Wounded
Rev. Cari Willis
Isaiah 53:5: “He was wounded for our transgressions and bruised for our iniquities.” (NIV)
Over the last six months or so, | have become friends with a Franciscan friar, Fr. Steve Patti, O.F.M., who also
visits with people on death row. | read an op-ed essay that he had written, and | noticed that he used a lot of
the same terminology that | use when | talk about my visits with my friends on the row. Right away, | wanted
to get to know him. Over these months, he has become a confidant like no other person because he has been
there — he gets it — he understands what | have seen, heard, and felt.
During our last visit, | shared the horrific details, insane nuances, and bits of grace when walking with my
beloved friend before, during, and after his execution. | gave him dribs and drabs, not being able to connect
any of the dots as | usually do. This time it was a dot here — a dot there — a dot way out yonder. At the end of
it all he said, “It sounds like everyone involved in the execution was wounded.” | have to say that one of my
favorite things about hanging out with him is his uncanny ability to name things. He identifies things so
succinctly, but also profoundly deep, that it lingers on my lips and in my heart. “Wow. Wounded. Yes. | will
have to think about that. | think there is something there. Wow. Wounded.”
The Scripture that kept coming back to me again and again was the text in Isaiah that foretells of the
Messiah: “He was wounded for our transgressions and bruised for our iniquities.” | had to look up the
Hebrew to see what the term “wounded” meant. | found out that it means “pierced or bore through” as well
as “to profane oneself, defile oneself, and pollute oneself.” What struck me the most about those definitions
is that woundedness includes profaning, defiling, and polluting oneself. | had never heard, and actually never
expected, those definitions.
As the state officials and correctional officers were each taking part in my beloved friend’s execution, they
were indeed profaning, defiling, and polluting themselves as they slyly looked on at all that was happening.
No one was staring at the proceedings. Every one of them was looking down, looking away, and then peeking
over to see what was going on with my beloved friend.
Those of us who were watching from the observation room were indeed profaning, defiling, and polluting
ourselves. A sign over the two large windows in front of us said “Stay Seated. Stay Silent.” We were to show
no emotion, and we were to sit in our seat and act as well behaved participants in a sweltering room in order
to watch this dreadful drama unfold before us.
Even those who were standing outside the prison whether they were standing in support of the death
penalty or were standing against the death penalty were being profaned, defiled, and polluted. They could
not escape the horror of the evening as they waited and waited and waited for some word from anyone as to
what was happening inside the prison. Some of them stood in a circle praying for a Holy God to be ever
present to everyone who was being caught up in this appalling evening. Some just stood by themselves and
stared at the prison in the distance.
And finally, my friend certainly was being defiled and polluted as he was pumped full of drugs that were
never meant to kill someone. He was wounded in the worst possible way. As a society, we want to forget
how Jesus totally reframed an “eye for an eye” when he said “Here’s another old saying that deserves a
second look: ‘Eye for eye, tooth for tooth.’ Is that going to get us anywhere? No more tit-for-tat stuff.”
(Matthew 5:38, 42, The Message Bible)
No one cared to get to know the man that they were killing in this macabre process. The judges and governor
had made up their mind on who he was based upon the media headlines. No one saw any need to sit with
the man that was on that execution table to find out if his life had changed and whether or not he was having
a positive influence on those around him. They defined him by his crime that he committed years ago. And
yet, my beloved friend was not his crime. None of us are defined by our worst acts. My friend was one of the
most loving people | had ever met. He was also my theological partner who opened my eyes to see God’s
irrational and unbounded love and mercy towards us all. He showed me facets of God that | would have
never seen without his unique set of eyes. He loved me with a big love — a really Big Love! He lived his life
based upon Jesus’ words to love God and to love one’s enemy as well (Matthew 5:44). It was /ove that he
spoke of at the very end of his life — grateful for the overwhelming love that he had received and telling all of
us who were around him that he loved us with an enormous love.
| have thought often of Mary under the cross. | simply cannot understand the weight of her grief. Part of her
soul must have died as she watched her beloved son being killed by those bent on hate screaming, “Crucify
him! Crucify him!” In seminary, we were taught to “listen” to Scripture both for what is written there, but
also what isn’t written. In other words, we were taught to listen to the muteness — the silence — of the text.
We never hear a single word from Mary or any of the women who were under the cross with her. There is a
voicelessness — a muteness — to grief. How do you put in words the enormity of that kind of grief, pain, and
trauma?
And Jesus was mostly silent while he hung from the cross that held him. One of the few words that he spoke
was a question that he screamed at the top of his lungs, “Why!?!?!” The scream happened as the darkness
descended on the land. And yet, when Jesus bellowed out “Why?!?!” from the cross, he surely looked down
and saw Mary, John, and the other women. Their presence reminded him that God had not left him, God was
with him.
As | sat there looking on to see a man | greatly loved being killed by the state, | was not only told to be silent
by the same system that was killing him, but | also lost any voice because there simply are no words for such
a barbaric act. As | exited the prison and made my way to my clergy friends, family members, and others, all |
had were hugs and tears. All | could do was speak of our beloved friends overwhelming love for each of us.
But even those words were quick statements, “he loved you so... he loved you so!” | didn’t have any great
words of comfort. | just had my presence.
As my beloved friend was brought into the execution chamber, he strained to see those of us who were there
to just pour out all of our love on him. By our presence, he knew that God had not abandoned him during this
most difficult hour of his life. God’s love was present because we were present. | even took my shoes off
because even if | was the only person who knew it, | knew that | was walking on holy ground even if the state
was using the space for evil intent. Those of us who loved our friend were willing to be wounded by the
prison system in order to “be Christ” in the midst of the horrific and the profane.
On the day that | first met my beloved friend almost two years ago, | wrote in my journal the following: “I still
don’t understand why people don’t get that we become people who kill when we say the death penalty is
okay. We are all murderers. We all should get life behind bars.” Each of us took part in a premeditated
murder. None of us are exempt. All of us are profaned, defiled, and polluted because we executed another
human being.
And just like Christ, | will forever be known by the wounds | carry in my heart.
May God’s mercy be poured out on us all.
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