.O. Box 1328, Howe, TX 75459-1328

E- mail the Catholic  Death Row Ministry

Father Joe Veneroso

A cyclist riding in the prairie outside Laramie, Wyoming spotted what he thought to be a scarecrow hanging on a fence. As he approached, to his horror he realized it was a young man, burned, bloody, badly beaten, and barely alive.

The police officer who responded to the cyclist’s call reported the victim’s body was completely “covered in blood,” except on his face “where the tears ran down.”

For five days his parents, the nation, and ultimately the world kept vigil at the hospital bedside of 21-year old Matthew Shepard, who died without ever regaining consciousness. That was October 12, 1998.

Not coincidently, Matt Shepard was openly gay.

His murderers, Russell Henderson and Aaron McKinney, were quickly arrested, and ultimately tried and convicted. At their sentencing on Nov. 4, 1999, Matt’s father, Dennis, asked that the jury not impose the death penalty on his son’s killers, although they had deemed it a capital offense.

He also addressed McKinney and said, “I, too, believe in the death penalty. I would like nothing better than to see you die, Mr. McKinney. However, this is the time to begin the healing process. To show mercy to someone who refused to show any mercy. To use this as the first step in my own closure about losing Matt. Mr. McKinney, I am not doing this because of your family. I am definitely not doing this because of the crass and unwarranted pressures put on by the religious community. If anything, that hardens my resolve to see you die. Mr. McKinney, I’m going to grant you life, as hard as that is for me to do, because of Matthew. Every time you celebrate Christmas, a birthday, or the Fourth of July, remember that Matt isn’t. Every time that you wake up in that prison cell, remember that you had the opportunity and the ability to stop your actions that night. Every time that you see your cellmate, remember that you had a choice, and now you are living that choice. You robbed me of something very precious, and I will never forgive you for that. Mr. McKinney, I give you life in the memory of one who no longer lives. May you have a long life, and may you thank Matthew every day for it.”

Mr. Shepard’s entire closing remarks can be read at http://www.flameout.org/flameout/matthew/closingspeech.html

Since then, of course, the death of Matt Shepard has become the icon of hate crimes. His murder exposed an ugly truth, not just about Wyoming, the “Equality State”, but about life and attitudes in these United States. It also inspired hate crime legislation on local, state, and federal levels.

Unfortunately, Matt Shepard’s wasn’t the only murder that year because the victim was gay, Jewish, African-American, or Muslim. More tragic still, such crimes continue to this day. But Matt’s brutal death, coupled by his father’s amazing witness, have focused the light of reason upon not only hate crimes, but also the death penalty.

McKinney and Henderson committed a heinous crime. Society and a jury deemed their actions punishable by death. Yet the love of a father for his son still eloquently calls upon America to be better.

“Life is not at anyone’s disposal. It is in this continuum of respect for life that the abolition of the death penalty should be put in context.” Archbishop Celestine Migliori in address to the UN General Assembly, October 2007.

”Some argue that the death penalty is needed as a means of retributive justice. However, while retribution is justified, revenge can never be. The death penalty is an affront to the human dignity of both those on whom it is afflicted, and those in whose name it is employed.” Bishop Howard Hubbard, Albany diocese, May 2007

If we listen and take to heart these quotes from Bishops of the Catholic Church, how can we as Catholics accept capital punishment? If we remember how unjustly and cruelly Jesus was handed the death penalty — how can we possibly impose it on others, on our brothers and sisters?  Where is justice if, among those on death row, are truly innocent people awaiting execution for crimes they did not commit?

I believe I have watched the death of an innocent man. My pen pal, whose execution I witnessed in 2001, assured me of his innocence when I visited him on death row in Texas. He went to his death thanking me for being with him. The death penalty can’t restore the life of the loved one, nor does it bring any meaningful satisfaction to the family members of the murdered victim.

I currently have two other pen pals on the row in Texas. Their description of the time before an execution is brutal. With a notice of one month, the inmate is taken to a holding cell apart from other people. He is stripped of all belongings, including extra clothing. Alone and unattended, he awaits the fatal day. We must ask ourselves: is this the way I would treat a family pet: alone and uncared for, neglected, lacking fresh air, fed the worst of food? How then can we continue to torture a person, our brother, our sister, made in the image and likeness of God?

The alternative to the death penalty is life without parole. Richie, on death row in Arizona, told me he wished for execution over a life of continual suffering in prison, unending days lacking medical attention, proper nourishment, care, until death comes from illness or old age. By the mercy of God, Richie died of natural causes in his cell three years ago.

The Church recognizes the rights and duties of the state to punish criminals and protect its citizens from crime. Life without parole is sufficient punishment to defend and protect people’s safety. I don’t believe it means less suffering. But it is more in keeping with the dignity of the human person. It provides time for the incarcerated to repent, to beg forgiveness of the victim, and to be reconciled with God.

Once again I quote Bishop Hubbard: ”We cannot teach that killing is wrong by killing. Capital punishment is not, and cannot be, the way for a humane and civilized society to deal with the very real and escalating problem of violent crime. For violence only begets violence; this vicious cycle diminishes us all, innocent and guilty alike. Capital punishment is a symbol of our lost hope. It constitutes vengeance, diverts from forgiveness, comma and greatly diminishes respect for all human life.”

If ever a man deserves the death penalty, it is Lemuel Smith. He is from my hometown of Amsterdam, N.Y., and in 1958 he murdered Dorothy Waterstreet just one block from my house. Mrs. Waterstreet was the mother of one of my friends, Jean Amy.  It’s not because of Mrs. Waterstreet’s death alone, however, that Smith deserves capital punishment, but also for the five others he brutally killed since then, the last a female corrections officer in 1981.  He also left behind a trail of rape and assault victims.

Books have been written about this serial killer and rapist. Google his name and you can find gory details about his crimes, especially on Wikipedia. One thing the Internet does not address: How did a young teenager  (he was only 16 when he murdered Mrs. Waterstreet), go from being a polite boy raised in a religious family to become one of the most notorious criminals in America?

My sister Janice was Lemuel’s classmate for many years. She remembers him as a quiet, almost shy boy, who was friendly and kind. This, before he became the prime suspect in the Waterstreet murder.

Discussing the pros and cons of the death penalty with friends gathered around my sister’s Thanksgiving table not too long ago, hypothetical theories gave way to the all-too-real example of Lemuel Smith. My sister recalled an incident in school just a few months before he began his life of mayhem. She and Lemuel were in science class taught by a Mr. Blood, in hindsight a sadly prophetic name. I was to have him as my science teacher seven years later. One thing all the students knew about Mr. Blood: he was “shell shocked” from his time in the military during World War II. Nowadays, of course, we call this Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.

For Mr. Blood this usually manifested itself by agitated gestures and twitches, a steady source of humor for teenagers. But as far as teachers go, he was pretty good even though he had an unpopular habit of quizzing us weekly. Jan recalled how one day Mr. Blood planned on showing the class a film and asked Lemuel and another student to pull down the shades. As sometimes happens, the shade Lemuel was trying to close suddenly snapped up with a loud bang. For the next several minutes Mr. Blood literally tossed Lemuel all around the classroom, slamming him against walls and desks. The boy made no attempt to defend himself.

But from that moment on, Jan remembers, Lemuel became more and more reclusive and withdrawn. In January of that year, he committed his first murder.

The last time I remember talking with Jean Amy about her mother’s murderer was in 1981 after Lemuel killed the female corrections officer. This grieved her immensely. “Had he been executed for killing my mother, five more victims and their families might have been spared,” I recall her saying. Asked if she could personally pull the switch on the electric chair, without hesitation she said, “Yes. And I’d have the first good night’s sleep in 23 years.” That her tax dollars go for keeping her mom’s murderer alive she finds particularly galling.

I have seen how Lemuel’s Smith’s murderous ways impacted my friend’s life. In my heart I oppose the death penalty, but my head tells me society has a right to protect itself. And yet I believe the world bears some of the blame for producing criminals such as this.

In some ways, the six victims of Lemuel Smith are once-removed casualties of World War II. This war so traumatized Lemuel’s teacher, Mr. Blood, that the loud bang of a snapping shade could set him off to beat a teenage boy. One can only imagine how the wars in Afghanistan, Iraq, Darfur, and now Georgia are generating damaged, violent personalities, both among the soldiers who commit atrocities and the civilians who witness or suffer them.

Each execution of a criminal, no matter how guilty, is a tacit admission of failure by a government that knows no other way to solve problems than to exterminate them. No earthly government, however, is the Kingdom of God, but flawed, and to pretend otherwise ignores the brutal realities of people like Lemuel Smith. But where and when does the cycle of violence end? To take this to the global level, if governments solve their problems through war and killing, as well to force their will upon other nations, what hope is there for humanity?

Does Lemuel Smith deserve to be executed? Yes. Do I oppose the death penalty? Absolutely. Could I personally pull the switch? Honestly, I can’t say. Such are the maddening ambiguities of trying to build the kingdom of God in a less than perfect world.