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Do believers face execution any differently from others?

I've never asked anybody to write in my Bible, but lots of them ask if they can now. It gives them peace and comfort to know what the others have felt and thought.

Without a doubt. Of course, there are different levels of faith. One fellow who had been on death row 24 years told me, "Man, I have the peace that passes understanding." And I could see it in his eyes. His last words on the gurney were, "Warden, send me home." Then some have a faith, but they go in there and they're trembling, visibly shaking. Then you see those who are absolutely terrified. And you see some who are filled with hate and anger, and the defiance is there.

The man executed after Karla Faye Tucker, Steven Renfro, said he wanted to die because he felt as if his death would make up for what he had done.

Yes, Steve was very nervous the day of the execution, pacing up and down the cell. Finally he said to me, "What do you suppose Karla Faye was thinking along about this time?" And I said, "Well, I can show you." So I opened the Bible and showed him what she had written in my Bible. That seemed to calm him considerably. And he asked if he could write something, too.

Do the inmates on death row get to talk to one another much?

Not much, not at the new unit. It has solid steel doors instead of bars, so all the communication they have is to yell at each other when they're out on the rec yard or passing through the halls.

They are hungry for touch. I remember praying with this one inmate while he was receiving the Lord. I held out my hands to take his and said, "Well now, let's just pray."

And he said, "What? You want to hold my hands?"

I said, "Yes. Let's just pray." Then he started crying. I said, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you."

Were any of these people believers before they committed murder?

"No," he said, "you didn't offend me. It's just the first time in 16 years that somebody's reached out to me in love."

Yes. Most of those would say it was a crime of passion; that's their excuse. They had become Christians at an early age but had drifted away and gotten in with the wrong crowd.

A lot of them, the impact of what they've done doesn't hit them till they're in the county jail. That's where they hit rock bottom. So many offenders do, not just death-row offenders. That's why I believe that county jail ministry is absolutely imperative.

The soberness and cruelty of that environment, the reality of the crime he's committed, and the reality that he may be spending the rest of his life behind bars—or even be executed—brings him to full awareness of his humanity.

Do you think it would make a difference in the criminal justice process if Christians got involved?

It begins to work on them very quickly. I had one fellow tell me, "I cannot wait to be executed. Chaplain, for 16 years I've woken up every morning seeing the faces of the people I killed. In the morning, I won't have to do that."

Very much. It would make a difference in the family; it would make a difference to the victim, the offender, and to the community. We can take a man through all kinds of prison ministry workshops and Bible studies, education programs, and substance-abuse programs, but the first thing a man who's been incarcerated is going to do is go back to a wife or to a family, and they've not had anybody minister to them.

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May 21 2001, Vol. 45, No. 7