THE START OF THE BEGINNING
"Every End Is A Beginning"The journalist looked a little pale, and there was just a suggestion of sweat on his upper lip. He smiled weakly and held out his hand for the other man to shake. “Chuck Robinson,” he said, “Daily Mirror.” The chaplain took his hand and briefly shook it. “I’m doing a story on what it’s like to be facing the last twelve hours of your life.” The chaplain didn’t reply.
The two men were sitting in a bare room, furnished with only the two chairs in which they sat, and a table. They were waiting to be taken to a cell on death row. There they would spend the night with Sean Murphy, a convicted killer who had taken the lives of a family of four, who had caught him robbing their home on Christmas Eve six years before. Ironically, the judge who had sentenced Murphy to die, had stipulated that the execution would take place on Christmas Eve. So there they were, two unlikely companions, a chaplain, and a news paper columnist, waiting to join a man who would be put to death in a little less than twelve hours.
After a time, a guard came into the room to escort them to death row. “It almost seems like I’m taking a last walk myself,” the columnist said softly, swallowing the end of the sentence so that it was hardly audible.
“In some ways you are,” the chaplain responded. “You will probably never take a walk like this one again. Once will probably be enough. I’ve made five of them, and each time I pray never to have to do it again, but God, it seems, has other ideas.”
After a walk that seemed longer than it actually was, during which they passed down several hallways, on shining linoleum tile floors, and through formidable steel doors which slammed heavily behind them, they reached death row. As they were escorted to Sean Murphy’s cell, they could feel the eyes of the other inmates following them. They could almost hear their thoughts, as they considered some future night when it would be their turn. It gave Chuck Robinson a hollow feeling, and he noted the experience intending to describe it later in his article.
The guard opened Murphy’s cell and admitted the two men. The door would only open three more times, once when the last meal came, and once when the guard came to take away the remains of the last meal. Finally the door would open to allow Murphy to take his last journey, a dead man walking.
It was a while before anyone spoke.
“I want to thank you for letting me come here tonight, Mr. Murphy,” said Robinson.
“Maybe someone will remember me, because of your story,” Murphy said simply.
Silence fell over the cell for several minutes, and only the sound of Robinson’s pencil scratching on his note pad, was heard.
“Chaplain,” it was Murphy speaking, “How can you believe that God, if he exists, can forgive someone like me?”
“I can assure you that God exists, Sean. I can also assure you that he forgives people who are truly sorry for the wrongs they have done.”
“I never wanted to kill those people, but I was afraid, and the woman kept screaming. I just wanted her to stop... before I knew it I pulled the trigger, and just emptied the gun – all 15 shots. They were all quiet then, but I was still scared – even more than before.”
“Are you saying that killing those people was an accident?” Robinson sounded skeptical.
“I’m saying I had an involuntary response to the situation. You know, a knee jerk.”
Robinson continued to scratch notes on his pad.
“Sean, where do you stand with God?” The Chaplain’s voice had an edge to it.
“How can I have a relationship with someone I’m not sure exists? I pray to him, hoping he’s there.”
“And what do you say to God when you pray?” Robinson interrupted.
“Dear God, please be there, please help me, I don’t want to die, I didn’t want those people to die.”
“Neither did God,” said the chaplain, “and believe it or not, he doesn’t want you to die either.”
“Well I doubt that he is going to forgive me at this late date,” replied Murphy.
“Yes he will, but you’ll still take your last walk in this world – forgiveness does not erase consequences, Sean.”
“So I die no matter what.” Murphy’s voice was flat.
“You die to this life, but you still have time to live with the Lord in eternity,” said the chaplain. “That is to say, you are going to lose life here, but there is still time to gain life there.”
“How’s that?” Murphy’s voice was competing with Robinson’s pencil scratching, and the sound of tablet pages being flipped over.
“There was a thief on the cross next to Jesus when he was crucified. With his death immanent, he said to Jesus, “Lord remember me when you come into your kingdom.”
Jesus replied,”Today you will be with me in paradise.”
“The man was not just a thief, he too, was a murderer.” The chaplain’s voice was softening. He could see the fear building in Murphy’s eyes.
“In the end, there are very few tough guys, when the last minutes come.” Robinson was reading as he wrote.
“I don’t want to be remembered as a tough guy, or a coward,” said Murphy shortly.
“From here on, I’m a fly on the wall,” said Robinson.
Murphy lapsed into gloomy silence. As the minutes ticked by, the silence grew heavier and heavier. The chaplain opened his Bible and read from the Gospel of St. John: “Let not your hearts be fearful. You believe in God, believe also in me. In my Father’s house there are many rooms. If it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you, and if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, to take you there, so that where I am, you may be also.”
“You know what’s ironic?” asked Murphy. “It’s Christmas Eve, and we haven’t spoken of it at all, nor have you read a verse about Christmas from that Bible.”
“ Jesus was born, so that he could die for you – not the death you die tonight, but – the death that would separate you from the place he wants you to have in eternity, a place of peace and rest.”
The last meal came and went, largely untouched. Suddenly there were footsteps approaching. Sean Murphy grew pale as a ghost, as the cell was opened for the last time in his lifetime.
The walk was terrifying and Murphy stumbled and needed to be supported several times.
At last they arrived at the room, and Murphy was strapped to the table. He looked at the clock – the last few minutes of his earthly life were passing by on its face.
“Solemnly the Warden asked, “ Do you have any last things to say?”
Murphy took a deep breath. “You all may not believe it, but I never intended to kill anyone, and I am truly sorry that it happened. The chaplain told me that being forgiven will not stop my execution, and I know that. May God have mercy on me where I’m going.”
The IV’s were put in place, and at the appointed moment – the fullness of time as it were – the chemicals were put into the tubes. Murphy felt himself slipping into the darkness. For some reason he had no time to ponder, his mind set upon the Christmas story he’d heard as a child. He saw it clearly in the growing fogginess. Then He saw the Christ child morph into a man on the cross. “Lord...” his voice was audible to those present, “ remember me when you come into your kingdom.”
“Today you will be with me in paradise.” The words were clear and strong.”
Murphy breathed his last, and was still. Then he stepped into the light.
“Did you hear what he said, chaplain,” the Warden asked.
“I heard.”
“Did you hear anything else?”
The chaplain smiled and said, “A blessed Christmas to you warden.
