Kerr column: The gift from Cell Block C

It was the most unusual Christmas card I had ever received. It wasn’t so much the picture on the front or even the sentiment inside. Those things were conventional and somewhat predictable given the season. What made it so unusual was where it came from…and WHO it came from. It was from a group of men. But not just any group of men.

Each one of the men who signed this particular card had one thing in common. Each was serving a life sentence in a federal prison. Each had taken someone’s life.

Not in war, at least in the conventional sense. The thing they all had in common was that each had murdered someone. Intentionally and deliberately.

And yes, I know these men. They were not strangers. I had met them on a recent ministry project. As I read each name I could picture most of them, see their faces, hear their voices and remember, most of all, their hands.

I remembered how several stood up that cold November night and matter-of-factly told their stories. They spoke simply, directly, with no claim of defense or innocence. Yes, they had done exactly what they had been accused of doing. Those hands held the knife or pointed the gun. None were unfamiliar with the law or under the illusion they would escape the consequences.

One told the story of a family member violated and felt justice was not swift enough. Another spoke a personal and deep offense that caused anger and passion that, while understandable, still led to an inexcusable deed.

As the words tore at my own humanity, I at once felt revulsion and, quite surprisingly, empathy. Had that violated young one been my daughter I may have taken the knife in my own hands. Had I felt the degree of offense and helplessness, I may have pulled the trigger.

But they were not speaking to solicit my sympathy. They were not sharing their stories to garner glory for some ill-perceived heroic gesture.

Strangely, these dealers of death spoke of new life. These ones behind concrete walls, steel bars and razor wire spoke of freedom. These ones who had felt so much hate as to steal the future of another human life were speaking about the gift of divine love.

And that night, though I had heard that story and spoke that story many times, I felt that story in a different way. As I looked into those eyes that had been the last sight seen in this life by another, I felt a bond, a welcome and — can I say it — safety.

Let it be said that it would be disingenuous to romanticize these men or their circumstance. Each had the opportunity to walk away, to turn the other cheek at the perceived injustice before that moment that changed their lives, and others’ lives, forever. Each had decided in their own way that another’s death would be the only salve to sooth their own restless and reckless souls.

Each one of their victims was indeed someone’s son, brother and father. It would be unjust, yes inhuman, if that were glossed over or swept aside. There is a hole in someone’s heart because of what these men did.

But there it was on the bottom of the card, beneath the names of these “lifers”:

Christ loved us

and gave Himself up for us.

—Ephesians 5:2

And gave himself up for…these men? They were not asking me to understand or forgive. That place is reserved for others more closely touched by their misdeeds. But their presence, and that card, did beg to stretch my soul. There was clearly saint and sinner, light and darkness, good and evil, with no difference in time or space between them. That was too close for comfort. I felt I needed some distance, not from those men or their deeds. My mind could not synthesize those deep distinctions; my heart could not fathom those discordant emotions. It is only in the soul that there is sufficient space.

There in the soul is the only room for that which is so offensive and at the same time, so comforting. There in the soul is the only place that is both humanly unreasonable and divinely logical. There in the soul was only a small crack for the ONE thing that is in the ethic of the spirit more important than truth.

Grace.

It was truth that these men belonged behind bars; it is grace that has set them free.

It was truth that hatred had moved them to show no mercy; it was grace that taught them how to love.

It was truth that some of these men will face death behind those walls.

And is it grace that brought them all to the only life worth living.

Rod Kerr is on staff at First Baptist Church, Salisbury.