By Bishop Gerald F. Kicanas
The New Vision

    On a sunny and beautiful spring day, I drove down a long road in the desert east of Florence to the place where 106 men are waiting to be put to death.  Arizona State Prison Complex Eyman Special Management Unit II (SMU-II) is at the end of that road. It is Arizona’s death row.  Accompanying me on the drive was Deacon Ed Sheffer of Tucson. Deacon Ed has been doing ministry on death row the past few years, and it was for one of the death row inmates he has been ministering to that we were making the drive that day.
   
    Deacon Ed had written about this inmate in his account of what Christmas is like on death row for The New Vision of last December.  Deacon Ed quoted from a letter this inmate had written to him last November: “After a great deal of thought, study and prayer, I would like to know if you can help me to pursue becoming a Catholic Christian.  This is not a spur of the moment decision. As you know well my situation is one of confinement and restrictions, but I have developed a thirst for knowledge of Jesus which has not been quenched, and I am committed to continue my search, in scripture and to the paths that lead me closer to him.”

    Now, six months later, the inmate was ready to be welcomed into the Catholic faith through the Sacraments of Initiation – Baptism, Confirmation and the Eucharist.  Because a bishop administers the Sacrament of Confirmation, Deacon Ed had arranged with the Department of Corrections, the Deputy Warden of SMU-II and the Religion Department at the Arizona State Prison in Florence for me to be able to go to death row to celebrate Mass and to administer the sacraments. My presence there would be an extraordinary and historic event for Arizona’s death row.  Bishop Manuel Moreno had visited the old death row back in 1980s and had talked briefly to some of the inmates, but never before at Arizona’s death row had a Mass been celebrated or has the Sacraments of Initiation been allowed to be administered at the Eyman death row facility.

    Maximum is the word that best describes the environment of SMU-II – the security, the isolation and the sentences of the inmates, all are maximum. In location and in feeling, the SMU-II complex of buildings seems to be in the middle of nowhere.  Deacon Ed and I entered the visiting area where the Mass would be held. The visiting area is a room about 20 feet square, the cement block walls are painted off white, with four holding cells on one side and four on the other.   The holding cells are about four square feet, they have plexi-glass windows under which there is a rectangular steel screen to allow voice communication.

    The room is lit by florescent lights recessed in the ceiling and is a bit gloomy in appearance. It is just starkly “institutional.”  In the center of the area is a round circular white laminated table where a corrections officer normally sits during visiting hours. This table served as a makeshift altar.

    Gathering for the Mass were two Prison Chaplains and two corrections officers. They were very pleasant and welcoming. The corrections officers, wearing the uniform of tan shirt and brown slacks, were silent and totally focused. Also present were two representatives of the Federal Public Defender Habeus Corpus Unit, who had been working with the inmate who was entering the faith. They served as Lectors and Confirmation Sponsors.

    As I vested for the Mass, Deacon Ed prepared the altar, spreading a white cloth over the table and setting out a standing crucifix, two candles, an Easter candle, the lectionary, the sacramentary, all the implements and the Sacred Oil of Chrism.  We could not light the candles for Mass.  No fire, no open flame, is allowed at death row, so the Chaplains brought in two battery powered candles, setting them along side the wax candles, and the artificial yellow flames of the lit bulbs glowed brightly.

    In five of the holding cells was a death row inmate. Two were Catholic, one was about to become a Catholic, one was Christian and one was, well, in his words, “spiritually interested” in seeing what a Catholic Mass and sacramental rites were all about.  The inmates in the four cells on one side of the room were facing the altar. They could not see each other, but I could see each of them and they could see me. The inmate in the one cell on the other side of the room was behind the altar.  I went to each cell door and placed my hand on the glass in greeting. Each responded by placing a hand against mine behind the glass.  I began the Mass by inviting all to sing, “Come Holy Ghost.”  The singing coming through the screens in the holding cells’ doors was muffled.
   
    It is always daunting to preach, but especially daunting to try to open up the Word of God in a situation where there is little hope or light or joy.   In the homily, I tried to suggest that circumstances can never rob a person of the dignity they have as a child of God. In Baptism, we are plunged into the water and emerge a new person called to live a new way of living. That new way of living is marked by self-sacrificing love for the other and a willingness always to forgive.

    Baptism is new life in Christ. While none of us can change the past, we can live differently in the present.   I reminded those present that Christ knew imprisonment and faced his own execution trusting wholeheartedly in his Father’s love. I encouraged these men to throw their lot with the Lord, who alone is our rock and our salvation.

    After the homily, I put on a bullet proof vest over my vestment and, escorted by the two corrections officers, went with Deacon Ed to a hallway behind the holding cell to administer the Sacraments of Initiation.  Through a small opening in the rear door of the cell, I was able to pour water on the man’s head, saying, “I baptize you in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit.”   I anointed him with the Chrism as he became fully initiated into the Church.   I held back my emotions as I could see his feelings and the humility with which he knelt to receive the sacraments.

    Not knowing this man or the crime for which he had been condemned to death, I knew that in God’s eyes he was God’s own child. I could only think of how I, too, am a sinner, grateful for God’s mercy. How incredible is God’s bountiful love that reaches even into austere, isolated and remote places to bring healing and comfort.

    At Communion, I invited all to sing “Amazing Grace.”  In the hallway behind the holding cells, I gave the Blessed Sacrament to those who are Catholic.   Amazing grace! These men have hardly any human contact day after day, but they received Christ, reaching a hand through the small opening in the cell door – reaching for the Bread of Life – and realizing for at least one moment the dignity that is theirs as a child of God.

    No one can change the wrong or harm they may have done, but we believe that Christ’s body was broken and his blood poured out for them.  When I said, “This Mass is ended, go in peace,” and Deacon Ed responded, “Go in peace to love and serve the Lord,” I instantly thought of where these men would be going – back to a cell that is 11 feet seven inches by seven feet nine inches – and that the Lord can be loved and served even in the isolation of a death row cell.  Our closing hymn was, “Now Thank We All Our God.”

    Two weeks after our visit to death row, Deacon Ed received a letter from the inmate who had been received into the Church.  He wrote:  “My life as a Catholic has just begun. I need to better myself on a daily basis, show others by example that I am a Christian and help those that I can.  Sometimes I’m not real good with words, but I am so grateful to be a Catholic, a part of the community and the Church and to be blessed with the help, love and prayers of so many amazing people.”

    I am grateful to the Arizona Department of Corrections, the Deputy Warden of SMU-II and the Religion Department for helping to make this moment possible for a man who that day was clearly fighting back tears of joy and about whom, someone commented that day on death row, had never looked more at peace than on the day he became a Catholic.   As Deacon Ed said, “I think he came to see who he was and what the image of Jesus is, and so he sought to become someone else”.